The Taming of Harry Potter
by Mel J
WARNING: This chapter is quite angsty and contains disturbing mental abuse of a small child, which might not be suitable for sensitive or very young readers.
CHAPTER NINE- The Door To The Darkness
"Buried in every human mind is a remnant of the ancient time, when the race was young- a shadowy memory of the Old Truth in all its grand blackness."
~ Shaun Richard Thompson
He collapsed, clutching his throbbing head as he was bombarded with a cascade of emotions: utter happiness that knew no bounds, sweet love for him and all he had given the mind he was trapped in, the prickling of all-consuming fear always present. He strived for calm, reinforcing the mental shields around his own mind as he pushed forward the thought he was Severus Snape, he was Severus Snape.
Finally he felt his consciousness rise out of the cloud of emotions surrounding him, and the minds of Severus and Harry separated.
Still reeling inwardly, Severus thanked Merlin that even if Harry was not consciously aware of what was happening, he trusted the older wizard and accepted his presence in his mind. It was only that absolute trust that saved Severus from being overwhelmed by Harry's mind. That, and the fact that the boy seemed to be a natural Legilimens. Harry's innate ability to perceive Severus' presence and subconsciously calm his emotions in consideration of his guardian allowed Severus the time to regain his senses.
And so now Severus stood alone in the near darkness. He gazed up to see the wondrous flowing light representing Harry's memories, what a Legilimens referred to as the memory ribbon. Almost every human's memories appeared much like a long stream of light and colour; a magnificent sight which could even captivate even the sociopath Dark Lord. However, there were some special cases where the ribbon was disrupted. In a person who had undergone the Cruciatus Curse to the point of being permanently brain damaged, the ribbon was a capricious jumble where it was impossible to differentiate where the strand began. Conversely, the victims of a Dementor were trapped in perpetual darkness, their minds devoid of any ribbon as their memories were sucked into an oblivion of Nothingness.
Harry's ribbon was truly beautiful to Severus. He had entered the minds of many, both with and without permission, but in those instances he was usually using his Legilimens gifts as a Dark Art and never truly had the chance to witness a ribbon in its mighty glory. This time it was different. He was in the mind of one close to him in an attempt of salvation; it was this that made the experience so much more enchanting.
For a moment, he just gazed at the intermingling strand colours and images of everything the boy had experienced from very day he was born to his present age. Not many parents- not that he *was* Harry's father- had the opportunity of seeing their child's mind in such a fundamental state.
Yet, as alluring as Harry's memory ribbon was, Severus could immediately spot impairment in the ribbon's flow. Everyone had a tear in their memory ribbon, usually occurring after the first year of infancy where the brain began to conduct itself in a completely different manner than in babyhood, and the memories of infancy were not so much lost but were unable to be accessed by the mature mind.
In Harry's case, there was this usual tear in his ribbon when he entered his toddler years but there was another area of damage some distance later; Severus presumed this was the point the boy was imprisoned in by his sub-human relatives. Curiously, the imperfection was not a complete tear, but rather it seemed the ribbon frayed.
In a mix of intrigue and concern, and hating himself for feeling like a common sticky-beaked Gryffindor, Severus reached forward to touch a portion of the ribbon between the tear and the fray to catch a glimpse of Harry's life before his tragic captivity...
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Unlike a Pensieve where the onlooker felt very much a part of the memory and could move around and be free with their own thoughts, in Legilimency the onlooker vacillated between waves of detachment from the scenes around them to being rendered unable to think for themselves as they were completely drawn in by the surrounding memory. It took a few seconds for Severus to compose himself to see the little boy before him, a little boy with large round glasses strained on his tip-toes to reach the cooker, despite already standing on a stool. He was really was tiny; Severus would have put him at two years old were it not for the shadows darkening his world-weary eyes suggesting he was at least a year or two older. It certainly didn't help that the boy was dressed in clothes hanging from his slight frame.
Severus was all for ensuring children made themselves useful from an early age but it truly was a pathetic sight to see the toddler Harry slaving over the cooker like a human House Elf. And it obviously wasn't a new experience; the boy seemed to know when to stir and when to turn the cooker's notches down to a lower temperature.
"Is our tea ready yet, boy?" a fat, ugly oaf of a man- who Severus assumed was Vernon Dursley- demanded of the little Harry.
"N-nearly, Uncle Vernon," the boy quickly replied. It was odd to hear him speak, his voice shy and lacking any confidence.
"It has better be or you won't be eating tonight." He poked a finger into the child's back, sending the tiny body forward with hands flailing. Hot oil splashed up, scalding Harry's arm and the boy whimpered, tears brimming in his pained green eyes. Dursley just tutted, utterly uninterested in his nephew's injury. "So clumsy, freak, you get that from those parents of yours. Useless, all of you. Do you hear me, boy? What are you?"
"Useless, Uncle," Harry intoned softly, gazing at his feet in shame.
Dursley grunted. "Just don't forget it. If it wasn't for us, you'd be in the rubbish tip. Nobody wants you and you had better be more grateful that we took you in."
The Boy Who Lived, the child whom thousands had once petitioned the Ministry to adopt, wept silently, his face a picture of misery no child should ever know
The scene blurred, changing to a different setting. Severus now stood in the playground of a primary school, the first day of the new term judging by the number of anxious parents milling around to see their offspring off. It didn't take long to locate Harry; he was trailing behind Petunia Dursley who was proudly leading her heavily-obese son hand-in-hand into the school gates paying no heed to the little boy behind her struggling to keep up.
"Oh, Mummy can't believe her little Duddykins is all grown up and starting his first day of school," she cooed. "He's such a clever boy." While Severus understood it was a satisfying moment in a parent's life when their child started school, the way this woman was behaving one would have thought her son had earned both the Order of Merlin and the Muggle's Nobel Prize.
If it was the Dursley boy's first day of school then it must have been Harry's as well since Albus had mentioned the two boys were the same age. However, the differences in attire were blatantly obvious. The Dursley boy, like the rest of his classmates, was dressed smartly in pressed grey shorts, a crisp white shirt with tie neatly knotted and a new blazer and carrying a new leather satchel. Harry, by stark comparison, looked as if he had emerged from a jumble sale; he wore tatty black trousers trailing the ground, a blazer worn at the elbows and a bright yellow shirt two sizes too big and never intended to be part of a school uniform, and his schoolbag was frayed and encrusted with mud. His glasses were battered and- held together by tape- had evidently seen better days.
"Petunia, love," called a woman whose face could curdle milk, tagging along a rat-faced brat by the hand. "It's hard to believe our little Piers and Dudley are off to school."
Petunia smiled, or at least what passed for a smile (and people called Severus dour). "Yes, I know what you mean, Doreen, it was just yesterday our sweetums were babies." She laughed indulgently when the two sniggering boys pushed Harry to the ground.
The other woman- Doreen- stared at Harry in disgust. "I see that one's mother still doesn't see fit to send him proper clothing."
Petunia sighed, shaking her head wearily. "What can you expect from drunks? All the money goes on drink that what little she sends down for the boy is pittance. I offered to buy him some decent clothing but Lily insists that Harry wear what she sends down and we have to do as she says or she'll take little Harry away."
Severus felt like vomiting at this fabrication to excuse her neglect and the stupidity of the other woman who blindly believed it.
"Sometimes I'm so glad we tell the boy that he is orphaned, better that than he learns of what horrid people his parents are."
Harry, standing within earshot and obviously listening to every word, opened his mouth to protest but whatever he was to say was swiftly cut-off by a filthy glare from his aunt. The boy swallowed, gazing away in confusion and discreetly swiping away tears with the sleeve of his battered blazer. Severus wondered which was worse for Harry, to learn he was an orphan with no hope of rescue or to think that perhaps his parents were alive yet were not interested in caring for their son. He certainly had no doubt that Harry was, like any young child surrounded by such conflicting stories day-in and day-out, terribly bewildered by Petunia's lies and truth over his status as abandoned child rather than orphan.
"You're too kind," Doreen commiserated, "I'm not sure if I could have taken on such a troublesome boy. You must be exhausted with all the mess he creates for you and your Vernon. He's always up to something, that boy, not at all the sort of good, honest child like Piers and Dudley. That one will be mixed-up with the law when he's older, you mark my words."
It was worrying that no-one bothered to question why Petunia would listen to her supposedly alcoholic sister and allow Harry to remain poorly dressed nor why the boy was so thin and miserable compared to his cousin. Of course, even people who thought themselves upstanding members of the community only saw what they wanted to see, and what was one sad child who came from a 'good' home compared to keeping the peace and not appearing a busybody. Severus of all people knew that much from personal experience; his entire childhood revolved around the vain hope someone would save his mother and him from his abusive father. What he had learnt was, at the end of the day, there were few who cared about the pathetic, depressed children in the world if it meant rocking the boat with their friends.
The women probably continued to berate Harry. Thankfully the child was not there to hear as the teacher called all her tiny pupils to her.
Apparently, Harry was starting Year One at Hetheringham Infant School and his teacher, Miss Matheson, appeared to be a caring woman who genuinely enjoyed her young charges but did not have the time to give one-to-one attention to each child of her twenty-seven strong class of demanding four- and five-year-olds.
The day moved forward, occupied with the usual activities of painting and story-telling. The Dursley boy and his friend Piers quickly befriended another pair of thuggish hellions while Harry preferred to sit quietly and politely speak to those who talked to him. He obviously lacked the confidence of his parents and was daunted by the prospect of just going up and sparking a conversation with the other children. It didn't help that his cousin and his friends spent their time giggling and pointing at the self-conscious Harry.
Then a small dark-skinned boy came to sit beside Harry in the book corner. "That's my favourite 'Thomas the Tank Engine' book!" the youngster exclaimed, perking up when he saw what Harry was reading.
"Mine too," Harry smiled shyly.
"I've got loads of 'Thomas' stuff, my whole room is 'Thomas.'"
The boy was looking expectantly at Harry, who said, "Er...me as well." The hesitation in his voice made it clear he meant his cousin had the merchandise but he was too embarrassed to admit otherwise. Severus found it quite sad that the boy at learnt at the tender age of five, an age when a child was blissfully innocent of poverty and the importance material possessions, that his cousin and every other child he met virtually wanted for nothing while he was left on the side-lines looking in.
"My name is Matthew, what's yours?"
From that moment, the two boys were inseparable, doing the same activities and rather boring Severus with their chatter that was of no meaning to anyone who had lost their milk teeth. Harry revelled in the idea of having a friend, his face lighting up for the first time and he finally behaved like a typical toddler rather than a jaded war veteran.
It was fascinating insight watching this bubbly, happier Harry compared to the mute withdrawn child Severus had only ever known. The tortured Boy-Who-Lived had been like any other child at one stage, slightly more introverted and quieter compared to the hyperactive Draco at that age, but on the whole hale and healthy with his mind intact.
What was difficult was reconciling this innocent tot to the feral boy he would become in just two or three years. Seeing Harry in a younger, untainted life left Severus coping with waves of helplessness and woe. Everything in him yearned to save this boy from the pain awaiting him in the not-too-distant future, to take him away to a place far from those brutal relations of his. Yet it was six years too late. This was just a snapshot in time, a scene nobody could ever change and all Severus could do was mourn this child and all he would suffer.
At lunchtime, the Dursley boy went home for his lunch and Harry was put to packed lunches. The teacher had commented as to why one cousin was brought home and the other was left at the school but, with five noisy brats nipping her head for attention, she didn't have time to query too much. Harry, however, was not in the least bothered, particularly since Matthew was also staying for packed lunches.
Wisely, Petunia had sent her nephew to school with a reasonable packed lunch of a cheese sandwich, an apple and a packet of those crisps the Muggleborn children at Hogwarts would pine the most for when leaving their own world. The lunch was still very basic compared to his classmates' who had all variety of sweets, a choice of sandwiches and exotic flavours of juice when Harry had to make do with flask of water. Severus also noticed a number of the spoiled little wretches pointing at the plastic bag Harry carried his lunch in compared to everyone else's fancy boxes adorned with cartoon characters. Once again, he itched to hex one of the little blights, just grateful his charge was unaware of the jeers he was attracting.
"Oh, cheese and onion!" Harry cried, his eyes bright when he pulled out his packet of crisps.
Matthew frowned in surprise, his gesture telling Severus a simple packet of crisps was usually something the average Muggle child took for granted much as a wizarding child looked upon Chocolate Frogs as a rather lacklustre treat. It was very bittersweet witnessing the child savour every bite of his snack, slowly munching away to enjoy every moment, as if fearful he would never have another again. And it was all the more touching when Harry held the bag out to his friend, offering one of his treasured treats despite his deprivation.
Matthew screwed up his face when he crunched on the offered crisp. "Yucky, they're soft! Put them in the bin, they're not good." Harry's face fell until his friend chucked him another packet of crisps from his lunchbox. "Here, you can have these if you want, my tummy's ate too much. They're prawn cocktail but Mummy bought them this morning so they should be okay." Harry's grateful smile could have lit up the world.
Polishing their lunch off, the two little boys were then directed to the playground by a teacher where they decided to play 'Hide and Seek'. Harry might have struggled to count past ten but he was accomplished at hiding; Severus suspected it was a gift honed from years of hiding from his hideous family. When Matthew was taking an inordinately long time to find his fellow playmate, both Harry and Severus peered around the bushes they were concealed by to see the dark-skinned boy talking with the Dursley boy and his gang of louts. Matthew didn't seem to be comfortable with what was being said, his body quivering and his eyes darting around.
Harry scowled, drawing himself up to stand as tall as one could when only three-and-a-half foot. Severus could see the courage and determination sparkle in his eyes as he strode forward to rescue his new friend.
"Dudley, you leave Matthew alone, you big meanie," he commanded, planting his feet in front of his cousin.
Bold considering the Dursley boy towered over him and outweighed him by at least a stone or two. Severus smirked smugly; Dumbledore and McGonagall would take this as a sign of his Gryffindor roots but he saw a Slytherin's wilful nature not to give in to those who wished to conquer. He certainly couldn't imagine Draco taking such a situation lying down either and there was a boy Slytherin through-and-through.
The Dursley boy sneered down at Harry, his face as cruel as his father's. "Matthew doesn't want to be your friend so get lost."
It was astonishing to recall that this arrogant little cretin, who was very much in need of a good slap, would one day cry for his damaged cousin. Yet, he could not truly revile a five-year-old child for his abusive traits when the blame rested solely on the parents who encouraged such behaviour in their impressionable son.
Harry's bravery waned as he turned to his friend. "He's a liar, isn't he, Matthew?"
Matthew glanced from Harry to the Dursley boy. "Eh..." Harry couldn't see his cousin raise a fist up and shaking it threateningly. "Er...you're just a-a stinky poo, now...now go away."
He pushed Harry, there wasn't much force in his shove but the boy was never well-built in the first place and the pain of losing this new friend sucked away all his strength. His face crumple and wet with tears, Harry fell to the grass and stared up in bewilderment and betrayal as Matthew fled to another group of boys on the other side of the playground.
"Nobody wants to be your friend," the Dursley boy grinned maliciously. "You've got the feeks, I can smell them on you, and *I'm* going to tell *everyone* so they don't catch them too."
Harry just lay on the grass, flat-out and defeated. Severus gazed down at him, desperate to set him back on his feet and place a wand in his tiny hands to show the Dursley boy who was the boss.
"Mummy?" the child whimpered tearfully into the arm he covered his face with. "Mummy, why didn't you take me with you?"
It was of cruel irony that Harry was suffering much the same treatment his father had once heaped upon a number of the smaller Slytherins, Severus included. A darker part of him had to ponder if the son was doomed to pay for the sins of the father, if Fate- cold and harsh as it was- was ensuring James Potter's bullying ways, which went unpunished by his teachers, would be forced upon his son as retribution.
Somehow, revenge was not at all sweet as Severus had imagined in his boyhood...
The scene blurred once again and they were in what Severus recognised as the Dursley home. Harry, now perhaps six years old, although it was hard to judge since he was so small, was backed against the wall of the living room. He was dressed in a ludicrously baggy T-shirt and dungarees and he was wearing the same pair of glasses at the previous two memories although they seemed too tight now and had to be pinching his temples and nose. Severus could see the boy was clearly pale and frightened but he saw no tears; had Harry not reached that pinnacle of fear yet or he had learnt crying would bring him no pity from these people?
The door swung open and he saw what the boy was cowering from. Petunia entered, wielding a pair of scissors and what looked like some form of gadget. It was buzzing and Severus concluded it was one of those elektrik razors that one of his Halfblood Seventh Year boys used on occasion. But what on earth was Petunia planning to do with it, Harry was a decade too young for a shave and there were no scars upon the boy's body to suggest he had been harmed by those scissors.
"Boy, come here," she ordered, pointing to a towel laid out on the floor. Harry whimpered, squeezing himself further against the wall as if hoping it would envelop him. Petunia inhaled impatiently. "Boy, get here now or I'll have Vernon bring you here and hold you himself."
Her words were enough to achieve a result; Harry nearly tripped over his trousers in his haste to stand on the towel in front of his aunt.
"Look at you," she scorned, her eyes flicking up and down at the boy before her in disgust, "you're an ugly little mess, boy. I'm ashamed to be related to you. Your mother should have drowned you at birth." She waited. "Aren't you going to cry?"
Harry shook his head once, not saying a word. Severus nodded in approval; for the boy's sake it was better if he gave the woman no further excuse to hurt him.
Petunia raked a hand through her nephew's unruly hair, Harry yelping softly when she yanked on a handful of dark locks. She tutted, "Like an animal; you get this hair from your father and his unnatural ways." The scissors glinted in the light. "No matter, I'll fix you good and proper."
With one hand, she grabbed Harry's chin tightly so he was fixed in place and, with the other, she began awkwardly chopping clumps of hair. Severus was no hairdresser and even he could see the cut was uneven at the angle she was cutting at but that seemed to matter little to Petunia. When she had taken a good portion of hair off, leaving Harry with a scalp only sporting tufts of fluff, she threw the scissors down and powered up the elektrik razor.
"Yes," she muttered, sounding quite demented, "you'll not shame us now."
And she proceeded to run the razor over the boy's scalp until he was practically bald and resembled an escapee from Azkaban. Adding to the insult, she had left his fringe flopping over his famous scar; there was no hiding it, Harry looked utterly ridiculous.
"There," Petunia said, her lips twisted in a cold smile. "Perfect."
The boy tentatively ran his hand over his head, then, casting a hateful glare at his aunt, he dashed out of the room. Severus followed him up the stairs into the bathroom. He felt embarrassed on Harry's behalf when the boy's face bleached upon seeing his new haircut in the mirror. The child moaned almost inaudibly, unable to tear his eyes from his sheared reflection. He would be facing a great deal of mocking when he turned up at school looking like a cross between a convict and a scarecrow.
Suddenly, snickering broke the spell and Harry turned, his cheeks flaming in humiliation, to see his uncle and cousin at the doorway of the bathroom pointing and laughing at him.
The boy floundered for a moment then darted between the whale-sized father and son and downstairs into a little cupboard under the stairs. Severus assumed that this was Harry's den, his hideaway from the world, until he saw the mattress on the floor and a small pile of clothes stored at the side. This tiny hole, not bigger than the cage he would live in for four years, was not Harry's den but his bedroom.
Everything darkened as Harry fell into a fretful sleep on his thin mattress.
In what seemed like a matter of seconds but was really ten or twelve hours, the scene brightened and Harry was standing in the kitchen, preparing a cooked breakfast. Severus thought he might have been wrong and this memory occurred months after Harry's impromptu haircut since he now sported a full head of wild hair once again. It was only when Petunia wandered into the kitchen and shrieked, pointing at the boy's head, did he realize this sudden hair growth was an act of wandless magic.
"You...you oddity," she eked. "W-what did you do?"
Harry dropped the spatula he was stirring the scrambled eggs with to pull at his hair, shaking his head. "I-I don't know, Aunt Petunia, it just *happened*."
"Nothing just 'happens', boy," she screeched, "especially not with you." She ducked her head of the door, calling into the hallway. "Vernon! Come quick, come see what the boy has done!"
"I d-didn't do anything," Harry pleaded. "It wasn't me, it was like...magic or something." His eyes widened, and he looked as if he would give anything to take back that last sentence.
Dursley appeared in the kitchen, evidently hearing Harry's last words and turning a beetroot purple in fury. "Don't talk of such abnormality in this house, boy," he bellowed. He grabbed Harry by his hair, pulling the boy until he was hunched lest he risk his hair being torn from his scalp. "I've told you never to speak of such nonsense; magic doesn't exist. You're a freak, that's why this happened. I ought to beat the abnormality from you."
He ranted and raved as he dragged the weeping Harry by his hair to the cupboard. He swung open the door and literally flung Harry in like he was a bag of rubbish, Severus wincing as the child thudded against the wall.
"You'll stay in there until we think you're fit to be with the rest of us normal people," Dursley warned. "You'd better watch it with me, boy, I'll kill you before I let you make a fool of this family's good name."
He slammed the door leaving Harry alone in the darkness.
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He'd seen enough.
Severus pulled away, focusing his mind until he was standing back in the darkness with the rainbow colours of Harry's Memory Ribbon fluttering above him. He just stood a long moment, forcing back the black magic threatening to overwhelm him as he was consumed by anger. He had thought he was past the days when his dangerous tendency to turn to the darkness could be ignited by his temper but seeing Harry being treated in a way one would not even act towards a rabid dog let alone a child made him reconsider if Voldemort's idea of punishment using the Unforgivables was so wrong after all.
It wasn't just the abuse of the Dursleys' that left his blood boiling. Harry, at least, could cling to the knowledge that these animals were not his real family and that his own parents did love him; his mother had even given her life so that her son would live. The misery of a brutalized childhood was exacerbated when the child also had to cope with the wrenching fact that the person hurting him was his own father, the man who should be cherishing him. This Severus could attest to firsthand; Cassius Snape was not above locking his bleeding, battered six-year-old son outside in torrential rain or dragging him out of his bed in the dead of night to study. And there was little doubt only factor which saved Severus from a lifetime locked up in the wine cellar, was that his father needed an mentally competent heir to succeed the Snape family name. Otherwise, the elder Snape would have gladly shut his wife and newborn son away the second he had a drink in him.
But the young Severus was never truly alone in his pain. He had his mother to wipe his tears when she had escaped the worse of the beatings, and when she too was as battered as her son, then they would cry together. And then there was Lucius, his elder brother in all but name and blood. Lucius who knew what it was to live each day in fear of his father and who befriended a terrified three-year-old one summer and took that little boy, his kindred spirit, under his wing despite being a lofty nine-year-old.
Harry, however, was alone. He had no-one; the Dursleys' had even taken away any lifeline and support he might have found in a friend.
A part of Severus would give his left arm for Albus to witness Harry's harrowing early years, the part deep down that still harboured a great deal of resentment towards the Headmaster's inability to protect him from his father and a group of bullying brats no better than the young Dursley boy. And the thought of forcing that useless Figg woman to relive these horrific memories was very tempting; the woman might have done her job in ensuring no Death Eaters harmed the boy, but she had done little in guarding Harry from a threat much closer to home.
The boy probably would have been better off with the Death Eaters; at least most of them would have just killed him outright or attempted corrupt him with the lure of the Dark Arts. Severus' morbid Slytherin nature couldn't help but question which the Order would have preferred: their feral saviour or a second Darkling? He quickly swept that particular line of thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time to trouble his already perturbed conscience with such ominous theories, and he had the distinct feeling that, if he probed too far, the temptation to abscond with Harry would be overpowering.
He stared up at the frayed portion of the Ribbon. He didn't relish delving back into that living Hell but he needed to see what it was which finally tipped Harry over the edge.
Gathering himself up, Severus focused in on the fray.
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He found himself back in a place he wanted never to set eyes upon again: the basement of the Dursley house. And there against the wall was Harry's private torture chamber, the cage he had spent four years languishing in.
Severus had witnessed too many sickening butcheries during his span as Death Eater, forcing himself to stay his hand for the sake of preserving his role as spy. However, forcing himself to look into that cage again knowing what he was find inside was harder than coping with a Death Eater revel. What was agonising was that this time he would not be able to lift that boy from his cage. He could only be an observer.
He thought of the young boy painting in the real world, for the moment content and happy as a child should be. Only he wanted so much more for Harry; he hoped the boy would one day grow into an adjusted man with a good standing in the wizarding community, perhaps even have a family of his own. An aspiration which would never be realized if Harry was forever trapped by silence and fear.
For Harry...He could face the past for the sake of Harry's future.
He stepped over to the pet cage, knelt down and steeled himself as he gazed through the plastic wire to the little boy crouched inside. Harry was wearing reasonably clean, if baggy clothing, and he was rosy-cheeked and healthy. He could not have been there more than a few days, if that. Tears ran down his clammy cheeks, his eyes red-rimmed from continual crying as he wailed pitifully.
Seeing firsthand how young and so very vulnerable the boy was and hearing him loudly cry with the complete lack of inhibition only seen in young children brought home the sadism of the Dursleys. This was not a destructive teenager who drove his parents to the brink; this was a small boy who had done nothing wrong but yield to his own heritage. If Harry had been raised by a wizarding family, he would have been praised for spontaneously Apperating, the incident that ultimately led him to his cage and, ironically, also one of the rarest abilities expressed by an untamed young wizard.
Instead, he was condemned a freak and locked up.
It occurred to Severus that for people who didn't appear to keep pets, it was odd that they should have this holding cage in their basement in the first place. Had they been planning this? The thought chilled him; he more than most was aware of the evils humanity was capable of, but such premeditated brutality was shocking to even his hardened soul. How does one plan to imprison a child in such conditions?
The thud of the door being opened echoed through the basement and Harry's eyes brightened, his sobs stuttering to hiccups. He clambered to the front of the cage, his tiny fingers winding around the wire and his emerald eyes gaping to the stairs.
The boy still held hope that his uncle would free him.
Hope that faltered when Dursley stamped down the stairs, his booming footsteps not just down to his enormous weight but also anger. Harry moaned softly, his face paling when his ruddy-faced uncle stalked over to the cage, fumbling with the padlock in his rage then ripped open the wire door when the lock clicked open.
Harry scurried back but he was no match for the bulky older man. Dursley captured his nephew by his hair, hauling him forward. He moved his sausage-like fingers to grip Harry under the chin, squeezing the delicate jaw until the bones were pried open.
"Stick your tongue out!" he bellowed. Harry screeched, his small fingers tugging futilely at his uncle's painful grasp. Dursley shook the boy with such force that Severus thought he would wrench his lower jaw off. "Stick your tongue out *now*, boy!"
His struggles freezing to a halt, Harry's forceful sobs were almost choking him as his tongue slowly stretched from his mouth. The boy's breath caught in his mouth when his wide eyes locked onto the long kitchen knife Dursley were now wielding with his free hand.
Dursley sneered at his nephew. "You keep squawking and I'll cut that little tongue off. Do you hear me?!" He punctuated his demand by shaking the boy once more. "I hear one word, one little noise from you and I'll come down here and cut that tongue of yours off and feed it to Mrs Figgs' cats. Do you understand, boy?" Harry nodded quickly, his eyes still on the knife Dursley was waving just a few inches shy of his tongue. "I'll know if you've been making a nuisance of yourself, I'll be listening every minute of the day and if I hear a single sound from down here then you'll know about it."
He hurled Harry back into the cage. Pushing himself off his knees to a standing position, for a long moment Dursley just stared in contempt at the wretch of a boy before him, mucus smearing down from his nose and urine saturating his trousers.
"You aren't human, boy," he announced, in revulsion "I don't know what you are but I do know you're an abomination. Your kind should all be burned on the stake. I won't have you hurting my Dudley or the other kids, you freak. You'll die here if I have anything to say about it. You should never have been left with us." He jabbed the knife in Harry's cowering direction. "Just remember, boy, I'm always listening."
Severus had to shake himself from the wave of dizziness clouding his mind. The consciousness around him was suddenly consumed by an intense fear; it was so pure and animalistic that it was all he could do to remain in control of his own faculties. It was as if Harry lived only in this veil of baser instincts; all he was concerned with was his terror, his anguish and every few hours, his hunger or the need to relieve himself. There was nothing else to his existence; those seven years before meant nothing.
It was cloying, unlike anything Severus had felt before. It was a struggle to remember he was Severus, not Harry, not this shell of torment.
After what seemed like an eternity, the scene cleared and he cut through Harry's emotions to the actual visual memory. He was in the basement again; Harry was rocking in the cage. He was older now; his clothes were tattered and his face ghostly pale. But it was his eyes...
Severus felt his chest tighten by the inhuman glint in those emerald eyes. It was cold, and crazed. The last time Severus had seen anything resembling that frightening void, it was on the man who had been responsible for the murder of this boy's parents. He pushed his mind out hesitantly, instantly recoiling in pain when he was pervaded by the waves of magic through him. Magic darker than the darkest night, polluted by carnal hatred and cascading then subsiding like the tide.
Magic that was dormant for now but simmering under the surface; just brewing, waiting for puberty to explode in a burst of carnage on any living thing within the vicinity of young Harry Potter.
Those fools, those imbecilic fools.
They had no clue they were sitting over a ticking time bomb in the form of a feral child. At least in Azkaban, there were the Dementors to subdue the prisoners' magic. The Dursleys' were ignorant if they assumed a simple cage could contain a child born of magic. Harry's wizarding gifts were as much a part of him as his limbs or his senses, and they were destined to break through; the Dursleys' only took away their nephew's opportunity to learn what was acceptable in expressing his temper and how to control his emotions to curb his wandless lashing out. Without such lessons vital to every magical child, he was developing into the deadliest threat to Muggle and wizarding kind.
For there was no reasoning with a wild animal...
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That black anger still bubbled, untamed and unwilling to diminish. Now aware of it, Severus could feel its cold fingers caressing the deepest recesses of Harry's soul, vying for control over the bright childish innocence like a dormant virus lurking in wait for depression in the stability of the boy's mind. A year or two more and it would have won; 'Harry the Child' would have been crushed to nothing to give way to this new Dark Lord, feral and sadistic in a way Voldemort could never understand.
No, he would die before he would let this child turn into some demonic animal. The Darkness was infecting the many levels of Harry's mind, but it was not too late to push it back, the boy was still young and guileless enough to save himself.
He turned narrowed eyes up to the fraying the Memory Ribbon, smiling grimly. The key was to enhance Harry's memories of the time he was untouched by the Darkness; to do so would fortify the boy's capacity for innocence and joy. And, for Harry, the pivotal moment separating his first seven years from the last four was Dursley's threats to cut his tongue off. Harry, understandably, believed with all his heart that if he broke his silence his uncle would descend to maim him.
He could not see beyond that.
Conversely, to speak would be his first step into accepting his freedom, to realizing he was a human boy and not this animalistic being. Dursley was the representation of the Darkness to Harry's mind. By going against Dursley's orders he would be turning his back on the Dark claws gripping his inner consciousness.
Severus focused on the fray, centering every ounce of his magic to bolstering the Light within Harry's mind. Shards of fiery pain flared in his head, threatening to overwhelm him, but he refused to give in. He pushed further, forcing the memory of Dursley and his threats to ebb and fade. The fray in the strands of Ribbon was not so severe now, just a slight tear.
No more, Harry's memories were his own and Severus could not completely erase one so important to the boy. It would be up to the both of them in the real world to heal the residual damage. For now, the Darkness was contained.
Staggering under the turmoil of Harry's childish unconsciousness revolting against what it perceived as an invader, Severus smiled beatifically at the nearly healed Ribbon. He wasn't sure if he could escape Harry's mind with his own intact but he could not resist marvelling at his own work. It was so pretty...
His waning strength to maintain mental barrier shielding him from the boy's intense emotions gave way and, his eyes screwed up in agony, he gave in to the welcoming darkness.
End of CHAPTER NINE- The Door To The Darkness
Well, I hope it was worth the wait. I'm hope that no-one has given up on me, and thank you for the many wonderful email which had forced me to get on with things. As always, thanks also go to my wonderful beta Rebecca Boren, who has cleaned this up from the possible mess that I would have submitted if it was not for her help!
So what do you think of Harry's life? You notice that I never really have the Dursleys batter Harry senseless, although they do threaten to do so. That's because I don't think they would do much more than push him around and slap him. I don't see them as people who would get their hands dirty and they would probably assume that by not physically hurting him, they are being 'good' to Harry. I know Dudley is a bullying little brat here but try to be forgiving, he is only following his warped father's lead! I'm not sure if in the books Harry's life was so harsh, perhaps when he was younger it was but as he grew older and learnt how not to behave with the Dursleys', their abuse turned to neglect since he was not in danger of exposing his 'freakish-ness' to the world. But in my story, they went the other way and chose to take their neglect to the extremes. That's just the way I see it.
For those who might wonder, the 'feeks' were in my school the equivalent of what American children call the 'cooties' (I'm sure every primary school has a word for this). It was always the smelly, loner child that no-one wanted to hold-hands with who had the feeks and if you touched him/her then you'd be 'infected' unless you touched someone to pass it along (yes, with an adult's hindsight, I see how cruel this was). Also, if there are any English readers here, was I correct in placing a five-year-old Harry in Year One? I was taught in Scotland where the school years are totally different and while my English cousin once tried to explain, it went right over my head!
I hope the Legilimens moments were what you expected; I wasn't sure how I was going to write it to begin with (another reason why this chapter took so long). I can't take credit for the idea of Memory Ribbons, that came from the imagination of an author who wrote 'The X-Men' fanfiction and this was how she portrayed how telepaths see the mind. I read that fic a good five or six years ago so I can't remember the name of the author or her story but if she's reading this then please contact me so I can credit the idea to you.
To answer some comments, some of you are worried that Neville is taking Harry's place as the Boy Who Lived and Hogwarts' little hero. Don't worry, Neville just defeated the troll to save his friend and other than that, he is still our shy Neville. As for what's happening with Quirrel, I see what happened in the events 'The Philosopher's Stone' as a huge orchestration by Dumbledore to force/cajole Harry to walk the path prophesised by Trelawney. It was just too easy for three eleven-year-olds to access the Stone and Dumbledore being conveniently away during this time, in my mind, confirms his part in making it easy for them (especially since he supplied the Invisibility Cloak). So, if Harry was not there then Dumbledore will be stopping Quirrel himself but we'll find out more later on. Also, well done to those who guessed, it was Moody who visited the Dursleys'- he seems like the man who would enjoy taking his Auror work to the limits! Dudley still lives with his mother since she was not too badly damaged as Vernon was.
Anyway, I'll leave you here. I hope to get the next chapter up soon although I really want to do more on my other HP fic 'The Burdens of Childhood' as well as the fact I'm working on a story for a fest. But, don't worry, I'll try my best. As always, feel free to email me or review with your thoughts on this chapter!