The End?

By Clhover

"Stop fighting it, boy! You know you deserve it!" Aunt Marge laughed shrilly from her position on the veranda. The rest of the Dursley's stood around her, laughing and pointing at the 'show'.

Meanwhile, eleven year old Harry Potter did his best to fight off a fifty pound, fully grown bulldog. Sadly, due to his far less than average size and his family's less than loving treatment since his return from Hogwarts, Harry simply didn't have the strength to hold onto the limb he had. With a cry of sheer terror that he was surprised the neighbor's didn't hear, Harry dropped to the ground harshly, Ripper still latched firmly to his leg, digging painfully into his leg.

Harry did his best to ignore the pain the dog was causing. Glaring at the mangy canine, Harry did the only thing he knew to do without his wand. He raised his fists, such as they were, and started to lay into the dog. Striking him about the head, he paid no attention to the outraged cries of his 'family'. He didn't stop when his Aunts screamed at him to quit beating the 'poor thing'. He ignored his Uncle telling him that he was in for far worse if he didn't stop this instant. He gave no acknowledgment when his cousin whined like a little girl about being hungry and he was bored now.

Instead, Harry kept on beating Ripper. On one back swing, Harry's hand connected with a stray rock at the base of the oak tree he had just fallen from. Not thinking, he grabbed the large-ish rock and swung. Ripper came away from Harry's leg with a truly satisfying- at least to Harry- yelping screech of pain. But Harry didn't stop there. No, he was tired of always being this thing's chew toy. He was tired of laying down and taking it like he was weak. He was a wizard. He was the Boy-Who-Lived. He was Harry James Potter and he was done being mistreated.

Raising the stone with a savage cry, Harry brought it down hard on the the dazed dog's head. He heard a sick crack as the hard object connected and saw a bit of blood on the dog's fur. Rearing back, Harry continued. He kept striking until the dog moved no more and was no longer a threat. Breathing heavily, the young boy watched for any sign of life. When he saw none, he got shakily to his feet, testing his injured leg. He was not quite healed from the Quirrel/Voldemort incident yet, and the added wound hurt like hell.

Aunt Marge came out of her shocked state and started screaming incoherently and ran for her precious dog. Uncle Vernon was as purple faced as Harry had ever seen him. Ham fists balled up tight, he charged for Harry like the now deceased bulldog on the ground. Grabbing the swaying boy up and slamming him into the fence was far too easy as the child was so lightweight and unresistant.

Now, normally, Harry would do something to protect himself from his Uncle's beatings. Something to keep the man from outright killing or disfiguring him. But not this time. This time, when he saw the large, walrus-man come at him, something seemed to snap within him. Suddenly, he could feel what everyone called 'accidental magic'. The pressure built within him and he instinctively knew that whatever he willed to happen, would. So as his Uncle's fist made a bee line for his face, Harry conjured a picture in his mind and 'wrapped it' in his magic. Then, just before contact, he pushed the image outwards towards his target. The fat man's fist crumpled into a misshapen mass of blood and bones.

An ear piercing shriek that nearly shattered Harry's poor eardrums followed and the small boy found himself in a heap on the ground at his Uncle's feet. With the pain all but taking over his Uncle's mind, Harry picked himself up and edged away from the steadily screaming man. Dudley shook himself then. Looking back and forth between his father and his freak of a cousin, the other young boy showed his intelligence- or lack thereof- by charging the raven haired boy.

Harry, tired of the evening's events and still resolved to not lie down and take it, focused on his cousin and pushed his will at him. Thankful for those anatomy lessons from primary school, Harry conjured an image and felt his magic surge again, this time directed by the young wizard's hand and mind. With a pinch and twist of his wand hand, Harry dispassionately watched as his hated cousin fell to the ground, silent and still. His neck was at an odd angle, denoting the break and cause of death.

Shrieking in grief and pain, Petunia did the only thing she could think to do. She raised her wooden spoon and threateningly advanced on the murderer of her son. Irritated and ready to be done already, Harry focused his magic again, this time summoning every cast iron implement from the kitchen and directing them at the horse faced woman. Three pans, a dutch oven and a myriad of stirring spoons came down on the odious woman. Each one hit hard and hit fast. Soon, Harry's Aunt Petunia joined her stupid son on the ground, never to rise again.

Marge, stuttering with grief over her Ripper, finally drew herself away from trying to resuscitate her beloved companion. Wiping her face, she looked around the yard at the taboo scene. Her brother was hunched on the ground, feebly whimpering over a stump of mush that used to be his hand. His wife was bludgeoned and bloody on the ground near the house. And her sweet little Dudders was laying with a strange angle to his head mere feet from the...

"YOU FREAK!" Marge found herself exclaiming. "What have you done, you ungrateful whelp? You... you... MURDERER! What in the nine bloody hells are you?!"

Harry turned to her with a blank-eyed expression and a sickening grin on his face. "Me? I'm nothing special. I'm just the last thing you will ever cause pain."

Harry gathered his magic and ended his other aunt quickly. A moment later, she slumped over dead next to her dog, her look of abject horror and outrage still on her face. Uncaring, Harry turned his blank stare towards his uncle. Approaching unafraid, Harry grabbed the fat tub of lard by his hair and jerked his head back. Vernon whimpered pathetically and Harry could smell the acrid scent of urine wafting in the air. His uncle had pissed himself. Good.

"Hello, Uncle Vernon. You know what you did." The large man whimpered and tears coursed down his face. "Don't try to deny it. You know what you did. You could have avoided all of this." The man went to speak. Harry wagged a finger at the still slowly bleeding man. "Ah-ah-ah. Discussion time is over. I talk now. They're all gone. And soon, you will be, too. I'll be free of you all. Forever. It's funny, though. Everything could have been different. You could have treated me civilly. You could have simply not abused me. Or the Headmaster could have believed me when I said it wasn't safe to send me back. He could have let me stay at school until graduation. I had found the school by-laws that let needful children board year round." Harry sighed and let go of his uncle's hair. Pacing away slightly, he looked around the yard and then up into the oak tree.

There, he saw Hedwig. For a moment, he thought she was mad at him for his actions. And then she flew down to perch on his shoulder and groomed his hair affectionately, comfortingly. Smiling gently at the only creature in the world that cared about him, he reached up with his off-hand to gently scratch her chest. Turning back to his uncle, he narrowed his eyes and raised his wand arm.

"Do you have anything else to say, Uncle?"

Vernon sobbed pleadingly. "I'm- I'm sorry!"

Harry paused for only a fraction of a second. Not because he was glad of the apology. Nor because he was contemplating giving the horrible piece of filth a second chance. No, he paused in anger because he knew the truth.

"No you're not!" Snarling, he twisted his whole hand and clenched his fist, breaking every bone in the man's body. Satisfied, Harry dropped his arm and finally relaxed every muscle in his body.

Now that the adrenaline no longer was coursing through his body, Harry began shaking and his vision became a bit blurry. Looking up to Hedwig on his shoulder, the boy tried to speak, but nothing came out. Much more quickly than he expected, Harry felt himself swaying and then falling to thud on the ground. Just before he lost consciousness, Harry just barely made out the swirl of dark robes.

oOoOo

Severus Snape hated owing the manipulative headmaster. But he had no other choice. Or, at least, no better choice. So it was with a sneer and a large feeling of anger and irritation that the Potions Master made his way down Privet Drive towards number 4. The house of the Boy-Who-Lived, Golden Gryffindor, and savior of the thrice be damned wizarding world. Albus had told him to check on the horrible little brat, claiming to be concerned after the way the boy had all but begged not to be sent back to his relatives. Probably didn't want to leave his adoring public to return to the normalcy.

Everyone knew that the boy was horribly spoiled and good for nothing, but they didn't care. He was the defeater of the Dark Lord. He could do not wrong. But Severus knew different. Severus wouldn't let the brat-who-annoyed get anything by him. So with gliding steps and a Notice-Me-Not applied liberally, Snape made a fast clip towards the cookie cutter house that roofed his most hated student.

Approaching the house, Severus heard a hard thud from somewhere around back of the house. Good, maybe they had put the horrible little egotist to work. Knocking on the door, he waited to be greeted. When two more consecutive knocks brought no response, the dark haired man began to become more irritable. Taking out his wand, he spelled the door open and walked inside. Not bothering to waste any time, he cast another spell to check for the residents of the house. It showed one presence out back. Making his way to the kitchen, Snape stopped in shock as he peered through the glass sliding door.

There scattered in the yard lay a sickening scene. A dog, a fat woman, a skinny woman, an obese young boy, and a truly huge man lay unmoving and presumed dead on the lawn. Just collapsing amidst the chaos was none other than the boy himself, Harry Potter. Casting another detection charm to make sure no others were about to ambush him, Snape rushed to the only one that mattered to his mission. Kneeling next to the nearly twelve year old boy, he marveled for a second at just how tiny the boy looked. Shaking himself, he cast for signs of life. When nothing more than severe magical drain came back on the scan, he sighed.

Taking another look at the scene around him, the Professor decided there was only one way to get a quick answer to the mess that was this situation. Laying the boy flat on the ground, Snape leveled his wand at him. Usually, Legillimancy requires eye contact. That is unless you have the necessary experience to do otherwise. So with a quick utterance of the spell, Severus dove into the child's mind. Instead of the answers he wanted, seemingly random images began to sprout up in the boy's mind-scape.

Harry is three years old and being forced to scrub the floors with a toothbrush. His aunt is standing over him with a horrible sneer on her face, not even offering direction nor help.

Harry is maybe five and cooking breakfast while precariously perched on a chair. His aunt storms in and grabs up the pan, screaming that it's burnt. The boy starts to blubber and apologize only to be rewarded with the hot frying pan to the head. Another boy, fat and disgusting, stands laughing uproariously in the doorway. The memory fades with an echo of pain.

Harry is six, just started primary and is showing his uncle his first of the year test. A perfect score. The fat walrus' face goes purple with incandescent rage. He grabs the sheet and rips is to shreds and tosses it in the fire. Turning back to the now quaking boy, he proceeds to beat him and the memory goes fuzzy.

Harry is eight and running from his cousin and a few other, bigger boys. They are screaming something about 'Harry Hunting'. The smaller boy is pushing himself hard, knowing his cousin had just found a very fast addition to his gang and is desperate to keep away from them. When he wipes a drivel of sweat from his eyes, he stumbles over a tree root and crashes to the ground. Seconds later, he is kicked and punched and beaten. When he stops fighting, they get bored and leave. Sitting up, Harry can barely breath and is missing a tooth.

Harry is ten. He's at the zoo for the first time. He talks to a snake that no one is interested in. It talks backs. His Uncle catches him and drags him away. He's thrown in a cupboard with bloody stripes on his back and the promise of not seeing the light of day for a week with no food.

Harry is nearly twelve. Ripper the bulldog is latched onto him. He drops from the tree. He's done. He's snapped. A rock finds its way to his hand. He gets rid of the source of pain. His Uncle threatens him. He discovers wandless magic. His relatives can't hurt him anymore. He's tired. He can rest now.

Severus pulled out of the spell and lurched away from the still form in front of him. Staring down at the raven haired boy, he can feel the blood drain from his face. How can Harry Potter, the most spoiled boy alive, have led a life like this? But the man knew. Snape knew he had been lied to. He had been told each and every time he had asked about the boy since that night that he was being spoiled rotten and doted on. He had been told that he would be a supreme specimen of wizarding health when he finally reentered the wizarding world. But it was all a lie.

A lie told by one Albus Dumbledore.

The boy had not shown up healthy. He was eleven and looked closer to eight. He should have been taught the basic rudimentary skills every young wizard had. Instead, he was ignorant of nearly everything. He was supposed to strut into the school like he owned the place. Instead, he had slouched around the corridors like he wanted to fade into the stone. He should have been arrogant, but looking back, Snape realized that Harry Potter was anything but.

Staring down at the young child, Severus came to a very hard decision. One that he knew would change his life forever. Gathering the boy up, he held him close to his chest and settled him when he stiffened. A sound drew the man's attention to the lone oak tree in the back garden. Looking up, he saw a fierce snowy owl eyeing him, measuring his intentions towards her boy.

"I can help him." Severus said softly, knowing that to step wrong with a fully bonded familiar was to see yourself severely hurt. The owl- Hedwig, he remembered- watched him for a moment more. Finally, she fluttered down from her perch and landed on the Potions Master's shoulder and set to grooming her boy's hair.

"Hold on if you would. As tight as you can." Severus felt talons dig into his shoulder as gently, but firmly, as the large owl could.

With a clear image in mind, he apparated to a seldom used room in Gringotts Bank. People usually forgot this room was here, but those who needed it knew. This room was used as a last resort. When there was no way out and nothing else to lose and everything to gain. The single door leading in or out opened to reveal a young looking goblin.

The goblin bared its' teeth and said, "State your business or face the consequences."

Not daring to anger the goblin nation with a perceived false alarm, Severus quickly told him of his plans. "I need a de-aging potion, a blood adoption potion, new identity papers, emergency American Citizenship documents for father and son, and an appointment with the Potter account manager."

After the goblin showed them to a small office deep within the caverns, Severus turned his attention back to the boy now on his lap. Removing his wand, he ran another health scan to check for minor wounds this time. A fresh bite was on his left ankle and his right was twisted from one or two falls, but otherwise, he was fine for now. Just then, a goblin entered the office door and they began their discussion.

Nearly twelve hours later, Severus stood over the tiny hospital bed as he stared at his new son. Newly minted Sebastian Hadrian Potter-Snape lay in his tiny cot at a mere month old after the de-aging and blood adoption ceremony a few hours before. In a half hour, the father and son were to portkey to an American Embassy in London to make their way to the states and their new life. All Potter and Snape accounts were frozen until such time as they returned/resurfaced in the UK.

Seeing their escort coming, Severus gently scooped up little Sebastian and followed the goblin out. They were leaving, away from the danger, away from the lies. Perhaps this time, the two unhappy men could finally be happy together.

oOoOo

Twenty years later...

"Dad! I'm home!" Seb called as he knocked the snow from his boots in the entry.

Severus, his Potions Master father, peered around the corner at the end of the hall. "So it would appear. Do you have it, then?"

Seb rolled his eyes in a deliberate attempt to goad his father. He knew how much he hated the uncouth action. "Of course I have it. Do you really think I would come back without it? Don't be dunderhead, Father. That's rule number one."

Severus ignored his son's attempt at annoying him and strode down the hall and beckoned for the results impatiently. All but snatching them away from his now grown son with a smirk of amusement, he read the paper that would make or break his son's dream career. Silently, he prayed it would be the boy's certificate of Mastery and not a notice of failure.

A slow, small grin curved his usually dour lips. When he looked up, the same look was on his boy's face. "Congratulations, Sebastian." The father pulled the son into a rare, warm hug.