This one was a blast to write. Hopefully it's just as entertaining a read.

Chapter Eight: revelation

15 October, 1989

Surrey, South East England

All he knew was rejection. It was all he'd ever known. No matter where he went, no matter what he did, however quiet and unobtrusive he tried to make himself, it never seemed enough. Vernon would yell and shout at him, Petunia would shriek and sneer, and Dudley would shove him or hit him or push him down the stairs.

At school, children avoided him for fear of Dudley's wrath should they attempt even a casual acquaintanceship with him. Teachers would call him sloppy for his baggy clothes or mutter about "that delinquent boy" while sympathizing with Vernon and Petunia's plight at being saddled with him.

He didn't understand, couldn't possibly fathom what he had done that had merited this life of his. Other children got parents that loved them, praised them for even a meager and average grade. When he got full marks, he was chastised for cheating or (when none of their fabricated evidence seemed to add up) making his cousin look bad by comparison.

One day, two weeks before Halloween, it came to a head.

Harry had just gotten back a Maths test and was glowing at the 'A*' at the top while walking back to the Dursleys'. Despite several accusations of cheating (even from Vernon and Petunia themselves), none of them had ever held any ground against even the most determined enquiries, leaving him to continue to set the bar for his fellow students.

His cousin had his own opinions on that matter.

"Oi, you git!" Dudley shouted, and Harry felt himself shoved from behind, pitching forward and landing on the sidewalk. A chorus of laughter sounded from Dudley's gang of hangers-on, friends as cruel as he was or cowards hoping to stay by his side and thus out of his path. Climbing to his feet, Harry was on his hands and knees when he felt a kick against his side that sent him right back to the concrete. "You made the lot of us look like idiots, you know that?"

"You don't need…any help with that," Harry said with a grunt, climbing again to his feet. Dudley yanked him the rest of the way before hooking him across the eye with his fist, but Harry kept his footing, staggering and glaring at his cousin with one eye while pressing his hand over the other against a black eye already beginning to form. "What you do need help with is Maths. I could tutor you."

"You could sod off and never come back," Dudley shot back. "It's not like anyone wants you here. The only reason we got stuck with you is 'cause your parents had to go and get themselves killed. Not like they would've wanted – "

He was abruptly cut off, because it's rather difficult to speak with a fist in your face. Harry felt a jolt of pain up his arm, but it was worth bruising his knuckles on Dudley's thick skull to hear the satisfying sound of his cousin grunting in pain. Stumbling back, Dudley stared at him with blood streaming from his nose, his expression mirroring the shock Harry felt at his own actions.

"You are so gonna get it," Dudley said, turning and hurrying away as fast as his considerable size would allow. "I'm telling!"

Well, Harry didn't know what else he'd expected.

…

When he got back to the Dursley household (dragging his feet but not staying out overlong due to the chill in the air), he was greeted inside the door by an absolute ham of a fist closing around his collar and dragging him bodily to the living room. That same beefy paw threw him into the middle of the floor, and he looked up to see Dudley shoot him a smug look before going back to a bout of crocodile tears into his mother's shoulder. Petunia Dursley was eating up the spectacle, patting and shushing and comforting her poor victimized little Dudders.

"Who the bloody hell do you think you are!?" Vernon shouted at him, thundering into the living room. "You attack my son? I allow you into my home, feed and clothe you, and you attack my boy!?"

"Did he mention the part where he attacked me – "

Whap! Harry's words were cut off by a tooth-rattling backhand, a sting of pain in his cheek letting him know that he had bitten it open.

"Don't you ever lay a hand on my son, do you understand?" Vernon threatened.

"That's ironic," Harry said.

He saw, as if in slow motion, Vernon rear back for another slap. That massive slab of a hand closed in on his face, but a split-second before impact, it stopped, as if grabbed by an invisible force. Harry, fists clenched at his sides, glared hatefully up at the man, at the embodiment of his misery. Though he couldn't see it, he somehow knew that that flabby wrist was being held at bay by him, could sense that the invisible force was his, his willpower and his suffering made manifest. A tension he hadn't been aware of simply because it had become so commonplace was now churning through him, funneling out and exerting itself on the world around him. Looking up, Harry saw fear in Vernon's eyes.

Harry liked that.

He took hold of that unseen force.

And he pushed.

Vernon flew back with a yelp, and a pair of screams came from the couch as the Dursley patriarch collided with the bookshelf behind him hard enough for a splintering crack to be heard.

"Did you want to try to hit me again?" Harry asked, watching Vernon crumple to the ground. Backing toward the door, he took one last moment to regard the twin expressions of fear on Petunia and Dudley's faces.

And then he ran.

…

On fifteen October, 1989, Albus Dumbledore received a rather panicked letter from an equally panicked owl over his afternoon tea. No doubt the bird had been instructed to see to the letter's prompt delivery and perusal at all costs, though its zealousness had resulted in more than a couple of pecked fingers sustained in the process.

Still, once he read the contents of the correspondence, he appreciated Arabella Doreen Figg's earnestness.

He promptly took the Floo network to the Three Broomsticks, brusquely greeting a very confused Madame Rosmerta on his way from her bar. Out in the cool air of Hogsmeade afternoon in autumn (and wishing he could stay to enjoy a leisurely walk through the streets of the wizarding village), he disapparated.

The scene at Number Four Privet Drive was absolute bedlam.

Several muggle emergency medical responders had to be turned away with a mild Compulsion Charm, convinced that Vernon Dursley had simply suffered a rather extreme bout of gassiness which had remedied itself on the scene. Thanks to Albus's ability to remain unseen when he so desired, the curious neighbors would only have this story corroborated once the Dursley family themselves explained their modified memories of the situation.

This left one spanner in the works, however, and it was rather a serious one.

Harry Potter was now at large.

Thankfully, a boy of nine was an easy thing to predict, and after a bit of questioning (and some mental digging via Legillimency), Albus had learned of Harry's favorite retreat whenever his situation with his family became too much to bear.

Thus, Albus found himself on this chilly October evening visiting the park not far from Privet Drive, where a lone boy sat on a swing, shivering against a biting breeze. It was Albus's first time seeing Harry in nearly eight years; he'd grown so very much. The resemblance to James was simply uncanny, though as he turned his gaze up to the headmaster, a pair of breathtakingly green eyes glimmered behind a set of round glasses.

Lily's eyes.

"Good evening, Harry," Albus said in his most peaceable voice. Harry tensed at the use of his name, frowning.

"How d'you know my name?" he asked. "Are you…with the police?"

He was clearly baffled at the sight of Albus, whose violet robes and long silver hair and beard were most certainly unlike anything he'd ever seen before. It was a reaction he'd found great amusement in eliciting during his time as Deputy Headmaster under Armando Dippet, and he found himself reliving those memories as he approached.

"I'm not with the police, no," Albus said with a shake of his head and a kindly smile. A gentle probe of Harry's thoughts revealed a tension and fear that was old and familiar to the boy. Never once had he had a chance to really relax, to let go of the constant fight-or-flight instinct that had taken hold once he'd realized he wasn't wanted in his own home. "My name is Albus Dumbledore."

"That's a really weird name," Harry observed after a moment's consideration, and Albus chuckled at him.

"I suppose it is, isn't it?" he said, moving to crouch in front of Harry. "You'll love to hear where I'm from, then. A school, known as Hogwarts."

Harry actually cracked a little smile at that, letting a quiet chuckle at the odd appellation the Founders had given their school. More of Godric Gryffindor's odd sense of humor, he'd been told.

"What sort of school?" he asked.

"A school of magic," Albus told him. "One that you yourself will attend in about two years' time."

"I'm…magic?" Harry asked, looking thoughtful for a moment. "That would make sense, I guess. Couldn't I attend now? Is it a boarding school? Couldn't I just stay there instead of living with…with them?"

He accepted the truth so easily, so desperately, that Albus felt a momentary stab of sympathy for him.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Harry," he said with a shake of his head. "For the time being, and until you are of age, you must stay with your family. Not to worry, though. Today's events, Vernon Dursley's treatment of you, the revelation of your abilities…all of it will be a forgotten dream. You will wake up in your bed, having no recollection of the afternoon's events."

"My bed is in a cupboard," Harry said, springing to his feet. "They make me sleep in a cupboard, they treat me like a slave, I hate it here. I hate being alive."

"Perhaps, one day, you will appreciate such a sentiment," Albus said, extracting his wand from his pocket. "Stupefy."

Harry's eyes slammed shut, and he went limp, slacking forward into Albus's waiting arms. He was slim, clearly malnourished and lacking for exercise. While pragmatic, Albus was not immune to the gravity of the boy's plight. As he stood with poor Harry in his arms, he felt for the son of Lily and James, knew that the life that awaited him would be both short and full of hardship. His existence was regrettably and inexorably entwined with that of Tom Riddle; he was the key to his eventual return to power and subsequent fall.

It was an unfortunate necessity that he remain with the Dursleys, both to ensure his continued survival until the time came for him to play his part, and also to give proper scope to the wonders of the magical world that awaited him when he turned eleven. It was much easier to leave behind an existence mostly reflected in misery and hardship—to give yourself up in sacrifice to ensure the continued glow of your only source of happiness—than to put a premature end to the good life promised by a happy upbringing.

It was a simple calculus, but one most couldn't fathom. And it was why Albus tended to adopt the persona of the mysterious but benevolent sage. Best to keep his plans the unfathomable workings of the mind of a genius than to let anyone in on them and risk them falling victim to a crisis of conscience.

If he was the only one able to see the inevitability of Tom's return as Lord Voldemort, to understand that Harry was the only one supposed to have the power to end his reign for good, then it was his burden to shoulder.

And, eventually, it would be Harry's.

That was simply how it had to be.

"Obliviate."

…

Today…

Merely watching her listen to music was often better than the music itself. Her shoulders would begin to move in time to the beat, her eyes closing as she focused all of herself on the song.

Lily Evans didn't simply listen to music; she experienced it, with every fiber of her being.

"Oh, Sev, I love the guitar riff right at the beginning of this one. It just gives me chills every time."

And she would pull the headphones away from her ears, passing them to him with that elfin smile of hers inviting him to share the experience, to share in her. With shaking hands, Severus would always accept, could never ever say no to Lily. Dainty fingers would reach out and slowly curl to press the button on her Edison Electronics cassette player (she was itching to buy the portable CD player they had just come out with, the one Severus has shown her), starting the song over.

Guitar in his ears, drums and a splash of piano. Muggle music was always a bit sloppy, he claimed, rough around the edges. Lily insisted that that was what made it real. No magical timekeeping, no enchanted drum sets with flawless rhythm, just people with a song to play and passion to fuel it.

"You don't know what she means, you see.

She's a heart that beats close to me."

Despite not having the earphones on, he saw Lily's lips moving along in perfect time with the words, her fingers drumming on her thigh as the beat thumped in his ears.

"Gettin' back to the way I feel.

Her honest word is my only real thing…"

It was a slow, almost mournful song, about a girl of course. According to Lily, all the best songs were written about girls.

"Every single one. Nothing else can cause that sort of heartache. Songs are emotion, and anguish, love, that brutal gut-punch of pain, Sev… A man needs to let that go, and music is just perfect for it."

He could listen to her talk for hours…

"Emerald eyes is a mystery.

She's my place of serenity."

Her lips were moving in time with the song, and Severus slowly removed the headphones, listening to her sing the words she could tell were playing without even hearing the music. Her voice was quiet, singing along for her own benefit rather than the intent for anyone else to hear it, but it was still the most beautiful thing he would ever listen to. She wouldn't be winning any awards for her musical prowess, but if they gave prizes for sheer enthusiasm, she would sweep the show with no contest.

And for those wonderful summer months, the show was all his, a private concert all his own to savor, to cherish, to never forget.

Severus never wanted it to end.

…

Blearily, Severus felt awareness creep back into him, along with a numb, stiff sensation that morphed into pain each time he attempted to move. It could only be an attempt, because his hands were bound behind him, down to his fingers, and his legs were similarly restrained, all the way up to his knees. His mouth attempted to work dryly around the cloth of a gag, and when he opened his eyes, he was greeted with the dimly lit bars of a cell.

Captured, then. By Potter, he recalled, as memories of the brutal beating he'd received while on patrol resurfaced.

"Find emerald eyes in the night,

Gleamin' shiny and bright,

As if covered with silverrrrr…"

At first, he thought the song was still an echo of the dream he'd had, but it was indeed playing, bouncing off of high stone walls nearby. Nearby proved to be a massive stone chamber that had to be deep underneath the school. Aside from the music, there was an intermittent dripping sound that was magnified by a cavernous echo.

He was far from any hope of rescue, then.

Outside his cell (which was large and round and had probably once been a pipe before the bars had been transfigured into existence), high stone pillars entwined with carved wooden serpents sat at intervals along the walls, disappearing up into the curious green gloom that hung about the place. At the farthest end, almost out of sight from his angle, Severus could see a massive stone statue of Salazar Slytherin.

He was in the Chamber of Slytherin.

It was quite a bit more than a myth, it seemed.

As he sat up, he couldn't help but let a pained groan into his gag; somehow, he had been made to survive his ordeal, but he definitely still had a lot of bruising and broken bones. More than likely, Potter had given him a Numbing Draught so he wouldn't be in constant agony.

To what end, Severus wasn't entirely sure. It certainly couldn't be anything good.

His small exclamation had nonetheless carried throughout the massive room, and through the gloom, Severus saw a figure hunched over a book lit by a floating lantern sit upright before looking in his direction.

"Severus!" Harry Potter's voice shouted, manic and jubilant. He sprang to his feet and vaulted over the back of a chair he had set up, along with an entire makeshift lounge area, in the center of the chamber. As he hurried over to the cell, Severus shouted into his gag, and had he the use of his voice, it would have been screaming every expletive he knew.

"Rrraaah!" Harry yelled back with a cackle as he reached Severus's cell, grabbing onto the bars and making a show of pretending to shake them. "Aaaah, he wants out! Severus—is this your favorite song of all time?"

He pointed back to his lounge, to the boombox he'd set up on a low table next to his chair. It was indeed playing Severus's favorite song, and hearing it while in such dire circumstances was causing him no small amount of turmoil.

"She's still a mystery to me,

The way she sails away slow.

Makes your day-to-day life easy."

"Fleetwood Mac, cracking good choice, I must say," Harry said. "Their earlier stuff is good in a gritty sort of way, but I feel they really shine once Stevie and Lindsey join up. Severus! I found your CDs, you have a whole…bloody folio of them!"

He reached for the lounge area, which was meters away, but as he held his hand outstretched, Severus saw flying toward it the black zip-up folio where he kept all of the CDs he'd made.

For her.

The binder zipped into Harry's hand, as though he'd cast a perfect wandless Summoning Charm. But there was too much finesse, too much minute course-correction. This wasn't wandless magic, at least not in the traditional sense.

This was some form of telekinesis…

"You have…excellent taste in music, Severus, I mean—this is phenomenal," Harry said in intense, frantic tones. "Fleetwood Mac, The Rolling Stones, Blue Swede, David Bowie. It's just a shame you're such a…a bad person. I mean, Severus, you are…terrible! That's why, though—that's why I wanted you alive. Long enough to let you know that this is all only happening because of how terrible you are. How does that feel, Severus!? How does it feel to know that this," he gestured around him, arms thrown out as he spun in a circle that carried him back toward the lounge and necessitated raising his voice to a booming, echoing shout, "is aaallll your fault!? And Albus Dumbledore's but mostly yours. I mean…you didn't have to die for this whole thing to work out, I could have…tormented him in other ways. And I will."

By now he was consulting the folio again, paging through it before drawing out a particular CD.

Wait… Had he just said "die"?

"Severus," Harry said with relish, "I bloody love this song!"

He hurried back over to the boombox, cutting off the song that was playing ("Radar Love" by Golden Earring) and popping the CD out before putting in the one he'd just unearthed. Pushing a few buttons, he muttered to himself.

"…spring for a five-disc changer next time…"

Seconds later, a new song was filling the air, a female voice crooning a long note while muted guitar tones accompanied.

"Gimme Shelter" by The Rolling Stones.

Another of her favorites.

"Has there ever, Severus, been a more iconic band than The Rolling Stones?" Harry asked as he straightened up. "Trick question, there has. But they really—they just embody that youthful counterculture of the sixties, don't they? They sang about the problems and the dissidence and they couldn't get no satisfaction and they wanted to paint it black! Severus! I'm gonna paint it black, too! All of it!"

He was shouting again, his voice carried high up to the gloom-enshrouded ceiling. Gone was the calm and calculating boy that had caused such discourse in his Potions lessons, and in his place was this absolute mad child. Severus tried once to pull his wrists free of their bindings, but pain erupted all down his arms as he did. He hadn't missed the implied threat in Potter's words, though, that he'd wanted Severus alive "long enough".

An impact on his cell's bars caused Severus to jolt, and Harry's face was now nearly pressed against them.

"You're not paying attention, Severus," he said in a voice of quivering rage. "That's really, really rude. I kept you alive, you should be thanking me. That's just like you, though, isn't it!? Nothing's ever good enough for you, you just have to—to dump on everyone and everything because you're soooo superior, you've got it all figured out, probably think you've suffered and life isn't fair, oh boohoo!"

He stared at Severus with intense, seething hatred in those glimmering green eyes before his face abruptly split in a grin, and he cackled right at Severus. Throwing himself away from the bars, he hurried over to the lounge area once more, rifling through a bag that Severus could barely see.

"Do you know what you do when life isn't fair, Severus?" he asked. "Tell life to suck on a lemon. You get mad at life! Don't take it out on a bunch of defenseless children just because things didn't go your way. Walk it off, learn all you can and take all you can. Like this."

Severus's eyes shot wide as Harry emerged from his rummaging with a ruby-red stone clutched in his hand. It was misshapen and lumpy like any common rock, though it glowed from within, the light seeming to pulse like a heartbeat.

The Philosopher's Stone.

"You know what this is, Severus?" Harry said in tones of shaking excitement. "You should, it's the alchemist's Holy Grail. How do you think I answered every question the class had to throw at me that day? Just having this thing on your person makes you a potions genius! And learning anything new is a snap, I'm telling you. Everything I read, from Moste Potente Potions to 1,005 Recipes for Busy Housewives, all I have to do is skim it, and the knowledge stays there, stuck with absolute perfect recall."

How could he have possibly gotten it!? Albus had been absolutely sure no one would have been able to even get past the dog, let alone the other defense measures.

"It's just a shot away!

It's just a shot away!

Raaaaape, murder!"

"And Albus Dumbledore kept it behind a bloody obstacle course," Harry said with a shake of his head, now pacing left and right. "Can you believe what an idiot that man is? I mean…first of all, he keeps the damn thing here in a school, surrounded by children. What do you think the parents are going to think when they find out he kept a mythical stone here when there could have been any number of lunatics trying to get to it? And then, of course, he makes the first line of defense a cerberus stationed behind a badly-locked—I used a standard Unlocking Charm that I learned literally the first day I found out I was magic," Harry stopped and turned to glare at Severus as though this were personally his fault. "Any little first-year could go in there and get devoured, and do you think Dumbledore's warning did anything but excite the entire student body's curiosity?"

He stopped, studying the stone for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket and turning to regard Severus with an earnest, rictus grin.

"This is so nice, having someone to talk to," he said. "That's why I was hoping you'd live long enough for me to just…get it all out there. I can't tell anyone else any of this, I'd have to kill them. But I'm already going to kill you, aren't I?"

He let a low chuckle at that, which morphed into another mad cackle.

"Severus, I'm going to kill you!" he shouted, and Severus thrashed against his bindings once more, ignoring the lancing pain it caused. If he could just get one hand free, he could probably manage a spell, even wandless and gagged as he was. Harry grabbed the bars once more, again shouting in mock-frustration along with him. "Aaaaah, let me out! It's not fair, I'm not supposed to be in a position of weakness! I'm used to my cushy teaching job where I can belittle children and take out my insecurities on them! Waaaah, Albus, save me from all of the criticisms!"

White-hot rage now burned behind Severus's eyes, and he glared into Potter's. Earlier, his mind had been a blank wall, featureless and impenetrable. Now, it was open to him, but it was a maelstrom of indecipherable fury. Severus could sooner stroll through a hurricane than discern any meaningful message from Potter's thoughts.

"What's it like, Severus?" the boy asked with quiet intensity. "The impotent rage, the feeling of being so—so pissed off but completely unable to do anything about it? It's such an injustice, is it not? Sort of…how nearly every student feels when they're told they have to sit through your classes in order to complete their education."

Severus found himself rolling his eyes despite his situation; he was as pretentious as his father, there could be no doubt.

"Oh, you're going to miss such an exciting week, Severus," Harry said, turning and strolling away from the cell once more. "To be a fly on the wall of Dumbledore's ostentatious little office when the Daily Prophet hits on Monday. It's going to be—have you ever read The Count of Monte Cristo? It's quite a good book. Albus Dumbledore is the man responsible for every second of suffering in my life, and I'm going to get my revenge, Severus. Starting with the mysterious disappearance of his pet child-abuser."

He turned his gaze back to Severus, his mouth stretching into another of those disturbingly-wide smiles.

"Ready?"

He stuck his hand out, and with an echoing groan, the bars on Severus's cell bent apart wide enough for him to fit through. Severus felt himself lift off the ground, floating out of the cell and beginning another series of painful thrashes. He just needed to get his hand free, just needed to get out of this! Potter, meanwhile, was reaching into his pocket, withdrawing a slip of black cloth that he fitted over his eyes.

"I asked her to keep her eyes shut while she was eating so you would get the full experience, but just in case…" he said. "You won't win any staring contests with her, let me tell you."

Eating? Eating!? Severus was not in the business of being eaten!

"Oh, don't fuss," Harry chided him, staring blindly at a point to Severus's left. "Face your death with dignity, man. You should feel bad for me; I don't even get to watch."

In the distance, a grating of stone grinding against itself sounded, distorted by the sheer size of the room. The statue of Salazar Slytherin was slowly opening its mouth, and seconds later, it disgorged a creature that had to be thirty feet long. Even from a distance, Severus could tell it was massive, the impact of its landing on the stone floor of the chamber sending an audible whump all the way to where he and Harry were floating and standing, respectively.

"This is Hedwig," Harry said in conversational tones, his free hand waving in a gesture in the vague direction of a massive snake as it slithered toward them. The color was difficult to make out, though it had thick spiny scales along its back, like a dragon's, and its face bore thick plating that looked almost like horns.

It had in fact obligingly closed its eyes, which written accounts detailed were a startling glowing yellow.

"She's actually second generation," Harry went on. "The 'Monster of Slytherin' died about two hundred years ago, though from what Hedwig's told me, she was a nutter. Salazar really did a number on her, Compulsion Charms, Legillimency, anything he could to make it hate muggle-borns and obey only his heirs. Hedwig here's just happy to have a pal. S'thahas, hethi'a oss's'ah-heth?"

The basilisk hissed and spat right back at him, and if it was possible, it sounded downright affectionate toward its new friend.

"Well, that's just rude," Harry said with a chuckle. "She didn't mean that, you'll be plenty filling a meal. Now, up we go!"

Severus was hurled into the air, and the second-to-last thing he saw as he spun through the darkness was the grim sight of the Chamber of Slytherin, deep under the castle where absolutely no one knew he was, and no one had any clue that he was living his last moments.

The very last thing he saw was the maw of the basilisk, opened wide and ready for him.

It was not the last thing he felt, however.