WARNING: This chapter may be somewhat upsetting as it contains an episode of child abuse, mostly violence and humiliation, nothing very graphic.
(Disclaimer: don't own, never will, don't plan to. Just doing it for fun.)
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Chapter 16: Return to Hell
Harry was bored. Again. There wasn't much to do in the Professor's house, really. Once he got the hang of the really old washing machine, Harry stripped the bed and washed the sheets, along with his clothes from yesterday. He swept and dusted the entire house and then flopped on the sofa in the sitting room, playing with his white stone and half-heartedly reading the magical book the Professor gave him last night, though he couldn't concentrate. He wondered what was taking the Professor so long, as it seemed to be getting close to noon now. He wasn't hungry for lunch, even though some niggling feeling in the back of his mind told him that the Professor would be angry with him for skipping a meal. Harry shrugged and decided he just wouldn't say anything about missing lunch. His stomach was tying itself in knots with worry and he couldn't eat anything.
After awhile longer, he fetched out the chess set and tried to play a game against himself. The pieces got terribly confused, and soon Harry was hopelessly confused as well. As he sat on black's side, (or what he was pretty sure had been black's starting side) gnawing a fingernail and trying to figure out what the heck he was doing, the floo suddenly whooshed. Harry looked up with a smile of relief, about to beg the Professor to tell him what he'd done wrong; but his smile vanished when the old bearded man in the funny robes stepped out of the green flames instead.
Flustered and nervous, Harry jumped to his feet and wished he was dressed in his nicer clothes. His T-shirt and sweatpants felt horribly disrespectful and his bare arms prickled. He felt rather exposed and was suddenly aware of how very alone and helpless he was.
"Hello, Harry," the old man said cheerfully, his blue eyes kind and twinkling.
"H-hello, Headmaster, sir," Harry stammered. He grabbed the yapping chess board and quickly moved it to the corner table, freeing the coffee table. But it was still littered with broken bits of defeated black and white chess pieces. "I'm really sorry about the mess, um … d'you want some tea, sir?"
"No thank you, my boy," the Headmaster smiled kindly. He waved his stick and Harry flinched involuntarily. But the old man was just cleaning up the chess game. Once the pieces were all fixed, they magically jumped into their box and fell silent. "I see Severus has been attempting to turn you into a chess champion," the Headmaster chuckled. "Are you any good yet?"
"No sir," Harry murmured uncomfortably. "Um … sir? Where's the Professor? Is he okay?"
"Professor Snape is …" the old man paused, looking conflicted. "Well, he is not able to come. Something happened and he has been … detained, for a while. It may be some days before you see him again."
Harry blinked in dismay. This was bad. He couldn't understand what the old Headmaster was saying, but it sounded like the Professor had been arrested or something. He fidgeted nervously and couldn't find any words to reply.
"Why don't we sit down?" the Headmaster said briskly, gesturing at the sofa with a smile.
Harry obediently sat on the very edge of the couch, nervously twisting the hem of his T-shirt in his fingers. The old man sat down in Professor Snape's chair, and for some reason, that made Harry irrationally angry. He had never experienced such a possessive streak of temper before and it frightened him. With supreme effort, Harry pushed the brief feeling of rage aside and came back to reality to realize that the old man had been talking and Harry couldn't recall a single word of what he'd said.
"Do you understand, Harry?" he finished.
Harry was about to nod, like he always did back at the Dursleys to avoid making them mad, but the old man's blue eyes were staring right at him and he didn't like the way it felt. "No sir," Harry whispered softly instead.
"What don't you understand, dear child?" the Headmaster asked in a gentle voice.
"I …" Harry shook his head helplessly. "I, um … I didn't … I didn't exactly … hear you, sir," he explained in a faint voice.
"Harry, there is no reason to worry about Professor Snape," the Headmaster smiled reassuringly. "That's what you are distracted about, yes?"
Harry nodded miserably. "Was it 'cause of me?" he asked desperately. "D-did he get arrested because of me?"
"No, child," Dumbledore replied earnestly. "Professor Snape has many more problems, and you are not one of them."
"Oh," Harry muttered. It felt stupid, but he kind of would like to be somebody's problem. It meant that he was important enough to worry about.
"Harry, did you by chance see this morning's newspaper? Professor Snape was reading it, I believe."
"Yes sir," Harry replied promptly. "Want me to go get it?"
"Did you happen to see the headline?"
Harry frowned in confusion. "Um, something about somebody escaping?"
"That is correct, Harry," the Headmaster nodded gravely. "Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban, and you are in danger. Did Professor Snape explain it to you?"
"N-no sir," Harry whispered, staring at his lap. There was too much to think of and he couldn't connect any of it. Why should he care if some crazy person escaped from the place with the weird name? He wanted to ask about this Azkaban, since this was the third or fourth time he'd heard the strange word. But he didn't want to ask the old man. He wanted to wait until he could ask the Professor, so he stayed quiet.
"Did he tell you what happened on the night your parents died?" the Headmaster suddenly asked in a careful tone.
Harry nodded reluctantly, but he didn't trust his voice.
"Well, the secret keeper who betrayed your parents was named Sirius Black. He was caught and sent to the prison of Azkaban for life, but he is now on the loose. We believe that he may attempt to find you … and kill you."
Harry's head snapped up and he stared incredulously at the old Headmaster. "Kill me?" he echoed.
"Yes, Harry," the Headmaster sighed, looking old and worried. "But there is one place in the world where you will be completely safe from him because of magical protections put in place when you were a baby. I'm here to take you there."
Harry looked up incredulously at the bearded old man. "B-but … the Professor," he protested weakly. "He'll come home and I won't be here … He'll get mad."
"He will be fine, Harry," the Headmaster assured him, a bit impatiently, Harry thought. "Once he is free, I will tell him where you are and he will visit you, alright?"
Harry nodded reluctantly. His head spun with fear and dread and worry. Who was going to help him when the big bad wolf called him in the middle of the night? Who was going to give him potions when his muscles hurt and his bones ached? Was he going to be all alone at this safe place?
"Now, would you like to go pack your things?" the Headmaster asked kindly, but Harry thought it sounded more like an order. "Professor Snape informed me that he got you some clothing and other things. You're welcome to take them with you."
Harry nodded again, feeling numb, and he got up to go pack. There wasn't much, really. He trudged up the stairs and stopped in the doorway to the bedroom. With a shaky sigh, he grabbed the duffel bag containing the clothes that the Professor had given him, and he stared at the row of bottles on the dresser. There was one for headaches and one for pain and one for fevers, and a small jar of salve that he was supposed to be putting on his healing wounds to keep them from scarring too badly and help them finish healing. He snatched all of them and shoved them into his bag. He wouldn't disobey the Professor and he would take his medicine, even though it all tasted nasty. He quickly changed his sweatpants for some light jeans, stuffed them into his bag, and opened the drawer in the nightstand by the bed. There in the drawer, where it had lain since he threw it in there a week ago, was the flower necklace that the Professor had magically put on him. After that note, the Professor had never mentioned the little necklace, but Harry hadn't forgotten about it. He just didn't want to wear it. The thing was girly and weird and he still hated things around his neck. But the Professor told him to wear it and rub it hard if he needed help right away. Harry snatched it out of the drawer and shoved it in his pocket just in case, and bumped the drawer shut with his elbow as he heard the stairs creaking. The Headmaster was coming up.
When the old man came into the bedroom, Harry was sitting on the bed tying his shoes. He was glad he had changed the sheets and remade the bed today. It made the room look a lot neater.
"Headmaster, sir?" Harry said timidly as he stood up, grasping his small bag of clothes in both hands.
"Yes, Harry?" the old man said in a very kind voice that Harry resented. It made him feel like a very small, stupid child.
"I need to put the laundry in the dryer. If I don't, the sheets will grow mildew." Noting the confused look on the old man's face, Harry quickly added, "I'll be quick, sir."
"Very well, but do hurry. It is nearly teatime already."
Harry sighed silently and hurried downstairs, past the old man in his weird (neon yellow today) robes. Once he put the laundry into the dryer, he left a note apologizing for the wrinkled sheets but the Headmaster was in a hurry. Fighting the lump in his throat, Harry joined the Headmaster in the sitting room. When the old man turned to get the powder off the mantel, Harry snatched the white rock from the side table and stuffed it in his other pocket.
"Ready to go, Harry?" the old man asked, smiling as he held out one hand and held the other in the fireplace, ready to release the green-flame powder.
Harry swallowed hard, took one last look around the Professor's cozy sitting room with its bookshelves and old, comfortable furniture … and took the Headmaster's hand. The old man gripped him tightly and threw his handful of powder into the fire.
"Privet Drive!" The old man shouted into the whooshing green flames. Before Harry could say a word, he was hugged tightly into robes that smelled like lemon-scented cleaner and whirled away through the floo.
When he stumbled out, coughing up soot and trying to get his balance back, he found himself in an eerily familiar, dim, musty-smelling living room. There were cats everywhere. Dumbledore shooed two away from their feet, and the cats scampered off, yowling impressively. Other cats blinked at them from atop the sofa back, the rocking chair arms, the shelves, the mantelpiece, and the impressive cat-scratch poles against the far wall. Harry's heart began to pound with fear and unease.
Privet Drive, the old man had shouted. Why, his old house was on Privet Drive! Number 4 to be exact! Why would the Headmaster's safe house be in the same neighbourhood where his horrible relatives lived too? This was going to be a nightmare.
"Albus! Is that you again?" a familiar old lady's voice shouted from the kitchen. Sure enough, old Mrs. Figg came bustling out, cradling a pregnant gray cat with brilliant yellow eyes in her arms. Harry gaped at the old lady, his sometime babysitter. She knew the old headmaster and had a magical fireplace too! His little head felt like it was going to spin right off, but if the safe house was Mrs. Figg's place, Harry was pretty sure he would be okay. She would just show him endless pictures of cats and make him feed them all day long. At least nobody would lock him up for hours or starve him or hit him. Mrs. Figg was nice.
"Hello, my dear Arabella!" the headmaster cried out cheerfully at the sight of her. "Thank you for having us!"
"O' course, anytime," Mrs. Figg smiled sweetly. "And you brought little Harry! How are you, sonny? You're lookin' well!"
"I'm fine, Mrs. Figg," Harry smiled nervously. "Um, so … are you magical too?"
"Heavens!" the old woman burst out laughing and let her cat down on the floor. "No, indeed, lad. I'm naught but a squib."
"She means that she was born to magical parents, but has no magic herself," the old Headmaster explained when Harry scrunched up his face in confusion. "When you were brought to live in the neighbourhood, I asked Mrs. Figg to live nearby and keep an eye on you since she can blend in with muggles, er, non-magical folk, quite easily. I understand she has babysat you a few times."
"Yes sir," Harry nodded hesitantly.
"Well then, I'm sure you will see more of each other soon," the Headmaster beamed and his eyes twinkled. "But as we're pressed for time, we really ought to be going."
Mrs. Figg looked disappointed. "Oh, but you won't stay for some tea?" Harry knew for a fact that everyone in the area called her the 'crazy cat lady' and she never had anybody but Harry over for any sort of tea. Her version of 'tea' tasted muddy and strange, and Harry knew that after drinking the Professor's amazing tea, he would never be able to stomach her cups of sludge.
"I'm terribly sorry, Arabella, but no," the Headmaster smiled apologetically. "Must get Harry back to the blood wards, you know."
"Oh yes, o' course" the old lady sighed. She smiled at Harry and winked. "You come by for tea after this is all over, you hear me, laddie?"
"Yes ma'am, I'll try," Harry said carefully. He squeezed the handle of his duffel bag, feeling a little faint.
The bearded old man started pulling Harry toward Mrs. Figg's front door. "Thank you for the use of your fireplace, my dear, we'll meet again soon!"
"My floo's always open to you, Albus!" she called back.
Just before the Headmaster opened the door, he pulled out his wand and flicked it in an interesting pattern. His beard suddenly shrank to about two inches in length, and his loud neon yellow robes shifted until he was wearing a bright yellow suit with a white tie and a polka dotted waistcoat. Harry thought he looked like Willy Wonka and tried hard not to laugh.
"There we are!" the old man beamed proudly. "Now I look quite respectable, wouldn't you agree, Harry?"
"Yes sir," Harry replied, fighting a old man caught his expression and gave him a twinkle-eyed wink that had the little boy doubled up with laughter.
"That's the ticket, my boy," the Headmaster said approvingly. "No gloomy spirits here! Come along then, it isn't far."
Walking out down Magnolia Crescent was weird for Harry. At one point he hadn't thought he would ever see this neighbourhood again. These streets had nothing but bad memories for him, and he soon lost his smile and started fidgeting. He was beginning to fear the worst, as the old man took a familiar turn off the crescent, bypassed Posie Street, and turned onto Privet Drive.
"S-sir?" Harry squeaked, pulling back as they passed under the street sign.
"Yes?" the old man paused, looking only fractionally annoyed, but masking it quickly.
Harry's heart pounded in his chest and he fought the terror struggling to overwhelm him so he could answer intelligently. "Um … wh-where are we g-going, sir?"
"Back to the only place you'll be safe from Black," the Headmaster said patiently as if he were explaining this to a very young, very stupid child, but he did it all with a kindly smile and twinkling blue found that he really didn't like the old man at all. Had he ever liked the old Headmaster? He was pretty sure he never had.
"Where?" he demanded in a tiny voice, fearing that he already knew the answer.
"Number 4, Privet Drive," the old Headmaster said gently. "I know you have had some bad experiences there in the past, but it is truly the best place for you right now, you see?"
Harry's blood froze and he realized that he was suddenly very afraid. The Professor had promised him that he would never be sent back. What had the Headmaster really done with his Professor? He knew that they had argued a little, but he hadn't thought it was serious, or any of his business really. But here it was. The Professor had disappeared, and the Headmaster was trying to take him back to the Dursleys. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right, and Harry knew it. His fear escalated to flat-out terror, and he forgot himself completely in his fear. He dropped his duffel bag and jerked at his hand, still held tightly by the old man.
"No!" he shrieked, struggling to free his hand from the old man's grip. "The Professor said I never have to go back! He promised!"
Headmaster Dumbledore kept a surprisingly strong hold of Harry's hand and firmly pulled him to sit on the fence of number 1 Privet Drive. "Calm yourself, Harry, calm yourself," he said gently. "Calm down and let me explain, alright?"
Harry shivered all over and stopped struggling, sagging against the fence and fighting a headache that seemed to have come on suddenly. The old man was a lot stronger than he looked, and his little hand throbbed from the pressure.
"They hate me," Harry whispered, closing his eyes helplessly against the tears that burned them. "Please don't send me back."
"I'm afraid I don't have much of a choice, Harry," the Headmaster replied in a quiet voice. "You see, when your mother died, she made a shield of protection for you to use, but it is connected to her blood. Your Aunt Petunia is her only blood relative besides you still living, and wherever she lives, there the protection is. As long as you stay in the vicinity of where she lives, that is, as long as you stay in the house or yard, Black can't find you or hurt you. I want you to be safe, understand?" The old man paused briefly. "Would you like a lemon drop?" he asked kindly.
Harry shook his head miserably. He wasn't a dumb little kid who could be shut up by a piece of candy. Besides, he didn't trust this weird old man. Dudley had been told time and again not to take candy from strangers, and Harry obeyed, even if his idiot cousin didn't. The Headmaster was still a stranger, even if they'd chatted happily over a bowl of porridge last week.
Dumbledore sighed, sounding tired and sad. "You need to be strong, Harry," he said gently. "Your relatives' house is the only place where you are safe from people who want to hurt you and kill you. I know you don't like your relatives very much and that is understandable, but you must be strong and have faith that things will get better in time. Do you understand?"
Harry shivered, and didn't answer. It was no use anyway. Adults never believed him when he told them how awful his relatives were, and the headmaster wouldn't listen if he told him that he would really rather brave an escaped crazy man than his Aunt and Uncle. Nobody had ever believed him until Professor Snape. The dour man with his pale face and greasy hair and nasty scowl and dark, scary eyes and short temper had been the first man he had ever felt really safe around; the only adult he had ever trusted.
"Harry, I will have a few more words with your Aunt and Uncle," the Headmaster told him. "They will be kinder to you, but you must be a very good boy in return, understand? They have done a very kind thing, taking you in and keeping you safe. As long as you behave yourself, there should be no trouble, you see? You need not fear, for they wouldn't dare hurt you if it meant making me angry with them."
"I w-want the Professor," Harry whimpered pathetically, losing the battle against his tears.
"He will see you in a few days when he clears up the trouble he's in," Headmaster Dumbledore said sternly. "But you must not dwell on Professor Snape, Harry. I know you simply want his comfort, and I understand. He had a … difficult relationship with his parents, in particular his father, and he often sees things differently. But rest assured that he does feel some affection for you and he will come see you, alright? But you will still need to stay here. You cannot leave while Black is still on the loose."
Harry nodded slowly as he was suddenly overwhelmed with misery. He had never felt so horribly betrayed, but not by the Professor. No, he knew the Professor really had seen the truth. The Headmaster was like the other adults who thought he deserved to be thrashed until he couldn't stand up or hit so hard that he couldn't breathe. He deserved it, and the Headmaster knew it. Harry silently said good-bye to the Professor, knowing that he would simply be too ashamed to even speak to the good man again. He was confused and lost, and already his good memories of the Professor were fading away to nothing.
"One more thing, Harry," the old man tipped Harry's chin up a bit so he could see his face. "You mustn't tell them about the Werewolf. There is no reason to worry your relatives further, agreed?"
Harry nodded obediently. He had no intention of telling his Aunt and Uncle about it anyway. There was no need to give them more reasons to hate him and call him a monster.
"Alright then," the old Headmaster smiled kindly and stepped back, letting Harry hop off the fence and retrieve his duffel bag. "We should be going. Your home is just this way."
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"Severus Snape, you are accused of muggle terrorism in direct violation of section 31 of the muggle justice reform bill," the stern Auror across the table said coldly, reading from a plain white folder. The man's hard brown eyes lifted from the page and glared at him without a hint of pity. "How do you plead?"
"I refuse to speak without my solicitor, but perhaps you might be able to explain the circumstances I am accused of?" the Potions Master answered nonchalantly. He was hiding how confused he was, and although he didn't want to admit it, he was more than a little bit frightened. It had been over seven years since he had sat in a Ministry interrogation room and the fear drilled into him at that occasion was still very much with him.
The Auror glared at him for another few seconds before he lifted his folder again and read from it in a cold, dispassionate voice. "On the evening of May 27th, you entered the Dursley home at number 4 Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey. While there, you cast several curses and left the family confused, disoriented, and suffering from headaches and nightmares for the next week. Do you deny this?"
Severus Snape swallowed hard, cursing himself and his stupidity. He had not really done any curses or anything of the sort, just a harmless sticking charm on Mr. Dursley's bottom, a silencing spell on the man's big mouth, three instances of Legilimency, and two Obliviations. But Ministry tracking wards usually didn't differentiate between spells, only power level and frequency. Without Dumbledore or someone else on his side, Severus knew that he could be looking at a year or more in Azkaban for magic performed on muggles without their consent, since the spells he cast weren't really harmful or intended to harm. He could not afford to pensieve his memory, since he had mentioned Harry's lycanthropy and quite literally threatened the Dursleys for their treatment of their nephew. He just wasn't sure what to do or say, and opted for silence.
With those thoughts in mind, Severus refused to answer the question or accusations, once again coolly demanding a solicitor. The Auror danced around the issue with more questions until he finally seemed to throw up his proverbial hands.
"The Death Eater criminal bill passed six years ago is still in effect," the man said flatly, slamming the folder closed. "According to section 47, you are not permitted to have a solicitor so long as that mark on your arm is there." The Auror sneered at Severus' left arm. His captors had rolled up his sleeves before pinning his wrists palm-up to the interrogation table, standard procedure for Death Eater scum, or those suspected of ' Dark Mark, though faded, was still visible under the skin, the hateful skull and snake mere gray lines like an old scar.
"Ridiculous!" Severus hissed, occluding fiercely at the panic that surged in his chest. "I was acquitted! Albus Dumbledore vouched for me!"
"Well, until he decides to show his face, you're on your own," the Auror shrugged carelessly. "So, you're not going to talk?"
Severus Snape glared venomously at the man, and said nothing.
"Well then, you can stay there all night if you wish," the Auror said crisply, picking up his folder and getting up from his chair. "I have other things to do; other 'guests' that will appreciate the time I'm taking out of my busy day to hear their sad stories."
Severus closed his eyes stubbornly, silently praying for Dumbledore to make good on his promise and come in the morning. The Auror left the interrogation room, slamming the door behind him. Snape didn't bother tugging on his magical bonds, knowing from experience that his struggles would only cause him pain. As he sat there in silence, his thoughts drifted to Harry, and his chest squeezed with dread and grief.
The boy would feel abandoned. The Headmaster would simply drop him off at the home of his vile relatives without caring that leaving the boy there was leaving him in a living hell. And if Petunia actually did somehow remember what had happened, (nobody else could have reported him to the Ministry) Harry would suffer for Snape's petty revenge. He didn't want to think about what the boy would go through at the hands of those sadistic monsters. It was all his fault. He should never have used magic on the Dursleys. He should have been smarter than that. Harry was going to hate him once Petunia told him why they were so angry with him, and knowing her, she would.
The thought should not have hurt him so much, but it did. Losing the child's trust and affection hurt worse than anything had since Lily had ended their friendship.
Bowing his head, Severus fought uselessly against the desperate tears that burned his eyes. He had not felt so helpless and responsible in years, not since the day he realized that Lily was going to be targeted by the Dark since the night he realized that he had condemned his only friend to death. He had never thought he would feel like this again. But here he was, alone and helpless while the old man refused to see the Dursleys for what they were and condemned an innocent child to a life no human being deserved to live. Severus almost wished Harry had died under the Werewolf's claws. At least the boy would be safe with his parents now instead of subjected to more abuse because of the Headmaster's everlasting good faith in horrible human beings.
He had never before hated Albus Dumbledore and his endless optimism so much.
But there was absolutely nothing that Severus Snape could do now. He was trapped, and it was his own, stupid fault.
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The Headmaster rang the doorbell of number 4 Privet Drive and Harry fought against the childish urge to hide behind the old man. He knew Aunt Petunia would come to the door. Uncle Vernon might still be at work, and his cousin Dudley might be watching TV or playing computer games in his room. Being back at the house, as neat and perfect as it was on the outside, was like coming back to a place of nightmares. He'd never told the Professor everything that went on with his relatives, with good reason. There were some things that were just too bad to talk about.
Sure enough, Aunt Petunia opened the door. She looked perfect as usual, her narrow face made up with paint and lipstick until she resembled the ladies in the magazines she liked to read. She was dressed in a lime green dress that actually looked nice next to the brilliant yellow suit that the Headmaster was wearing. Her sharp blue eyes were as cold and unhappy as always, and they gravitated at once to his face, half-hidden by the Headmaster's arm. Harry quailed under her disapproving gaze and lowered his head submissively. His heart was thumping against his ribs like a terrified rabbit and his whole body was starting to ache again. He had been stupid to think he would never see her again; absolutely stupid. He should have known better.
"Well, don't just stand there," Aunt Petunia hissed at once, stepping aside so they could enter. "Get in here before someone sees you!"
"Good Afternoon to you too, Petunia," the Headmaster said cheerfully. He stepped inside, still holding Harry's hand, and Aunt Petunia slammed the front door behind them. "Thank you for allowing us to come by on such short notice. After our talk this morning, I'm sure you understand the urgency."
"Well," Harry's Aunt said with a chilly smile. "I'm just glad you were able to find him."
"So are we," the Headmaster smiled back. "And I trust you did talk to your husband about what we discussed earlier?"
"But of course!" Aunt Petunia replied, quickly pasting on that sickeningly sweet smile of hers. Harry shivered and clung tighter to the old man's hand. He knew that smile and feared it. She usually gave that smile to idiots when she was about to describe how kind and loving she was to her ungrateful, disobedient nephew. "I'm still not really sure what gave you the impression we were anything but fair to the boy," Aunt Petunia laughed falsely. "That boy does get funny ideas from time to time. But don't worry about a thing, Headmaster. Harry will be quite safe with us. We won't let him run off again."
"Good, good," the old man beamed. He looked down and gave Harry a reassuring smile which the boy didn't bother to return. "I'm afraid I must warn you that there is currently a very dangerous wizard on the loose," Dumbledore explained. "If he finds Harry outside the blood wards, I'm afraid we may not be able to return him alive next time, you understand."
"Of course, we'll take good care of him," the woman replied, her face the very picture of concern. Her fake attitude made Harry feel sick to his stomach.
"Your home is still well-warded, and so long as you keep Harry in the house or yard, he will be quite safe."
Aunt Petunia's smile vanished and a little of her real anger showed itself as she snapped, "What about my own son? My husband?"
"The wards that keep Harry safe will also keep your family safe, even when your husband is at work," the Headmaster reassured her. "The wizard shouldn't even be able to track Harry here, but if by some ill chance something happens, you may contact me at any time. Should you need to reach me, call on Mrs. Figg."
"Figg?" Aunt Petunia repeated incredulously. "That crazy cat-woman is one of you?"
"She's just a squib," the old man explained with a little laugh. "There's not a drop of magic in her, never fear. But I asked her to remain available for contact purposes, agreed?"
"I suppose it's not likely that I'll have to contact you anyway," the woman muttered grudgingly. "Anything else I should know?"
"Only that Harry has spent the last couple of weeks recovering from a nasty attack and still needs rest and plenty of care," the Headmaster said briskly, removing his hand from Harry's grip and settling it on the boy's shoulder. Harry ducked his head, avoiding looking up at his Aunt's face, knowing that Freaks didn't deserve to look normal people in the eye.
"Rest, recovery, fine," Aunt Petunia nodded, straining to keep her fake smile in place. "And the rest of you people will stop dropping in at all hours and making the neighbours nervous?"
"Absolutely; whatever makes you comfortable, Petunia," the old man smiled kindly. "But I'll send someone round in a week and a half or so to pick him up for a quick check-up, just to make sure everything's healing well."
Aunt Petunia nodded, and Harry nervously peeked up at her. He didn't like the gleam in her blue eyes. It made him shiver with fear. Where were Uncle Vernon and Dudley? Why was Aunt Petunia all alone in the house today?
"I've intruded on your lovely home long enough, Petunia, and I really should be going," the Headmaster said apologetically. He stepped away from Harry, but didn't let go of his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll be a good boy, Harry," the old man smiled, reaching out to tip Harry's chin so they could see one another's faces. "Don't worry about your Professor; he'll come by as soon as he is able, alright?"
Harry nodded mutely. He knew better than to protest or do anything stupid right now with Aunt Petunia watching. The old man straightened up and patted Harry on the head before he stepped away altogether. Harry shivered and backed up a step, wondering whether he could make a dash for his cupboard before Aunt Petunia took his new clothes away.
"I trust you will treat Harry well?" the Headmaster asked his Aunt.
"We've been over this, Headmaster," Aunt Petunia retorted, her voice suddenly frosty. "We will be kind to the boy, just as we have over the years. One day, I'm sure he'll appreciate how much we have sacrificed for him to be happy."
The old man nodded wisely. "Ah yes, adults often have a perspective that children do not, but pray don't underestimate the power of a little love, Petunia. Harry might be more inclined to forgive your shortcomings if you showed a bit of affection to him."
"I'll give it a try," Aunt Petunia replied lightly. "I really ought to start supper, and I'm sure you have many other things to take care of."
"Ah, that I do," the old Headmaster sighed. "A Headmaster's job is never done. Do say hello to your lovely family for me, Petunia. I am sorry to have missed them."
Petunia showed the old Headmaster to the door, leaving Harry alone in the sitting room for a few crucial seconds. Quick as lightning, he opened his duffel bag and pulled out the Professor's potions. He knew Aunt Petunia would throw them away or something, so he shoved them under the sofa so he could get them later. After only a second's deliberation, he pulled the white stone and flower necklace out of his pockets and shoved those under the sofa as well. He was used to hiding treasures with only seconds to spare, so when Aunt Petunia returned, her face back to its customary hateful ugliness, Harry was still standing innocently in the same position she left him in.
Aunt Petunia quickly pulled the drapes lest the neighbours see inside. Harry was used to the woman covering all the windows before he got punished or humiliated, since she said there was no need for the whole world to know what a dreadfully naughty boy he was. After she finished pulling curtains over any windows that would be able to see into the sitting room, she came back to stand in front of her nephew. Harry watched her helplessly, darting his gaze fearfully to her face as he dared. For several seconds, Aunt Petunia just stood there looking him up and down, her lip curled in disgust.
"I suppose you think you're something special now?" she sneered at last, gesturing at him disdainfully.
"No, Aunt Petunia," Harry whispered meekly. "I'm not special."
"No, you're not," the woman sneered. "And yet here you stand in those clothes, holding that bag as if you own it … Did you think for one second that those freaks cared about you?"
"No, ma'am," Harry answered automatically. His legs began to tremble with fear, but he didn't dare start talking. He never dared talk when his Aunt was in a foul mood.
"Well, I'll give you something to think about, brat," Aunt Petunia hissed, bending slightly so she could talk right in his face. "No one. Cares. About you. Absolutely no one. So don't even think of calling for help. Don't even think you're worth anyone's bother, because you are not."
Harry shook his head vigorously. He knew the Headmaster didn't care about him, but surely the Professor had cared. Even the nurse lady, and the strict-looking teacher lady that told him stories, surely they had cared about him a little bit. But he didn't bother to say anything. It would just make his Aunt mad, and then she might say something that would convince him that he was wrong, and he couldn't bear that. Better to go on deceiving himself with happy thoughts than to have them all shattered by a grown-up's logic.
"Now put that bag down and take off those ridiculous clothes right this minute," Aunt Petunia ordered him. "You didn't earn them, did you? They don't belong to you, do they?"
"No, Aunt Petunia," Harry whispered faintly. He obediently dropped his duffel bag, glad that he had correctly predicted her first action and hidden his important things, and lifted his shaking fingers to his shirt, but he couldn't bring himself to pull it off yet.
"You know you're only allowed to wear the clothing your Uncle and I provide you with," Aunt Petunia lectured him in a venomous tone. "You will earn your keep here as you always have; I don't care if you think you're sick or whatever those freaks told you. There will be no slacking off, no matter what anyone you understand me?"
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry whispered, keeping his gaze on her chin, not meeting her eyes.
"Oh," the woman's face contorted into a cruel smile. "And since it is your fault that we have all been subjected to the presence of those freaks ever since you decided to run off, you will be suitably punished. No supper tonight, and your Uncle Vernon may wish to add a bit more to that."
"Y-yes Aunt P-Petunia," Harry whimpered, on the verge of tears. His hands shook uncontrollably and he couldn't get a grip on his T-shirt.
His Aunt muttered angrily under her breath and suddenly stepped forward, her hands raised. Harry gasped and cringed away from her, shutting his eyes, putting up his hands, and bracing himself for her to slap him or grab his ear or something equally unpleasant. But she snapped at him to stand up straight and put his arms up, and when he obeyed, she yanked his shirt off. Harry kept his eyes squeezed shut as she roughly jerked down his jeans and pants as well, and then stepped back.
"Take them all off; shoes too," she ordered him, her voice tinged with disgust. "Then fold it all up and put it in the bag. I'm taking them to the Salvation Army tomorrow so some normal child can wear them."
Harry flinched at her hateful tone and two tears worked their way free of his clenched eyelids, trickling slowly down his cheeks. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, but he avoided looking at his Aunt. He had always hated the way she looked at him when he was undressed. The disgust and hatred on her face was more hurtful than any words she could say, though he wasn't sure why. Her eyes made him feel even more ashamed of his ugly, undersized body than he already was, and with the new nasty scars decorating his torso and side, Harry knew she would be even more disgusted.
Trembling and cold and ashamed, the boy reached down and took off his shoes before slipping out of the rest of his clothes. He balled them all up, yanked off his socks, and shoved it all in the duffel bag before he straightened up, bracing himself to look up at his Aunt. Sure enough, her eyes were studying his new scars and she looked disgusted, but there was something else in her gaze as well: calculation. What was she calculating? Why was she looking at him like this? Harry shivered, but he had been taught the hard way not to try and cover himself for modesty or shame's sake. He clenched his fists at his sides and tried not to cry, but the tears kept dripping down his face and off his chin.
"What did you do with your glasses?" Aunt Petunia suddenly demanded, glaring at his face. "If you've broken them, we're not getting you any new ones."
Harry shrugged helplessly. The Professor had never mentioned his glasses, so he had never mentioned them either. He could see fine without them anyway. "I guess I lost them," Harry answered softly.
"Well, I don't want you complaining you can't see," his Aunt sneered. "Because we aren't wasting any money on a freak that can't take care of his own glasses."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry shivered. "Um … c-can I go get some clothes on now, please?"
"I don't think I gave you permission to leave yet, did I?" Aunt Petunia snapped. "You stay right there." She marched out of the living room suddenly and Harry heard the back door bang. In a few seconds, he heard his Uncle's dreaded voice and he shut his eyes as his whole body quaked with terror. He wanted to run and hide, but he knew better. It would be worse for him if he did that.
"Well, well, well," Uncle Vernon boomed as he stomped into the sitting room. "If it isn't the prodigal freak!"
Harry flinched at the venom in his hated uncle's voice and unconsciously edged away from the dangerous man. He felt horribly exposed and humiliated and he knew his aunt and uncle only did this to him because they liked him to feel so helpless.
"Finally decided to dump you, did they?" Uncle Vernon sneered nastily, stepping closer to his terrified nephew. The huge man towered over the small boy, and Harry shivered with fear as Uncle Vernon began to unbuckle his belt. Aunt Petunia stood in the living room doorway with her arms folded, watching the scene with grim satisfaction. "Well, I've got news for you, boy!" the fat man bellowed down at the boy. "Those Freaks've been pestering us night and day about you and it's all because you decided to run off, you ungrateful wretch! I've got nothing but headaches from those freaks of yours! I'll tan your hide for this 'til you bleed, you miserable ingrate! Get over here!"
The huge man grabbed Harry by the arm and the little boy let out a helpless whimper despite himself. "P-please, Uncle Vernon!" Harry gasped, his vision going white at the pain in his arm. "I d-didn't run away, I p-promise I didn't! P-please don't thrash me!"
But since when did his uncle ever heed his pleas? The belt descended on his unprotected body and his Uncle continued to shout and berate him for his freakishness and his horrible behavior over who-knew-what. Harry shut his eyes and bit his lip until it bled. He knew the rules and he knew better than to break them. He stayed as silent as he could while his uncle vented his rage and struggled to stay standing, though he did wrap his arms around his head to protect his face as he normally did. But eventually, Harry's control broke. He could no longer hold in his shrieks of pain and his knees buckled weakly under him. For crying and trying to escape his rightful punishment, his Uncle sneered, he could get another twenty blows. Harry knew the consequences already, but sometimes he just couldn't stop his tears or his screams, and he couldn't force his legs to hold him up when the world was spinning so dizzily around him.
When his Uncle finished, he dragged the weeping boy down the hall and threw him into his cupboard. Back where he had always been, Harry crawled onto his little mattress and sobbed quietly, struggling not to squirm too much at the burning pain that littered his body. The blows from the belt burned and throbbed and he still felt humiliated and exposed. At least his Aunt and Uncle hadn't yet commented on his new scars, though that was a tiny mercy. Uncle Vernon would bring it up eventually, he knew, and Aunt Petunia would bring it up when it would hurt him most.
Harry missed the Professor. He pulled his blue baby blanket over himself and felt at once the almost magical comfort it always gave him when he needed it. He imagined that the blanket was actually the arms of his Professor, wrapped tightly around him, protecting him from the Big Bad Wolf and from his horrible relatives. His sobs eventually calmed and he focused on just breathing, even though very twitch of his sent fiery pain lancing up and down his skin. Why had the Headmaster brought him back to this awful place? Where was the Professor?
Why was he all alone in Hell?
Fresh tears rolled down Harry's cheeks and he held his blanket tighter, fighting the sound of Aunt Petunia's voice echoing in his head. He didn't know if they were lies or not. The Professor would know, but the man was not here. He was gone. Maybe Aunt Petunia was right after all.
"No one cares about you. Don't even think you're worth anyone's bother, because you are not."
HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP
Now that I've broken your hearts, you have to wait until the next chapter to see what happens. There are more surprises in store, and Harry won't stay here forever, don't worry!
Thank you so much to all of you who took the time to review my last chapter! I understand that Dumbledore inspires some divided support (and dislike), and I do not apologize for how I chose to portray him in this story. But thank you, even to those who told me they didn't really like it! I do take every every review and I think about it in regards to my story, trying to see how I can make it better. I do want to redeem Dumbledore, but I think he is too old to completely change his spots. He will do what he feels is the best thing, and so will Severus Snape, and Remus Lupin, and yes, even Sirius Black.