So sorry this one took so long. For some reason, ff.net wouldn't let me upload it. I'd upload it, then try and add it to the story, and it was gone. Augh! Enough about my problems. Let's talk about Harry's.
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Albus Dumbledore sat behind his large oak desk in the central tower of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, looking over the latest correspondence with trustworthy witches and wizards from all over Britain. The Dark Lord was newly risen, and he had no time to waste in calling in the old guard. His hand disappeared into the folds of his robes and emerged with a small gold pocket watch. His eyes glanced down. Severus should be joining him any moment to report any developments in the Death Eaters. Wearily, he laid his quill aside, removed his glasses, and rubbed at his tired blue eyes.
Suddenly, a green flame roared up in his fireplace. He replaced his glasses and turned to face the head of an elderly woman floating within the flame.
"Good afternoon, Arabella. How are things in Little Whinging?"
"Not good," the head answered, shaking slowly. "I fear something's happened to Harry." These words were followed by a knock at the door and Severus Snape entering the room. He was dressed entirely in black, despite the warm temperatures outside. He stopped when he noticed Arabella Figg's head floating in the fireplace.
"Would you like me to come back another time?" he asked.
"No, Severus. You're timing is perfect." He turned back to the fireplace. "Arabella, what has happened to Harry?"
"I don't know, Albus, but I haven't seen the boy in several days. I asked Petunia Dursley about him, but she is reluctant to speak about him. And this morning, I walked by their house on my daily stroll, and his trunk was out by the trash bin with an empty birdcage. They are here at my house now, but I fear something is terribly wrong."
"Severus, would you accompany me?" Dumbledore asked, but the Potions Master was already moving toward the fireplace. The two men stepped into the flame and emerged in Arabella's living room, where she stood, wringing her hands. Dumbledore held the woman's frail shoulders to comfort her. "It's alright, Arabella. We'll discover what is wrong."
She nodded slowly, then watched as both men disapparated from her living room.
When Dudley Dursley answered the knock at the door and saw the two strangely dressed men standing on the stoop, he slammed the door closed and instantly called for his father. Vernon Dursley tore the door open, his face twisted in rage.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"To speak with Harry Potter," the shorter elderly man stated.
"He's not here," Mr. Dursley snarled, and moved to slam the door shut. It was blocked, however, by the outstretched hand of the very tall gentleman in black.
"You will not speak to the Headmaster in such a tone," he said. Though his face and voice were calm, the fire in his black eyes intoned a threat.
"That's quite alright, Severus," the old man said. "Mr. Dursley, I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster at Hogwarts, and this is Severus Snape, our Potions Master. Perhaps you should invite us in."
Vernon Dursley looked from Dumbledore to Snape, from peaceful blue eyes to the threatening black, and reluctantly stepped aside, allowing both men into his house. Before closing the door, his eyes darted down both ends of the street, hoping nobody saw him allow the two strange men into his house.
Dumbledore walked through the front foyer toward the living room as if he had been a welcomed guest. Upon seeing Petunia Dursley, he smiled at her kindly and thanked her that a cup of tea would be lovely (she hadn't offered any), then sat in the corner chair of the room where he could see everyone. Snape stood next to Dumbledore with his arms folded across his chest, neither smiling nor frowning, but merely observing every movement made by Potter's Muggle guardians.
Petunia reentered the room with tea, and Dumbledore motioned for both of them to sit on the couch. They sat, Petunia very stiffly and Vernon looking murderous.
"Now," Dumbledore began, sipping his tea, "You said a moment ago that Harry is not here. Where is he?"
Petunia paled.
"He's not here," Vernon repeated.
"You misunderstand the question, Mr. Dursley. I didn't ask where he isn't. I asked where he is."
"He ran away."
"Ran away?" Dumbledore exchanged a look with Snape. "How long ago?"
"Right after we brought him home." His eyes strayed uncomfortably at Snape, who never seemed to blink.
"Why didn't you inform us of the situation?" Dumbledore asked.
"The boy threatened my son," Vernon roared. "Quite frankly I'm glad he's gone. He's a menace!" This statement did draw a reaction from Snape. One eyebrow arched high above the other, but he remained silent.
"You must excuse me for a moment, Mr. Dursley," Dumbledore said calmly, "but Harry is not the type of boy to get into a scrap with another boy and then run away. Did anything else happen? Something that might cause him to run away?"
"What are you hinting at?" Vernon screamed, shooting up from the couch.
Snape stepped between the mountain of a man and Dumbledore, his arms still crossed, but his wand was now clutched in one of the hands, plainly visible to Mr. Dursley.
"Sit down, Mr. Dursley," he said coldly.
"Your act may scare a bunch of kids at that school, but-"
"I assure you, my act terrifies the kids at that school, as well as men both larger and more powerful than yourself. I repeat: Sit down, Mr. Dursley."
The two men stood staring at each other; one, red in the face and fuming, the other, cold and composed.
"That's enough, Severus," Dumbledore told him, raising a hand. "When we leave here today, Harry's only surviving family should be in one piece."
Vernon glared at the old man, but returned to the couch, the implications of the old man's statement not lost on him.
"Now, Mrs. Dursley, if you could show Professor Snape to Harry's room."
"I told you, he's not here," Mr. Dursley said angrily.
"I was well aware of that the moment I entered your home," Dumbledore told him. "However, I would like Professor Snape to examine the room. Perhaps Harry left a clue as to where he went. It will also give me a chance to speak with you in private, Mr. Dursley."
Vernon smiled darkly, not noticing the same dark smile creeping across Snape's lips. Petunia was visibly shaken by the idea of being left alone with the Potions Master, but she rose without a word and led Snape out of the room. He followed her up the stairs to a room with several locks adorning the door.
"Why are there locks on this door?" he asked.
She cringed at the sound of his voice.
"It- it was used for storage before Harry moved in."
Snape stared at her for a long moment before Mrs. Dursley averted her eyes and opened the door. Snape walked into the tiny room and went to the window first.
"There are bars on the window." It was made as a statement, but he looked back at the woman for an answer.
"Se-security."
"If I'm not mistaken, we are on the second floor and this is the only room with bars. Were they used to keep someone out or in?" He didn't wait for an answer, but bent down, examining the desk and its contents. There were scuff marks on top, as if the boy had either stood on the desk or sat on it with his shoes on. Snape guessed the latter. The contents of the desk were sparse. The drawers were nearly empty but for a few sheets of paper and a ball point pen. No parchment. No quills.
Next, he moved to the bed, which was made. He could smell the detergent of the newly laundered sheets, and knew he would find nothing there to help him. The wardrobe was of no help either. He recognized Potter's clothing hanging neatly on hangers. There were no empty hangers. Potter hadn't taken any clothing with him when he left, which meant he'd left in a hurry. He voiced as much to Mrs. Dursley, and watched her carefully for a reaction. All color drained from her face, and she looked faint for a moment.
Snape scowled and crossed the room toward the door again, then stopped suddenly and looked down at the floor. One of the boards in the floor had moved a small fraction under his tread. He stooped down, running his long fingers over the sides of the floorboards until he found the loose one and pried it up. Beneath it, he found Potter's schoolbooks, parchment, quills- his wizarding supplies. Petunia squeaked as he began pulling the items from beneath the floor. He also found some stale cakes, presumably from the previous summer. He reached in again to be sure he had retrieved everything, when his fingers brushed leather pushed under one of the neighboring boards. A journal, he recognized when he finally pulled it out. Untying the leather string that encircled it, he flipped it open to the last entry. He skimmed it, the handwriting nearly illegible, as if he had written with his weak hand.
June 18th- I'm home again on Privet Drive. Nothing has changed here, though I feel as if everything is different. Voldemort is back, yet the Dursley's are still worried about appearing normal. I guess I envy them that being normal is their biggest worry. I wish that were my biggest problem. Instead, I get stuck with visions of murder and torture, and the knowledge that the most evil wizard to ever live wants me dead simply because I am not already. And I wake up every morning knowing that Cedric will never wake again, and that I am to blame for that. I guess it's good that I'm here, because now I don't have to see everyone else staring back at me with those piteous eyes, knowing that behind them, they too know that I am to blame. I am not walking death, but it sure does follow me closely.
At least the Dursley's show their disgust… perhaps a little too much. My arm feels like it is on fire. I don't think it's broken, but it's started to swell up. Should I tell Uncle Vernon? Maybe he'd take me to get it checked out. But then, the doctors may ask questions. I'll wait until morning. Maybe it will be better by then.
"How did Potter hurt his arm?" Snape asked without looking up. He knew whatever she said would be a lie, but asked anyway. Her breathing became quick and erratic. Snape recognized the unspoken answer: Vernon Dursley. He slipped the journal into his pocket and replaced the board. Snape stood up, wiping absently at his clothing, his eyes darting around the room for other small details he may have missed.
There were fresh scratches on the floor near the base of the bed.
"The bed was moved," he commented, more to himself than to the damned Dursley woman. He raised his wand. "Windgardium leviosa." The bed began to rise. Mrs. Dursley tore out of the room like a madwoman, though whether it was from fear of Snape, fear of magic, or fear of what he would find, Snape wasn't sure. He walked under the bed and closely examined a stain on the floor. It had been scrubbed, but the stain hadn't come up, so the bed had been moved to cover it. Blood. Not much, but enough to worry Snape.
He replaced the bed, gathered up the last of Potter's belongings, and went downstairs to rejoin Professor Dumbledore.
"Ah, Severus. I see you found some things," Dumbledore greeted him when he entered the living room.
"Yes. Some very interesting things," Snape answered, allowing his gaze to travel to Dursley. What he saw would have amused him had he not just found the things he had in Potter's bedroom. Dursley was sitting very still on the couch with both hands folded together in his lap. His eyes showed abject fear, but he said nothing. Dumbledore was peacefully sipping at his tea.
"It is about time we returned to the school," he said, setting his cup aside. "Mr. Dursley, thank your lovely wife for the tea, and thank you for your time. Severus." He waved his wand and disapparated from the room.
Still holding Potter's belongings in the crook of his arm, Snape turned toward Mr. Dursley, who was staring up at him, menace returning to his eyes.
"Mr. Dursley," Snape said silkily, "I have some idea what you did to Mr. Potter. If I find the boy has come to any harm because of you, directly or indirectly, I assure you, I will return to discuss the matter with you."
"I'm not scared of you!"
"Crucio." Snape allowed the spell to continue for barely a second before cutting it off. Just enough time to gain Dursley's attention. Then, leaning close to the fat man's ear, whispered: "You should be."
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Okay, there have been a lot of questions about Snape in this chapter, so allow me to share with you my thoughts on Snape. Ahem. (Sips water, places academic glasses on nose.)
No, I do not see Snape as a misunderstood fellow who really likes Harry, but is just hiding it. And, no, he is not nice. I think I've already established that in this chapter. There are several reasons why he comes on rather strongly here.
Despite his strong dislike for Harry, he has been protecting him throughout the first four books. Whether this is from some promise made to Dumbledore, a returning-the-favor to James, a pact through the Order of the Phoenix, or simply a realization that Harry could be the key to defeating the Dark Lord so he needs to stay alive long enough to die in the final battle (which I fully believe he will), I don't know. Snape is not a Muggle-fan. True, he did leave Voldemort's minions, but that does not mean that he has developed a warm fuzzy for the magically-challenged. When he goes upstairs and sees that, not Harry, but a wizard has been treated as a prisoner by his Muggle family, it pisses him off a wee bit. Both Snape and Dursley are highly intimidating and are trying to intimidate each other from the start. Consider it a clash of similar mindsets. Snape, as he himself points out, it truly the more terrifying of the two. They will meet again and the matter will be discussed.Now, the use of the Unforgivable. Some of you have cheered it (heck, I cheer it), and others seem to want to rap me on the knuckles with a ruler. I agree, it was totally uncalled for. Snape should know better. For his defense, see numbers 2 & 3 above. And remember, old habits die hard. Perhaps it slipped his mind for the moment that he was with Dumbledore in that house and not Voldemort. After all, the two are so easily confused. - sarcasm. Don't flame me.
As for getting caught, Dumbledore had already apparated out. He doesn't know what Snape did, though I think he can guess. Don't worry, there will be a falling out between Snape and Dumbledore concerning Unforgivables and the Dursleys. Just not right now.
Finally, while the use of the Unforgivables is outlawed, I don't believe it is monitored. Nobody showed up when Moody used them in his classroom. No one noticed when Harry was being crucio'd and imperio'd in the graveyard. And a flock of Aurors didn't suddenly show up at the Riddle House when V killed the gardener. It's probably prosecuted the same way as assault and battery. If the victim doesn't report it, how is anyone going to know? Who would Dursley report it to?
Okay, that's all. I have to go play 'fetch' with my cat.