This story is by FawkesnFalme and FatnSassyQuattaHoss.
Summery: Harry's uncle is abusing him and Dumbledore and Severus Snape come to save him and he spends the rest of the summer at Hogwarts recuperating. But when Ron and Hermione come back, they're mad at him, and so is most of the school actually. Why are they mad at him? And what is this strange mirror that he receives for Christmas? Will Ron, Hermione and the rest of the school ever forgive him? And why does he keep seeing his parents in the mirror? If it's not the Mirror of Erised, than what is it?
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, or anyone else associated with the Harry Potter books. Those belong to JKR.
Ch. 2 Where did I go Wrong?
TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!
I, like a rock, sink, sinking 'til I hit the bottom
Water is much deeper than I thought
Nothing to swim with, kickin' but I keep sinking
A lesson that no one could have ever taught
And I can almost breathe the air, right beyond my finger tips
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces
One more push and I'll be there, back where I belong
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces
I see the picture, blurry but now it's in focus
(A fairy tale I purchased on my own)
I finally woke up, everything is better
(A chance for me to open up and grow)
And I can almost breathe the air, right beyond my finger tips
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces
One more push and I'll be there, back where I belong
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces
TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!
TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!
TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!
Suffocating, sinking further almost every day.
Dumbledore's office was unusually busy for two in the morning. Dumbledore himself was sitting at his desk, head on hands, massaging his temples slowly. His white beard folded over onto the desk in front of him, almost like a white fluffy pillow. His blue robes were wrinkled and worn; he'd obviously been hurriedly awoken. He seemed older than ever, weary even. His blue eyes had stopped twinkling; they seemed to be shimmering sadly, almost glassy. To all outward appearances, he seemed to be ignoring all of the people in the room with him.
Some were looking frightened, others were jabbering away in worried tones to deaf ears. But he wasn't ignoring them; Merlin knew that he wanted to. Wanted to ignore them, wanted to ignore Voldemort, and the many bodies they had found. After all, everyone knows that if you believe something hard enough it becomes true. But he wouldn't - no, he couldn't - ignore it; everything was just too important to ignore. He couldn't ignore the worried faces in front of him; he couldn't ignore the lifeless eyes that haunted his nightmares and his reality. He couldn't ignore the evil man who had once been one of his students; he had been brilliant and he still is brilliant, and that was the problem.
Dumbledore heaved a sigh, his every breath shook. Every time he took a breath he felt as if it were drowning him, instead of helping him to live. Every breath was heavy, and cold, dark, surely he was slowly suffocating. He was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice that almost everyone had left his office. Actually everyone had, but a slight knocking on the door signaled that someone else wanted to speak with him.
"Come in," was all he could manage as the black clad body of Severus Snape entered.
"Albus, are you all right?" He seemed truly concerned.
"I'm fine."
Snape cocked his eyebrow at him and continued, "Of course you're not fine. Why did I even ask, stupid question really, no one's really 'fine' any more."
Dumbledore smiled slightly at him, trust Severus to understand, he wasn't as cold and emotionless as everyone thought. And of course he was right too; damned if he wasn't always right. No one was fine anymore. Despite all of the many attacks, and the Muggle killings, Fudge still denied the Dark Lord's return. The dark mark lit up the sky every night like the American Fourth of July. It was like a new, bright, horribly frightening constellation. And that blundering idiot Fudge was always there, covering up the killings before The Daily Prophet could stick their noses in it. They were there after every attack, cleaning up the mess, obliviating everyone insight, causing more confusion than helping. Of course, causing the most confusion was Fudge.
Of all the victims that had been killed, the dead were the luckiest. The living that had gotten in the way had suffered great memory loss. Some didn't know who they were, some didn't know the date and others were desperately searching for missing family members, who, according to them, were home one minute and gone the next. Fudge had done a good job of cleaning up the mess, disposing of the bodies, returning the homes back to their original state, but the list of missing people was steadily growing longer. Every day there was a list of the missing in the Prophet. People who had seemingly disappeared without a trace.
"Is there any news, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, still rubbing his temples.
"As of now, sir, there hasn't been any news. But it is starting to scare me a bit. There hasn't been an attack since last Friday. The Dark Lord doesn't usually wait this long."
And he had a point, he could vividly remember most of the attacks he'd participated in: Walls, homes blown to bits, everything soaked in blood, the smell of death everywhere; and no survivors. None at all.
"If this were the old times, I would've said, 'No news is good news', but in these hard times, that isn't the case," Dumbledore said wearily.
And in fact any night that wasn't filled with bloodshed was a good night. He got up from behind his desk; bones creaking from old age, hands clasped behind his back, and slowly walked over to the window. Looking out over the forbidden forest, he could faintly see a white speck that promised to be an owl. He opened the window, walked back to his desk and sat down. Severus looked at him strangely. The Headmaster did not usually stand up and stare out into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of a Death Eater report. Maybe the old man was more senile than people had thought. He cleared his throat to get his point across.
"Just needed a bit of air," Dumbledore announced, correctly interpreting the cough.
Snape just cocked his eyebrow. Suddenly, there was a sound of wings flapping overhead and he was abruptly cuffed over the head with a long, bright white wing.
"What the. . . .?!" Snape muttered, looking up to see a snowy owl flying overhead. "Great. Even Potter's owl hates me."
Dumbledore held in his laughter. "Hedwig?" he muttered.
The owl let out a small hoot to tell him that he was correct in his assumption.
"What are you doing here, Hedwig? Shouldn't you be home with Harry?"
When the Headmaster mentioned Harry's name, Hedwig let out an urgent hoot. She began screeching and making a big fuss, scattering a large pile of important documents all over the floor of the already messy office. Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, suddenly flew over the Hedwig and placed his beak on her head. A small tear slid down his cheek and landed on the owl's beak, gently rolling off. The two men in the room looked at one another. They both knew that phoenix tears could be used for stress relief, but Fawkes didn't usually give them willingly, to fellow animal or human alike.
Hedwig interrupted their musings by screeching loudly and grabbing the cuff of Snape's robes, tugging harshly much like a Rottweiler would on his favorite toy. Dumbledore's eyes widened behind his half moon spectacles as Hedwig continued to claw, pull and otherwise abuse the Potions master. He looked at the younger man, worry evident in his eyes.
How long has it been since we received a report from Arabella?
Snape sucked in a breath of air. The two of them seemed to reach the same conclusion as they made a beeline for the door, knocking Fawkes' perch over in the process. The phoenix didn't seem to much mind as he, and a very relieved looking Hedwig, fluttered soundlessly after the two men as they rushed towards the Forbidden Forest, out past the anti apparition spells and disappeared with a slight pop.
))()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())() ()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()((
Staring at the white above
can't tell if I'm alive or am I dead?
or is it in my head?
(Where'd I go wrong?)
Staring at the white above
one day I closed my eyes then here I am
a cold, unhappy man
I've come to realize the life I have I hate, the pulse I need is slowly fading
until I've lost it all
I've been waiting for an inspiration
for a chance I never got to take
before it's much too late
(Where'd I go wrong?)
Where's the boy that used to run?
Could it be he's up and gone away?
He seems so far away
And all the things I could have done
Could it be they've up and gone away?
They seem so far away
Feels as if the boy in me has left and been replaced
with a cheap and bitter imposter of myself
I must find the one that used to be
approach him slow, don't be afraid to say; Can he come out and play?
(Where'd I go wrong?)
Where's the boy that used to run?
Could it be that he is up and gone away?
He seems so far away
And all the things I could have done
Could it be they've up and gone away?
They seem so far away
Staring at the sky above
I've found a chance I'm finally going to take
I've learned from my mistakes
(Where'd I go wrong?)
Where's the boy that used to run?
Could it be he is up and gone away? He seems so far away
where'd I go wrong?
And all the things I could have done
could it be they've up and gone away?
They seem so far away
Where'd I go wrong?
Dumbledore and Snape arrived at the end of Privet Drive with a muffled crack that rang out through the silent street. Neither of them seemed particularly worried about whether or not a Muggle saw them. Though it was highly unlikely as most normal people were asleep at this hour. Or that's what most people liked to think. The two men sprinted as fast as they could towards number four. The house looked like any control freaks house. Neat and orderly, grass cut, hedges trimmed, flowerbeds pruned. The windows were all spotless and glimmered in the moonlight. There was a welcome sign on the door, accented by a "No Solicitors" plaque right below.
The door was a freshly painted brown, and Snape was sure that if he were going to open it the Muggle way that it wouldn't give off the tiniest of squeaks. Unfortunately being a wizard he couldn't test that theory, and as they approached it burst magically open with a loud snap. The sound of the door exploding into number four echoed through the street, and the Dursley's lights weren't the only ones that had been turned on. They had alerted almost the entire street.
Severus, slightly ahead of the older man, shoved himself through the door first, only to be met with the vivid purple rhinoceros that was Vernon Dursley. The stoplight faced man looked at him in shock just as his wife and son came padding down the stairs behind him.
Thundering more like thought, Snape thought with a sneer as he looked at Dudley.
Petunia gasped at the man before her, and Snape dimly realized that he was still wearing his Death Eater robes.
Hmm, I'd better lose them at the risk of giving Potter a heart attack. If he was still alive.
He grimaced at his own dire reflection. The four people stared at each other for a few moments, Vernon's face slowly getting darker as Dumbledore stumbled in over the splintered door. Behind him came Fawkes and Hedwig, Fawkes settled on his owner's shoulder, and strangely enough Hedwig on his. Vernon seemed to regain his composure, or at least Severus assumed the bright reddening counted as composure, or maybe the man was going into cardiac arrest, or having a blood clot or something along those lines. The younger man sincerely hoped it was something fatal. The fatter man let out an angry grunt, maybe he fancies he's rutting, Snape couldn't help that last notion from popping into his head. And he did indeed let out a bellow like an angry stag; only the endless noise seemed to form words that sounded something like "What are you freaks doing in my home!!!"
Snape's lip curled unwittingly in detest at the man in front of him. How dare he! If anyone was a freak . . . .
Dumbledore's calm, clear, yet strangely chilling voice sliced through the tension, "We've come to check on Harry."
The simple comment seemed to have a very bad affect on the Dursleys. Petunia's eyes widened behind her husband's back, and she started to stutter incoherently, The lump of lard that was their son ran screaming out of the room, hands flailing in the air; and Dursley, if it were at all possible, turned an even darker shade of red.
"He's gone, ran away the little ingrate did," was Vernon's simple comment.
But he was obviously lying; it was painfully obvious by the smells of pain and blood in the house. Snape's face contorted into a sneer, patented for terrifying people. Dursley and the prune that was his wife backed away in fear.
"Bull shit," was all Snape said, growled really, but yet it sent them cowering. He continued, "Are you going to tell me where Potter is, or must I persuade you?" He drew his wand out of his pocket smiling evilly, this would be fun.
"Severus," warned Dumbledore cautiously, then his tone changed sharply. "If anyone is going to do the persuading it will be me."
The potions master looked at the Headmaster in complete and utter shock, his lip twitched and his eyes twinkled - the younger man could barely hold in a smirk.
"H-h-he's u-u-ups-s-s-st-stairs. I-in D-D-Dudley's ex-extra r-room," gibbered Petunia.
Snape narrowed his eyes at Potter's relatives, and scowled, "If you'd like to live through this night he'd better be more than just upstairs, because if he isn't alive and well I will have his godfather on you after having some fun myself."
Petunia's eyes widened in horror, and she fainted, sprawled out behind her husband on the perfectly white carpet.
"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN ME IN MY OWN HOME!"
Harry's uncle, who by now was a brilliant magenta color, made a move for Snape, who in turn brandished his wand and yawned, "STUPEFY!" lazily. He smirked at the unconscious Vernon Dursley, his mouth half open, brows still furrowed in anger, piggy eyes shocked, maybe he could sell him as a modern sculpture of what society was coming to. But Dumbledore tugging on his robes soon brought him out of his reverie. The Headmaster reminded the older man of their original mission, to check on Harry.
Oh yeah, Potter; he'd almost forgotten, he had been having so much fun with his relatives. Muggle baiting always gave him a good laugh. His face turned serious and he couldn't believe his own thoughts from just a second before. Potter was possibly in mortal danger and his only reaction was oh yeah - he really needed an attitude adjustment, not that he'd ever admit that to anyone. The two professors made their way up the staircase, following swiftly behind Hedwig who was leading the way to the right room. The rather large owl attempted to land on the doorknob, but slid right off. She hovered in mid air shrieking and clawing at the handle, trying to grind the many locks and chains into dust between her beak. Snape grabbed the frantic owl as Dumbledore attempted to open the door. He wasn't sure he wanted to find Harry; he wanted to see what was behind door number one. He could smell the sickly sweet tang of blood. It permeated through the walls, through the very wood work of the door.
One didn't have to be a werewolf to recognize the smell of blood; it was a very unique odor. Its aroma was that of energy being lost, of life slowly fading. He could sense fear, pain, regret, apprehension, all felt by a fifteen-year-old boy at one point. He cam back to his senses at a whispered, "Alohomora" and the clicks of the many locks opening. He dropped the owl in shock at the sight in front of him. Hedwig let out an indignant squawk from the floor and hopped over to the bed, where there rested a fifteen-year-old boy. Not just any fifteen-year-old boy, but Harry Potter. A very beaten, abused and malnourished looking Harry Potter, his waxy skin stretched over all too evident cheek bones, the skin Severus could see was covered in all different shades of purple bruises; and what wasn't bruised was, covered in dry blood, cuts and gashes. Some of his limbs stuck out at odd angles. There were gruesome wounds from the bones shredding through the skin, bloody and inflamed, no doubt starting to become infected.
Harry was lying on stained red sheets, a fresh puddle of blood surrounding him. The boys glasses were nowhere in sight, so there was nothing hiding the dark purple rings around his eyes. His battered face looked dismal, his lips locked in a grim frown. He was covered in makeshift bandages that probably did more harm than they helped considering they were grimy with dirt and filth. Snape swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat, and walked over to the boy, gently lifting him off the bed that had become a small sea of blood and vomit. He supported Harry's head, realizing with disgust that his hand was now sticky and covered in crimson liquid life. How could someone do this to an innocent boy? How could someone do something so repulsive and nauseating? What had Harry ever done to them, what had the poor boy ever done to anyone?
He looked at Dumbledore for guidance, not sure now what to do with the fairly light body in his arms, starved and beaten, but luckily enough still alive. He could barely make out the boy's chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Dumbledore's voice seemed earth shattering in that moment of horror.
"We must get him to Arabella's. She's connected to the Floo network."
The usually calm commanding voice of the Headmaster was laced with worry, regret, and sorrow. A tear made it's way down his ancient face. Snape nodded, yes that was definitely the safest and fastest, although not his favorite way to return to Hogwarts.
Summery: Harry's uncle is abusing him and Dumbledore and Severus Snape come to save him and he spends the rest of the summer at Hogwarts recuperating. But when Ron and Hermione come back, they're mad at him, and so is most of the school actually. Why are they mad at him? And what is this strange mirror that he receives for Christmas? Will Ron, Hermione and the rest of the school ever forgive him? And why does he keep seeing his parents in the mirror? If it's not the Mirror of Erised, than what is it?
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, or anyone else associated with the Harry Potter books. Those belong to JKR.
Ch. 2 Where did I go Wrong?
TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!
I, like a rock, sink, sinking 'til I hit the bottom
Water is much deeper than I thought
Nothing to swim with, kickin' but I keep sinking
A lesson that no one could have ever taught
And I can almost breathe the air, right beyond my finger tips
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces
One more push and I'll be there, back where I belong
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces
I see the picture, blurry but now it's in focus
(A fairy tale I purchased on my own)
I finally woke up, everything is better
(A chance for me to open up and grow)
And I can almost breathe the air, right beyond my finger tips
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces
One more push and I'll be there, back where I belong
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces
TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!
TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!
TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!
Suffocating, sinking further almost every day.
Dumbledore's office was unusually busy for two in the morning. Dumbledore himself was sitting at his desk, head on hands, massaging his temples slowly. His white beard folded over onto the desk in front of him, almost like a white fluffy pillow. His blue robes were wrinkled and worn; he'd obviously been hurriedly awoken. He seemed older than ever, weary even. His blue eyes had stopped twinkling; they seemed to be shimmering sadly, almost glassy. To all outward appearances, he seemed to be ignoring all of the people in the room with him.
Some were looking frightened, others were jabbering away in worried tones to deaf ears. But he wasn't ignoring them; Merlin knew that he wanted to. Wanted to ignore them, wanted to ignore Voldemort, and the many bodies they had found. After all, everyone knows that if you believe something hard enough it becomes true. But he wouldn't - no, he couldn't - ignore it; everything was just too important to ignore. He couldn't ignore the worried faces in front of him; he couldn't ignore the lifeless eyes that haunted his nightmares and his reality. He couldn't ignore the evil man who had once been one of his students; he had been brilliant and he still is brilliant, and that was the problem.
Dumbledore heaved a sigh, his every breath shook. Every time he took a breath he felt as if it were drowning him, instead of helping him to live. Every breath was heavy, and cold, dark, surely he was slowly suffocating. He was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice that almost everyone had left his office. Actually everyone had, but a slight knocking on the door signaled that someone else wanted to speak with him.
"Come in," was all he could manage as the black clad body of Severus Snape entered.
"Albus, are you all right?" He seemed truly concerned.
"I'm fine."
Snape cocked his eyebrow at him and continued, "Of course you're not fine. Why did I even ask, stupid question really, no one's really 'fine' any more."
Dumbledore smiled slightly at him, trust Severus to understand, he wasn't as cold and emotionless as everyone thought. And of course he was right too; damned if he wasn't always right. No one was fine anymore. Despite all of the many attacks, and the Muggle killings, Fudge still denied the Dark Lord's return. The dark mark lit up the sky every night like the American Fourth of July. It was like a new, bright, horribly frightening constellation. And that blundering idiot Fudge was always there, covering up the killings before The Daily Prophet could stick their noses in it. They were there after every attack, cleaning up the mess, obliviating everyone insight, causing more confusion than helping. Of course, causing the most confusion was Fudge.
Of all the victims that had been killed, the dead were the luckiest. The living that had gotten in the way had suffered great memory loss. Some didn't know who they were, some didn't know the date and others were desperately searching for missing family members, who, according to them, were home one minute and gone the next. Fudge had done a good job of cleaning up the mess, disposing of the bodies, returning the homes back to their original state, but the list of missing people was steadily growing longer. Every day there was a list of the missing in the Prophet. People who had seemingly disappeared without a trace.
"Is there any news, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, still rubbing his temples.
"As of now, sir, there hasn't been any news. But it is starting to scare me a bit. There hasn't been an attack since last Friday. The Dark Lord doesn't usually wait this long."
And he had a point, he could vividly remember most of the attacks he'd participated in: Walls, homes blown to bits, everything soaked in blood, the smell of death everywhere; and no survivors. None at all.
"If this were the old times, I would've said, 'No news is good news', but in these hard times, that isn't the case," Dumbledore said wearily.
And in fact any night that wasn't filled with bloodshed was a good night. He got up from behind his desk; bones creaking from old age, hands clasped behind his back, and slowly walked over to the window. Looking out over the forbidden forest, he could faintly see a white speck that promised to be an owl. He opened the window, walked back to his desk and sat down. Severus looked at him strangely. The Headmaster did not usually stand up and stare out into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of a Death Eater report. Maybe the old man was more senile than people had thought. He cleared his throat to get his point across.
"Just needed a bit of air," Dumbledore announced, correctly interpreting the cough.
Snape just cocked his eyebrow. Suddenly, there was a sound of wings flapping overhead and he was abruptly cuffed over the head with a long, bright white wing.
"What the. . . .?!" Snape muttered, looking up to see a snowy owl flying overhead. "Great. Even Potter's owl hates me."
Dumbledore held in his laughter. "Hedwig?" he muttered.
The owl let out a small hoot to tell him that he was correct in his assumption.
"What are you doing here, Hedwig? Shouldn't you be home with Harry?"
When the Headmaster mentioned Harry's name, Hedwig let out an urgent hoot. She began screeching and making a big fuss, scattering a large pile of important documents all over the floor of the already messy office. Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, suddenly flew over the Hedwig and placed his beak on her head. A small tear slid down his cheek and landed on the owl's beak, gently rolling off. The two men in the room looked at one another. They both knew that phoenix tears could be used for stress relief, but Fawkes didn't usually give them willingly, to fellow animal or human alike.
Hedwig interrupted their musings by screeching loudly and grabbing the cuff of Snape's robes, tugging harshly much like a Rottweiler would on his favorite toy. Dumbledore's eyes widened behind his half moon spectacles as Hedwig continued to claw, pull and otherwise abuse the Potions master. He looked at the younger man, worry evident in his eyes.
How long has it been since we received a report from Arabella?
Snape sucked in a breath of air. The two of them seemed to reach the same conclusion as they made a beeline for the door, knocking Fawkes' perch over in the process. The phoenix didn't seem to much mind as he, and a very relieved looking Hedwig, fluttered soundlessly after the two men as they rushed towards the Forbidden Forest, out past the anti apparition spells and disappeared with a slight pop.
))()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())() ()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()((
Staring at the white above
can't tell if I'm alive or am I dead?
or is it in my head?
(Where'd I go wrong?)
Staring at the white above
one day I closed my eyes then here I am
a cold, unhappy man
I've come to realize the life I have I hate, the pulse I need is slowly fading
until I've lost it all
I've been waiting for an inspiration
for a chance I never got to take
before it's much too late
(Where'd I go wrong?)
Where's the boy that used to run?
Could it be he's up and gone away?
He seems so far away
And all the things I could have done
Could it be they've up and gone away?
They seem so far away
Feels as if the boy in me has left and been replaced
with a cheap and bitter imposter of myself
I must find the one that used to be
approach him slow, don't be afraid to say; Can he come out and play?
(Where'd I go wrong?)
Where's the boy that used to run?
Could it be that he is up and gone away?
He seems so far away
And all the things I could have done
Could it be they've up and gone away?
They seem so far away
Staring at the sky above
I've found a chance I'm finally going to take
I've learned from my mistakes
(Where'd I go wrong?)
Where's the boy that used to run?
Could it be he is up and gone away? He seems so far away
where'd I go wrong?
And all the things I could have done
could it be they've up and gone away?
They seem so far away
Where'd I go wrong?
Dumbledore and Snape arrived at the end of Privet Drive with a muffled crack that rang out through the silent street. Neither of them seemed particularly worried about whether or not a Muggle saw them. Though it was highly unlikely as most normal people were asleep at this hour. Or that's what most people liked to think. The two men sprinted as fast as they could towards number four. The house looked like any control freaks house. Neat and orderly, grass cut, hedges trimmed, flowerbeds pruned. The windows were all spotless and glimmered in the moonlight. There was a welcome sign on the door, accented by a "No Solicitors" plaque right below.
The door was a freshly painted brown, and Snape was sure that if he were going to open it the Muggle way that it wouldn't give off the tiniest of squeaks. Unfortunately being a wizard he couldn't test that theory, and as they approached it burst magically open with a loud snap. The sound of the door exploding into number four echoed through the street, and the Dursley's lights weren't the only ones that had been turned on. They had alerted almost the entire street.
Severus, slightly ahead of the older man, shoved himself through the door first, only to be met with the vivid purple rhinoceros that was Vernon Dursley. The stoplight faced man looked at him in shock just as his wife and son came padding down the stairs behind him.
Thundering more like thought, Snape thought with a sneer as he looked at Dudley.
Petunia gasped at the man before her, and Snape dimly realized that he was still wearing his Death Eater robes.
Hmm, I'd better lose them at the risk of giving Potter a heart attack. If he was still alive.
He grimaced at his own dire reflection. The four people stared at each other for a few moments, Vernon's face slowly getting darker as Dumbledore stumbled in over the splintered door. Behind him came Fawkes and Hedwig, Fawkes settled on his owner's shoulder, and strangely enough Hedwig on his. Vernon seemed to regain his composure, or at least Severus assumed the bright reddening counted as composure, or maybe the man was going into cardiac arrest, or having a blood clot or something along those lines. The younger man sincerely hoped it was something fatal. The fatter man let out an angry grunt, maybe he fancies he's rutting, Snape couldn't help that last notion from popping into his head. And he did indeed let out a bellow like an angry stag; only the endless noise seemed to form words that sounded something like "What are you freaks doing in my home!!!"
Snape's lip curled unwittingly in detest at the man in front of him. How dare he! If anyone was a freak . . . .
Dumbledore's calm, clear, yet strangely chilling voice sliced through the tension, "We've come to check on Harry."
The simple comment seemed to have a very bad affect on the Dursleys. Petunia's eyes widened behind her husband's back, and she started to stutter incoherently, The lump of lard that was their son ran screaming out of the room, hands flailing in the air; and Dursley, if it were at all possible, turned an even darker shade of red.
"He's gone, ran away the little ingrate did," was Vernon's simple comment.
But he was obviously lying; it was painfully obvious by the smells of pain and blood in the house. Snape's face contorted into a sneer, patented for terrifying people. Dursley and the prune that was his wife backed away in fear.
"Bull shit," was all Snape said, growled really, but yet it sent them cowering. He continued, "Are you going to tell me where Potter is, or must I persuade you?" He drew his wand out of his pocket smiling evilly, this would be fun.
"Severus," warned Dumbledore cautiously, then his tone changed sharply. "If anyone is going to do the persuading it will be me."
The potions master looked at the Headmaster in complete and utter shock, his lip twitched and his eyes twinkled - the younger man could barely hold in a smirk.
"H-h-he's u-u-ups-s-s-st-stairs. I-in D-D-Dudley's ex-extra r-room," gibbered Petunia.
Snape narrowed his eyes at Potter's relatives, and scowled, "If you'd like to live through this night he'd better be more than just upstairs, because if he isn't alive and well I will have his godfather on you after having some fun myself."
Petunia's eyes widened in horror, and she fainted, sprawled out behind her husband on the perfectly white carpet.
"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN ME IN MY OWN HOME!"
Harry's uncle, who by now was a brilliant magenta color, made a move for Snape, who in turn brandished his wand and yawned, "STUPEFY!" lazily. He smirked at the unconscious Vernon Dursley, his mouth half open, brows still furrowed in anger, piggy eyes shocked, maybe he could sell him as a modern sculpture of what society was coming to. But Dumbledore tugging on his robes soon brought him out of his reverie. The Headmaster reminded the older man of their original mission, to check on Harry.
Oh yeah, Potter; he'd almost forgotten, he had been having so much fun with his relatives. Muggle baiting always gave him a good laugh. His face turned serious and he couldn't believe his own thoughts from just a second before. Potter was possibly in mortal danger and his only reaction was oh yeah - he really needed an attitude adjustment, not that he'd ever admit that to anyone. The two professors made their way up the staircase, following swiftly behind Hedwig who was leading the way to the right room. The rather large owl attempted to land on the doorknob, but slid right off. She hovered in mid air shrieking and clawing at the handle, trying to grind the many locks and chains into dust between her beak. Snape grabbed the frantic owl as Dumbledore attempted to open the door. He wasn't sure he wanted to find Harry; he wanted to see what was behind door number one. He could smell the sickly sweet tang of blood. It permeated through the walls, through the very wood work of the door.
One didn't have to be a werewolf to recognize the smell of blood; it was a very unique odor. Its aroma was that of energy being lost, of life slowly fading. He could sense fear, pain, regret, apprehension, all felt by a fifteen-year-old boy at one point. He cam back to his senses at a whispered, "Alohomora" and the clicks of the many locks opening. He dropped the owl in shock at the sight in front of him. Hedwig let out an indignant squawk from the floor and hopped over to the bed, where there rested a fifteen-year-old boy. Not just any fifteen-year-old boy, but Harry Potter. A very beaten, abused and malnourished looking Harry Potter, his waxy skin stretched over all too evident cheek bones, the skin Severus could see was covered in all different shades of purple bruises; and what wasn't bruised was, covered in dry blood, cuts and gashes. Some of his limbs stuck out at odd angles. There were gruesome wounds from the bones shredding through the skin, bloody and inflamed, no doubt starting to become infected.
Harry was lying on stained red sheets, a fresh puddle of blood surrounding him. The boys glasses were nowhere in sight, so there was nothing hiding the dark purple rings around his eyes. His battered face looked dismal, his lips locked in a grim frown. He was covered in makeshift bandages that probably did more harm than they helped considering they were grimy with dirt and filth. Snape swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat, and walked over to the boy, gently lifting him off the bed that had become a small sea of blood and vomit. He supported Harry's head, realizing with disgust that his hand was now sticky and covered in crimson liquid life. How could someone do this to an innocent boy? How could someone do something so repulsive and nauseating? What had Harry ever done to them, what had the poor boy ever done to anyone?
He looked at Dumbledore for guidance, not sure now what to do with the fairly light body in his arms, starved and beaten, but luckily enough still alive. He could barely make out the boy's chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Dumbledore's voice seemed earth shattering in that moment of horror.
"We must get him to Arabella's. She's connected to the Floo network."
The usually calm commanding voice of the Headmaster was laced with worry, regret, and sorrow. A tear made it's way down his ancient face. Snape nodded, yes that was definitely the safest and fastest, although not his favorite way to return to Hogwarts.