First off, thanks to the five people who found the link I wanted. If anyone
else wants it, here you are:
http://www.vigilantgriffin.net/snape/fiction/acciosnape-
somethingtolivefor.html
*** DREAM ***
"Boy!" bellowed Vernon, his moustache bristling and his face purple. Harry swallowed and shrank back into the shadows. But it never worked. The shadows were never big enough. "BOY!" Moving silently, Harry tried to find a way past the giant bulk of his uncle, only to walk straight into a mirror with a thud. He reeled back, hearing the footsteps of his uncle approaching, and suddenly realised with a shock that the grotesquely overweight figure in the mirror was himself.
With a horrified gasp, he tried to flee, but found his feet glued to the ground. The boy was repulsive; a bit fatter than Dudley, with watery green eyes squinting out of a monstrously flabby face. The lips were like salami, round and thick and red; the nose protruding from the visage like a baguette, long and fat. With a shudder of disgust, Harry spun around and backed into his uncle's vast form.
"So, boy, thought you could run, did you?"
He heard the sound of his uncle's hand hitting him around the face and felt the waves of pain a few seconds later, just as he fell to the floor and a hefty kick was dealt to his ribs. He ground his teeth together, trying not to cry out as the blows rained down on him.
*** END DREAM ***
He woke up, sweating and shaking. In the next bed Ron rolled over sleepily and looked at him out of sleep-fogged eyes.
"You ok, Harry?"
"Yeah I'm fine. Just a nightmare. . ."
"Bloody Voldemort" mumbled Ron, rolling back over, but not before Harry heard him mutter softly, "The sooner you kill him, the better."
He lay, again, staring at the ceiling. This time he did count the cracks, trying not to think about what Ron had said. It was Harry's job to kill Voldemort; more, it was his life. But how? How was he supposed to kill Voldemort? He knew no dark magic, and somehow he didn't think a tickling charm was going to bump of the greatest wizard of all time, perhaps with the exception of Dumbledore. He amused himself for a few moments with thoughts of Voldemort's grotesque face writhing into a snakelike smile which engorged itself into a fully blown laugh before the dark lord exploded in a plume of smoke.
However the humorous image was quickly disrupted by the rumbling of Harry's stomach. Instinctively he curled an arm across himself and pulled the blankets further over his shoulders. How long had it been now? Not very long; only since lunchtime the previous day.
Dean grumbled in his sleep and fell silent; Neville's soft snores punctuated the deep breathing of everyone else. Knowing he wouldn't get any more sleep that night, Harry quietly got up and pulled on his dressing gown, throwing his invisibility cloak over the top. He padded down the cold stone stairs and into the common room, glancing momentarily at the glowing embers from the previous night's fire.
When it came down to it, he really was just free labour. He was designated to kill Voldemort; if he failed then he would die knowing that his life had been a failure. And if he won? Well, he wouldn't have a life. After all, once the scar and the stigma were taken away, what were you left with? A wizard, but not a terribly powerful one. There would be nothing to mark him apart from, say, Colin Creevey.
Harry barely noticed that his feet were leading him away from the common room. The Fat Lady grumbled sleepily at his back as she swung shut behind him. The floor was cold and dirty and he had no shoes, but he didn't really care. Unbidden, the images of Dudley and Vernon flashed in his mind. What would it feel like to have family? It must be like having a different part of your brain opened up, he supposed. A part of your brain that would make you relax into a hug rather than scrambling away from the contact; a part of your brain that would give you the capacity to trust unconditionally. So maybe for Harry's purpose this part of the brain was best left untouched. After all, the less you trusted anyone in these times, the better.
Though he was meant to be the saviour of Wizard-kind, he felt remarkably useless. In the past weeks there had been increasing amounts of attacks on muggles. He saw all the gruesome pictures in his dreams, but was always to late to reach Dumbledore. If Fudge would just accept Voldemort's return then so many innocent lives could be saved. And of course, nobody would tell him it was his fault that these people had died, but he saw it in their faces every time there was a new attack. Snape especially took no measures to hide his disgust at Harry's inability to be in the right place at the right time. Even though Harry had saved the bastard's life. . .
*** Flashback ***
He awoke, as normal, sweating and shivering, his throat hoarse from screaming. Ron was shaking him, and all the boys were watching in stupefied horror. Suddenly remembering his dream, Harry shot out of bed and looked towards the window. Sure enough, in the morning mist a dark cloaked figure could be seen swiftly making its way towards the Forbidden Forest. Without thinking, he grabbed his Firebolt and leaped out of the window, hearing shrill cries of amazement and horror behind him. He swooped down to Snape's level as quickly and silently as he could, before casting a full body bind on the professor, who fell like a board to the frosty ground. Harry hastily dismounted and turned Snape over. The black eyes glittered ferociously at him, and Harry briefly wondered if the head of Slytherin had any basilisk blood in him. He decided now wasn't the best time to ask, and crouched next to Snape.
"Sir, you have to listen to me. I just had a dream; a premonition. Voldemort knows you are a spy. He's summoned you to torture and probably kill you! You can't go in!"
Snape said nothing as his lips were sealed with the spell. Maybe Harry had been a little over-enthusiastic.
"Sir, if you will come to Dumbledore with me then please at least look friendly before I take off the spell. . ."
The part of Snape's face that was mobile twisted. Whether it was a friendly look or a snarl, Harry couldn't tell. Deciding it was better to be safe (well, as safe as you could be having just immobilised Snape) he levitated Snape and set off inside, aware of the Gryffindor boys staring at him out of the window.
When he reached Dumbledore's office, he politely asked the Gargoyle to ask Dumbledore to let him in, which received a muffled snort from Snape. However the gargoyle politely obeyed and disappeared momentarily. The wall then slid aside, allowing Snape and Harry in. Once he had explained what had happened, Dumbledore awarded 20 points to Gryffindor and told Harry to go back to bed. The last thing Harry saw was Dumbledore forcing a calming potion down Snape's throat. Harry privately thought that if the Headmaster was going to release Snape from the body bind he was even barmier than most people thought.
Life continued as normal after that. The Gryffindors couldn't understand why Harry hadn't let Snape get killed and Snape was as nasty as usual to Harry.
*** End Flashback ***
Lost in his own thoughts, Harry walked all the way to the library before he realised how cold he was. He was considering walking back to the Common Room but then realised he was in the perfect place to cast a heating charm. He wandered over to a book of charms for a simple life, and flicked through. Stirring charms. . .might be useful for potions. . .feather- weight. . .already knew that one. . .heating, yes, that was what he wanted. He pulled out his wand and waved it at his feet, muttering the incantation. It worked so strongly that he almost burned his feet! He stared down and suddenly realised that the wand was in his left hand when he had always used his right previously. Deciding to experiment, he summoned a very heavy tome from a top shelf with his wand in the right hand. It wavered and wobbled, and collapsed on top of Harry, knocking the wind out of him. Heart racing, he held the wand in his left hand and suddenly felt it thrum beneath his fingers, vibrating with power in his palm. It had never felt like this before. . .
"Accio" he muttered. Another book shot towards him with the force of a small rocket and he hastily ducked to avoid it. Deciding to try something else, he aimed his wand at a student's parchment which had been left from the night before, and without saying an incantation tried to transfigure it into a chicken (wand in his left hand). There was a startled squawk and he hastily waved his wand at it to make it fall silent. Only then, staring at a perfect speckled hen with gorgeous liquid brown eyes, did he realise what was so odd - other than using his wand with the other hand. He hadn't spoken any words!
***********************************************
"Ron! Ron! Wake up! I just found the most amazing thing!"
"Whu. . .I. . .bloody hell Harry. . .ugh. . ."
It took a few moments to get Ron to wake up. When he finally he did he looked dishevelled and rather pissed off. However his expression soon changed when Harry explained.
"Seriously. . .it multiplies my magic by ten-fold. Go on, try it!"
Slightly apprehensive, Ron switched his wand over to his other hand, and performed a summoning charm. Nothing happened. Harry urged him to try again; again there was no magic. When Ron moved his wand back to his normal hand, the spell worked normally. The red-head gaped at his friend.
"Blimey, Harry" he breathed. "How many years at this school, and they never noticed you held your wand in the wrong hand!"
Harry looked at Ron oddly.
"What do you mean, Ron? I'm right handed!"
"Yeah, but. . .well, they always said. . ." he trailed off, looking unsure, but a glance at Harry's murderous face told him he'd better continue.
"Well, they always said you should have been really great at magic. I mean. . .you can do a patronus. . .but people have said that your father was as powerful as Snape at school. . .that's why they hated each other so much. And. . .well, you were good. . .but you never really showed any tremendous power and people started to doubt whether you really could defeat Voldemort. . ." Ron was cut off short as Harry stood furiously.
"It's all there is, isn't it, Ron. All there is to my whole fucking existence is killing Voldemort. Why? Why the bloody hell does it have to be me?"
He was aware of how shrill his voice sounded, but he didn't care. Ron looked nonplussed.
"Harry, you're famous. What more could you want?"
The rage simmered and bubbled inside him, until he finally managed to control it, and hissed through gritted teeth.
"What more could I want? How can you ask that, Ron? I want to have a family. I want to be allowed out without fear of being killed. I want to be able to have friends without fear that they will be the first to die. I want a family. I want to be Harry; just Harry. That's all I want!"
And with that, he turned and ran out of the dormitory, not knowing where he was going, and not caring.
*** DREAM ***
"Boy!" bellowed Vernon, his moustache bristling and his face purple. Harry swallowed and shrank back into the shadows. But it never worked. The shadows were never big enough. "BOY!" Moving silently, Harry tried to find a way past the giant bulk of his uncle, only to walk straight into a mirror with a thud. He reeled back, hearing the footsteps of his uncle approaching, and suddenly realised with a shock that the grotesquely overweight figure in the mirror was himself.
With a horrified gasp, he tried to flee, but found his feet glued to the ground. The boy was repulsive; a bit fatter than Dudley, with watery green eyes squinting out of a monstrously flabby face. The lips were like salami, round and thick and red; the nose protruding from the visage like a baguette, long and fat. With a shudder of disgust, Harry spun around and backed into his uncle's vast form.
"So, boy, thought you could run, did you?"
He heard the sound of his uncle's hand hitting him around the face and felt the waves of pain a few seconds later, just as he fell to the floor and a hefty kick was dealt to his ribs. He ground his teeth together, trying not to cry out as the blows rained down on him.
*** END DREAM ***
He woke up, sweating and shaking. In the next bed Ron rolled over sleepily and looked at him out of sleep-fogged eyes.
"You ok, Harry?"
"Yeah I'm fine. Just a nightmare. . ."
"Bloody Voldemort" mumbled Ron, rolling back over, but not before Harry heard him mutter softly, "The sooner you kill him, the better."
He lay, again, staring at the ceiling. This time he did count the cracks, trying not to think about what Ron had said. It was Harry's job to kill Voldemort; more, it was his life. But how? How was he supposed to kill Voldemort? He knew no dark magic, and somehow he didn't think a tickling charm was going to bump of the greatest wizard of all time, perhaps with the exception of Dumbledore. He amused himself for a few moments with thoughts of Voldemort's grotesque face writhing into a snakelike smile which engorged itself into a fully blown laugh before the dark lord exploded in a plume of smoke.
However the humorous image was quickly disrupted by the rumbling of Harry's stomach. Instinctively he curled an arm across himself and pulled the blankets further over his shoulders. How long had it been now? Not very long; only since lunchtime the previous day.
Dean grumbled in his sleep and fell silent; Neville's soft snores punctuated the deep breathing of everyone else. Knowing he wouldn't get any more sleep that night, Harry quietly got up and pulled on his dressing gown, throwing his invisibility cloak over the top. He padded down the cold stone stairs and into the common room, glancing momentarily at the glowing embers from the previous night's fire.
When it came down to it, he really was just free labour. He was designated to kill Voldemort; if he failed then he would die knowing that his life had been a failure. And if he won? Well, he wouldn't have a life. After all, once the scar and the stigma were taken away, what were you left with? A wizard, but not a terribly powerful one. There would be nothing to mark him apart from, say, Colin Creevey.
Harry barely noticed that his feet were leading him away from the common room. The Fat Lady grumbled sleepily at his back as she swung shut behind him. The floor was cold and dirty and he had no shoes, but he didn't really care. Unbidden, the images of Dudley and Vernon flashed in his mind. What would it feel like to have family? It must be like having a different part of your brain opened up, he supposed. A part of your brain that would make you relax into a hug rather than scrambling away from the contact; a part of your brain that would give you the capacity to trust unconditionally. So maybe for Harry's purpose this part of the brain was best left untouched. After all, the less you trusted anyone in these times, the better.
Though he was meant to be the saviour of Wizard-kind, he felt remarkably useless. In the past weeks there had been increasing amounts of attacks on muggles. He saw all the gruesome pictures in his dreams, but was always to late to reach Dumbledore. If Fudge would just accept Voldemort's return then so many innocent lives could be saved. And of course, nobody would tell him it was his fault that these people had died, but he saw it in their faces every time there was a new attack. Snape especially took no measures to hide his disgust at Harry's inability to be in the right place at the right time. Even though Harry had saved the bastard's life. . .
*** Flashback ***
He awoke, as normal, sweating and shivering, his throat hoarse from screaming. Ron was shaking him, and all the boys were watching in stupefied horror. Suddenly remembering his dream, Harry shot out of bed and looked towards the window. Sure enough, in the morning mist a dark cloaked figure could be seen swiftly making its way towards the Forbidden Forest. Without thinking, he grabbed his Firebolt and leaped out of the window, hearing shrill cries of amazement and horror behind him. He swooped down to Snape's level as quickly and silently as he could, before casting a full body bind on the professor, who fell like a board to the frosty ground. Harry hastily dismounted and turned Snape over. The black eyes glittered ferociously at him, and Harry briefly wondered if the head of Slytherin had any basilisk blood in him. He decided now wasn't the best time to ask, and crouched next to Snape.
"Sir, you have to listen to me. I just had a dream; a premonition. Voldemort knows you are a spy. He's summoned you to torture and probably kill you! You can't go in!"
Snape said nothing as his lips were sealed with the spell. Maybe Harry had been a little over-enthusiastic.
"Sir, if you will come to Dumbledore with me then please at least look friendly before I take off the spell. . ."
The part of Snape's face that was mobile twisted. Whether it was a friendly look or a snarl, Harry couldn't tell. Deciding it was better to be safe (well, as safe as you could be having just immobilised Snape) he levitated Snape and set off inside, aware of the Gryffindor boys staring at him out of the window.
When he reached Dumbledore's office, he politely asked the Gargoyle to ask Dumbledore to let him in, which received a muffled snort from Snape. However the gargoyle politely obeyed and disappeared momentarily. The wall then slid aside, allowing Snape and Harry in. Once he had explained what had happened, Dumbledore awarded 20 points to Gryffindor and told Harry to go back to bed. The last thing Harry saw was Dumbledore forcing a calming potion down Snape's throat. Harry privately thought that if the Headmaster was going to release Snape from the body bind he was even barmier than most people thought.
Life continued as normal after that. The Gryffindors couldn't understand why Harry hadn't let Snape get killed and Snape was as nasty as usual to Harry.
*** End Flashback ***
Lost in his own thoughts, Harry walked all the way to the library before he realised how cold he was. He was considering walking back to the Common Room but then realised he was in the perfect place to cast a heating charm. He wandered over to a book of charms for a simple life, and flicked through. Stirring charms. . .might be useful for potions. . .feather- weight. . .already knew that one. . .heating, yes, that was what he wanted. He pulled out his wand and waved it at his feet, muttering the incantation. It worked so strongly that he almost burned his feet! He stared down and suddenly realised that the wand was in his left hand when he had always used his right previously. Deciding to experiment, he summoned a very heavy tome from a top shelf with his wand in the right hand. It wavered and wobbled, and collapsed on top of Harry, knocking the wind out of him. Heart racing, he held the wand in his left hand and suddenly felt it thrum beneath his fingers, vibrating with power in his palm. It had never felt like this before. . .
"Accio" he muttered. Another book shot towards him with the force of a small rocket and he hastily ducked to avoid it. Deciding to try something else, he aimed his wand at a student's parchment which had been left from the night before, and without saying an incantation tried to transfigure it into a chicken (wand in his left hand). There was a startled squawk and he hastily waved his wand at it to make it fall silent. Only then, staring at a perfect speckled hen with gorgeous liquid brown eyes, did he realise what was so odd - other than using his wand with the other hand. He hadn't spoken any words!
***********************************************
"Ron! Ron! Wake up! I just found the most amazing thing!"
"Whu. . .I. . .bloody hell Harry. . .ugh. . ."
It took a few moments to get Ron to wake up. When he finally he did he looked dishevelled and rather pissed off. However his expression soon changed when Harry explained.
"Seriously. . .it multiplies my magic by ten-fold. Go on, try it!"
Slightly apprehensive, Ron switched his wand over to his other hand, and performed a summoning charm. Nothing happened. Harry urged him to try again; again there was no magic. When Ron moved his wand back to his normal hand, the spell worked normally. The red-head gaped at his friend.
"Blimey, Harry" he breathed. "How many years at this school, and they never noticed you held your wand in the wrong hand!"
Harry looked at Ron oddly.
"What do you mean, Ron? I'm right handed!"
"Yeah, but. . .well, they always said. . ." he trailed off, looking unsure, but a glance at Harry's murderous face told him he'd better continue.
"Well, they always said you should have been really great at magic. I mean. . .you can do a patronus. . .but people have said that your father was as powerful as Snape at school. . .that's why they hated each other so much. And. . .well, you were good. . .but you never really showed any tremendous power and people started to doubt whether you really could defeat Voldemort. . ." Ron was cut off short as Harry stood furiously.
"It's all there is, isn't it, Ron. All there is to my whole fucking existence is killing Voldemort. Why? Why the bloody hell does it have to be me?"
He was aware of how shrill his voice sounded, but he didn't care. Ron looked nonplussed.
"Harry, you're famous. What more could you want?"
The rage simmered and bubbled inside him, until he finally managed to control it, and hissed through gritted teeth.
"What more could I want? How can you ask that, Ron? I want to have a family. I want to be allowed out without fear of being killed. I want to be able to have friends without fear that they will be the first to die. I want a family. I want to be Harry; just Harry. That's all I want!"
And with that, he turned and ran out of the dormitory, not knowing where he was going, and not caring.