Chapter four: sorry if it took forever and a day! =)
And now… the chapter that took so loooong to come out! Chapter IV:
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A blast of green light ruffled the pink hair of one of the figures crouched low on one of the grassy knolls in some part of northern England. A hitch in her breath, and her heart hammered loudly in her chest and ears.
"Wotcher, Remus! That nearly got me, that one did!"
Beside her, Remus Lupin had a look of immense hatred. He'd lost nearly everyone he cared about to him, his parents, his best friends, everyone. He wasn't going to lose any more.
He itched to go to Privet Drive, he tried hard to suppress the urge to Disapparate right then and there and beat the hell out of Dursley. What he wouldn't give to hurry to his best friend's son right now, and help him in his moment of need…
He certainly was shocked when, a few minutes before the Death Eaters arrived, Hedwig had turned up, bloody. She didn't appear to be harmed, however, and the parchment on which Harry wrote his letter had bloody fingerprints.
Abuse. It had jumped to his head the minute his brain registered what Harry stated:
I'm fine, Remus.
A lie, if he could help it. He hastened to write to Albus at once and he could only hope that he was there to receive it. Merlin only knew what state Harry could be in at the moment.
He was shaken out of his reverie as two soft pops! sounded behind them, and Nymphadora Tonks turned around to see what were the goings-on. He blocked a curse aimed for his companion
"Get down, Tonks! Mad-Eye and Kingsley went to get reinforcements from the Ministry," he hissed, before sending a Severing Curse on one of the hooded forms.
Even thought they were covered by Hex-Deflections and Shield charms, the Unforgivables were strong enough to penetrate both.
He grabbed the back of her robes and hauled her with him behind a large oak tree just before –
"CRUCIO!"
Several voices incised the cold air, their aims missing their targets by inches. Tonks assumed a fierce glare and shouted loudly, not pausing to take in oxygen, "Stupefy! Stupefy! Impedimenta! Petrificus Totalus! Tarantallegra! Immobulus!"
Fresh screams were elicited, thuds were heard. Then -
A sharp breath was drawn. "Rabastan! Aurors on the right!"
"Dolohov! Mulciber! Let's go! LET'S GO! Disapparate! Now! Now! NOW!"
The Death Eaters that had escaped from the last attack on the Ministry started to Disapparate. Or tried to, because soon, they learned that the Aurors, who had been one or two steps ahead of them, had placed Disapparation wards five miles radius from the point where they Apparated, on Moody's orders.
It was a mess; a lot of yelling and spells going on, with people lying down unconscious or dead (one seriously had no time to tell), miscellaneous beings scattered everywhere, Death Eaters disappearing for a second them crashing painfully back onto the ground, their departure blocked by the wards.
"Ferula!" whispered Tonks, hunched over one of the fallen Aurors; she looked him over and winced at the deep and large gash on his left leg, but he would live.
Remus tended to the others who had been hit by curses, and hurried over when he spotted one who was twitching, curled in a feral position, face contorted in unimaginable pain.
"Guarani," he whispered quietly, so as not to catch attention from any of the Death Eaters.
The Auror's twitching stopped immediately, and Remus floated his body low to where the Healers were waiting.
Somewhere on the hill, he distinctly heard the snake-conjuring spell uttered by a deep tenor, "Serpensortia!"
Suddenly, he was face to face with the ivory-white fangs of a large serpent. It assumed the pose to strike, the most unequivocal pose he'd seen many times before; he didn't know quite why, and he could've easily jumped out of the way, or sent the snake flying away from him, but for a millisecond, the kind of second that determined the loss or win of an Olympic contestant, he saw a flash of bright white light.
He knew it couldn't have been the flash of a nearby spell, because it was the purest white he'd ever seen, and most flashes were either dull or of another color.
And James, Sirius and Lily's faces appeared, smiling at him, just smiling at him. Not doing anything else. Just big, wide grins on their faces.
Nymphadora Tonks stared, horrified, at the sight before her. She wasn't the only one staring. Remus was standing, unmoving, in front of one off the most massive serpent any of them had aver seen in their lives.
She watched, transfixed in a trance, not unlike Remus, whose eyes appeared to be glazed over, and had taken on a glossy look, as his left shoulder took the brunt of the inevitable bite.
"No," she whispered, hands flying to her mouth.
He seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he'd fallen into and a spasmodic terror-stricken look came over his usually tired features, before he fell on the ground and the snake vanished, as the caster of the spell hissed softly, satisfied in hurting the half-breed, "Evanesco."
They all barely had time to register what happened before they, too, snapped out of their transfixions and started firing curses at the hastily bolting followers of the Dark Lord.
A brown-haired Auror sent an Incarcerous spell in the direction of the one called Mulciber.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Mulciber, restrained by thick, snake-like ropes that shot out of one of the young Auror's wand, sent the fatal spell in the direction from which the bondages came from.
The deadly green ray missed its target, for the Auror had jumped aside at the last possible moment, and shot a nearby tree instead. The oak shriveled up and burned slowly to its death.
"Reducto!" shouted Kingsley at a wall conjured by Dolohov in his haste to escape captivity. It blasted apart, and some bricks landed precariously near their heads, but their shouts of "Protego!" were enough to shield them from a Muggle death.
"Go on, the four of you! Go now! We'll take care of Remus! Go! GO!" Moody shouted furiously at four young, grim-faced Aurors.
They ran speedily in the direction where the Death Eaters had run to. They were short of the knowledge that Rabastan had set up a fine mist, not unlike the one Harry had run into in the third task of the Triwizard tournament. Up and down reversed for the four and they were hanging from the ground over the endless sky.
"Let's try stepping forward!" shouted one of them to his colleagues.
Reluctantly, they all did as told, and soon they were running out of sight after the fast disappearing Death Eaters.
Tonks scanned the grassy hill over the hazy air and spotted Mad-Eye running to where Remus had fallen down. The area surrounding his body was a sickeningly reddish brown, and she didn't dare think what the worst thing possible could happen to him as she ran swiftly to where he lay.
Blood was spilling out of his mouth, and he sported a dazed expression. Moody appeared to be speaking to him in a sort of gruff but soothing tone, something rare to all Wizarding folk.
He must've felt Tonks' violet eyes on him. Without any more unnecessary words, she dug a hand inside her robes and pulled out a sharpener, the small kind which you didn't have to spin the... the thingy to sharpen the... the pencil. Tonks never could understand how Muggles managed along without magic.
"Portus," she whispered, unable to meet the sandy eyes of her friend and fellow Order member, who lay on the ground so helplessly. She didn't want to see anyone hurt, especially not Remus.
"Go and bring him to St. Mungo's, girl, there's a ward reserved for this fight's casualties," Mad-Eye said. He laid a hand on her shoulder, "May Merlin help you, and the light side."
Before she could grab any part of her lycanthropic friend, she and everyone else around her heard a low but firm voice, "Morsmordre."
Tonks vaguely remembered her mum telling her about how her aunts Bellatrix and Narcissa used to strut around their mansion, translating the spells and others into English. She recalled how her mother hugged her daughter's lithe form to her own body, telling her that the one that chilled her blood most of all was when her two sisters had gleefully arrived at the translation of the Dark Mark conjuring incantation.
"You know what it means, 'Dromeda?" Bellatrix had taunted at their peaceful and undeniably docile sister.
"It means, 'take a bite out of death'," sneered Narcissa, her already waist-long blonde hair rippling at every movement she made.
She was brought painfully back into the world by panicked and confused screams. And everything around them was suddenly plunged in blinding green light, and for a few seconds, the fighters for the light truly wondered if they were dying until it subsided, and eventually faded to a dull green shine.
A shudder went up her spine as she looked at the not-so-dark sky before the Port Key teleported them to another part of the country. Above them, the Dark Mark shone, basking in its evil glory, as if gibing her and all who could see it:
Take a bite out of death...
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Once the magical wards the Order members had placed over the house were put down, Snape and Madam Pomfrey looked to McGonagall for orders.
"Severus, wait here with Poppy. I'll transform and see if the Muggles are out like we'd planned," McGonagall said, eyeing warily the pale nurse, who was whispering fervently.
He nodded abruptly and she transformed, thinking only of the feline she'd become so many times before in the past. The ripple of change ran through her body and soon, in her place was a common grey tabby.
She stared at the charcoal black eyes of Snape for a moment, before leaping on to the shutters of the Dursley's rather beloved house. Merlin only knew how horrified Petunia would be if the prospect of a cat with dirty paws jumped onto any part of her clean home.
Thoughts swam like bumblebees in her head and she analyzed the situation and the possibilities of what they were about to do. The house was certainly subdued but they weren't going to take any chances.
Surely Dursley wouldn't REALLY abuse Potter? He's afraid of all magical people! Positively terrified, even.
McGonagall took a tentative step towards the gutter, and safely landed. She pawed her way through the leaves that had gathered in the depression and leaped down to the ledge of the window that was the most likely to be the master's bedroom.
Empty.
With a satisfied twitch of her whiskers (graying?) she rushed to the nearby tree, ignoring the few bugs that set up home at its base. Thoughts still whirling like a tornado inside her feline head, she started climbing.
This doesn't seem like a normal case of child abuse to me… I'll have to bring this up with Albus.
She reached a high branch, right next to a bar-filled window? She peered inside, and if only she was able to speak while in her Animagi form, she would've gasped aloud, and probably woken up the Muggles residing in the home next to number four.
Hurrying down the gnarled branches and roots of the birch tree, McGonagall nimbly leaped to cover more distance. Some of her bones literally creaked, and she winced.
I'm getting too old for this.
She would've chuckled at the over-used line if only the situation wasn't so gravely serious.
As soon as the Potions Master and the nurse were in her view, she changed.
"Poppy, Severus, we need to get inside now. They're gone, it seems like they've fallen once again for the same cock-and-bull story," she said breathlessly.
Snape glided towards the entrance. "Alohomora."
Quietly, without the slightest hint of a squeak or anything of the like, the door sprang open, careful not to jar any nearby pieces of furniture. The trio stealthily walked in, observing their surroundings. On one side of what seemed to be the living room were pictures of a great peach ball in fitted into different colored garments. On both sides were two potted plants; petunias, Madam Pomfrey noticed. There was a home entertainment system, complete with three recliners in front of it, and on the carpeted floor, a Persian rug.
"No signs of abuse here," Snape said dryly. In truth, he was dreading having to see Potter, for fear that if what Dumbledore had said was true, it would cause him to remember the... unpleasant memories of his childhood.
They continued noiselessly up the stairs, taking great care not to touch the shining mahogany surface of the railing. When they reached the landing, the unmistakable stench of blood failed to escape their keen senses of smell. Their eyes met each other's before they continued wordlessly still towards the smallest bedroom of Privet Drive.
The door, unsurprisingly, was locked from the outside, and had numerous padlocks whose gold bodies were glinting from the light emitted from Madam Pomfrey's wand.
A few moments later, and many slowly impatient-sounding Alohomora!'s, McGonagall opened the door at last. A fresh wave of the sickening smell reached their lungs, and all three tried not to choke or cough out loud. It made their stomachs churn, and this was something for the Snape, seeing as he was a Potions Master, he was accustomed to many different nauseating smells.
And on the bed, if one would have enough pity to call a bunch of torn red blankets piled on top of each other a bed, was the Boy Who Lived. More like the Boy Who Bled. Something told them that red wasn't really the original color of the blacnkets.
Seemingly lifeless green eyes stared at a space beside the door, unblinking, and all three conscious were faintly reminded of the eyes of a house-elf. They were dulled, as if they'd given up all hope of ever holding the life that had once been there one last time.
Books were scattered all over the floor, some of the pages carelessly torn out, drops of blood smearing the texts. Nearly featherless quills and broken bottles of ink littered the wooden planks. His trunk was turned over, which explained why its contents were all over the floor.
It was a gory sight, most certainly not for the faint-hearted. It would've been useless to describe the amount of torture the walls seemed to hold in their cemented depths, the aura of immense pain the room itself gave off.
There was blood.
No use in denying the fact.
The room also reeked of vomit; looking around, they saw what Potter had not been eating. They all quietly wondered how one could vomit without having anything in their stomach?
The look of agony and intense suffering on Potter's face explained everything. He was literally covered head to toe in bruises. If asked to, none of those present would've been actually able to find a spot that wasn't covered in blood.
A bottle of dirty-looking water stood a few feet from the makeshift bed, and alongside it was a plate of food that had unequivocally hadn't been touched, as molds had started to form on the surface of the graying bread.
McGonagall looked behind her; Snape was staring, just simply staring, at the monstrosity that his eyes took in. It was as if his hawk-like gaze was daring to rival that of the raven-crowned teenager. What she couldn't see behind those eyes devoid of all emotion were the thoughts and memories that were flashing in his head...
oOo
"Where's that damned useless boy?"
An angry, ridiculously drunk man towered over a cowering fair black-haired woman. It was a sight of violence, and the little boy hiding behind a corner flinched visibly as the apparent sound of a slap was heard and a feminish cry that was forced out of his mother.
Her pearl-black eyes met his and frightened look that met him was one he knew well. Mother and son shared a moment of understanding before he could feel what she was trying to say...
Run, Severus. Run! RUN!
He couldn't bear to leave her alone; he loved her too much to abandon her at the hands of this ruthless man. No, he wouldn't, he would NEVER her alone, or anybody else he loved and had care for in his heart for that matter.
With the vestiges of a quickly dying prayer of help on his lips, and the mental boost of confidence for himself, the boy hurled himself at the larger, and much stronger body of his father, willing himself not to look at the panicked eyes of his mother.
"You pathetic brat! How dare you attack me?! HOW DARE YOU?!"
And it was a few years later, long after he'd started at Hogwarts, after he'd seen that there was a better life outside of home...
Write an essay on the Wit Sharpening potion's ingredients (i.e. where they can be found, their other uses, the other potions they are included in, etc.)
The teenager on the verge of manhood excitedly sat down prepared to get lost in the safe world of knotgrass and shrivelfigs, simmers and blazes, pewter and brass. While he scratched away with his eagle-feathered quill, a gift from his mother, it had come in a set of six; his thoughts drifted to a far-off place called Hogwarts.
How he missed the cold walls of the Slytherin Common Room, the frequently moving staircases that usually ended up with a student getting pissed off, the maze-like hallways of the castle.
At Hogwarts, he was safe from him. A sigh escaped his lips. The silence that he had come to terms with rather snugly was broken as from behind him, even the closed door of his room couldn't muffle the BANG of the entrance door to their home made as his father, he shuddered to think he was related to the man, opened it.
Opened was a definite understatement.
"Did you know," his father said, in between gritted teeth, "that Severus here has brought shame upon our family?!"
He blanched, thinking furiously, Why did you tell, Lucius?! Why?
The footsteps that grew louder and louder with each step towards his room, and Severus heard the pitiful wails of his mother, pleading her husband not to hit him, as she had done so many times before. And this attempt to prevent violence, too, was in vain.
"Shut up, woman!"
A punch and the awful thump! that obviously meant his mother had hit the floor.
Like many times before, the deep urge to kill his father that fed off from his anger bubbled in his stomach. Unlike many times before, he wouldn't let this time pass. Enough was enough.
"Stop that, you bastard! You have no right to hit Mum!"
A look of real surprise crossed his father's face before it gave way to anger and annoyance.
They ran towards each other, limbs flailing as they punched each other, his mother desperately trying to pull them apart. He found himself saying hatefully, "You know what, Father? It's the quiet ones you're supposed to watch out for..."
He twisted his father's arm, ignoring the hiss of pain that followed.
"Now, the noisy ones, you can always trust them to be noisy, arrogant, annoying... It's the quiet ones... for you never know when they can snap..."
"The quiet ones, Father, the quiet ones... The quiet ones like me."
OOo
He was somewhere else, far, far away from the hell that number four, Privet Drive kept within its white-washed walls, in the smallest bedroom of the house.
The pale, ashen-faced Madam Pomfrey, however, was left behind downstairs. Long gone was the nervous one, in her place was the one who would do anything for someone in pain. She'd appeared as soon as she had caught sight of a student in need.
McGonagall's and her shoulders jostled each other, but she paid no mind and instead, bustled towards the farther end of the room.
"The poor dear... How we've had no idea is beyond me!" She murmured pityingly, quickening her pace.
When she didn't hear any movements of her colleagues behind her, she looked at them warily, "Well, if neither if you are going to take action, I'll help the boy! Severus, you pack up his things, all he needs for this summer and his Hogwarts things. Minerva, it would do us all a favor if you could just clear away the blood?"
They hurried to comply. Snape didn't quite see the point in why he had to pack up Potter's things; they were all obviously beyond repair anyway. There was one stubborn piece of metal that refused to be picked up by his wand.
Muttering furiously, he bent over to pick it up. And positively froze.
"Professor McGonagall, Poppy," he barked. Both women looked up at him, wands in mid-spell.
Their imploring looks were enough for him. "It's spiked. This mug of," Snape took a whiff, the scent of the drink that was formerly held in the metal prisons of the jug wafting into his abnormally large nose, "coffee. Has one or more potions, I'm sure of it."
McGonagall's suspicions were confirmed. "Work faster. Severus, keep that jug in this plastic," she conjured one, "and Poppy, we'll help you as soon as we're done."
Her words were calm, but the two who knew her so well heard the slightest tinge of urgency. They hastened to complete their assigned tasks. Silence resounded over the room again, but the tension was thicker, and the room's temperature seemed to go several degrees higher to the conscious occupants.
"Oh, Merlin," breathed Madam Pomfrey suddenly.
The two teachers were at her side at once, peering over her shoulder. Harry was curled up in a fetal position, not unlike the position one would assume after having the Cruciatus cast on one.
His eyes were closed tightly, so tightly that the veins on his eyelids were turning red. His mouth was opening and closing in what looked to be silent screams of pain and fear. Beads of sweat trickled down his face.
The three members of the Hogwarts staff watched on, as his hands balled into fists, and his knuckles turned so white. His dark eyebrows creased together, forming a volley of emotions. His breath came in short gasps; he was obviously tensing up.
Then, after an eternity —
"No."
Snape sneered, though his heart wasn't quite in it, after his most unwanted trip down Memory Lane, and he was rather relieved that was all, "The boy's just having nightmares. It's normal after abuse."
The nurse glared daggers his way, and he would be fibbing if he said he was surprised. Madam Pomfrey acted like a tigress protecting her young when her patients were in any hint of danger.
"It's not that, Professor Snape, far from that, in fact," she said evenly, "He's been drinking some potions, I don't know how many. The one thing I'm sure of is that whatever substance Potter's taking in is Dark."
This night, it seemed, was full of surprises, none of which were quite pleasant. Far from it, in fact.
"We really have to —"
McGonagall's words were drowned by a retching sound that came from the direction of Harry's body, and soon, their shoes were covered in a mixture of vomit and some more blood. No one had the heart to groan or utter anything in disgust.
The Transfiguration teacher's heart wrenched in sympathy for Potter; it hurt her to see any of her students hurt.
His tired green eyes opened, and he looked coherent enough to speak. At first, he looked as though he couldn't recognize any of them, but then realization dawned on him.
"Professor McGonagall? Professor Snape?" he rasped, his voice scratchy enough to rival the surface of sandpaper. "Madam Pomfrey?"
Madam Pomfrey pushed the professors aside, speaking in soothing tones, "Mr. Potter, please, do not strain yourself. You'll be all right soon."
He did not appear to be able to be calmed down, however. On the contrary, he was getting hysterical, "What's happened? Has there been an attack? Why hasn't anyone told me?!"
"Mr. Potter! You are only worsening your condition! Now, please! Just keep quiet, and we'll bring you to Hogwarts!" McGonagall said firmly, closing her eyes to keep them from seeing the pitiful sight.
His eyes now wild, and his limbs thrashing about, it was a miracle none of them got hurt. "Where's Dumbledore?! What's happening?! Why are you all here?!"
Snape rolled his eyes, and like the sneer earlier, he didn't really mean it, and prayed to heavens above to give him the patience to try to stun him with as little pain as possible. "Stupefy."
Harry's emerald orbs rolled back into his head, not unlike Snape had done just before, but in a different manner. His chest, which had been heaving to take in gulps of air, relaxed visibly.
"Seriously, Severus, was that –" Madam Pomfrey started, tutting at him.
"Yes, it was necessary," cut in the sallow-skinned man, before levitating the trunk. "Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, you go ahead. Bring Potter to the Weasleys. They depart for 12 Grimmauld Place the day after next. I have to speak with Dursley."
He spat out the last word as if it were a filthy bit of trash, which, unfortunately, it was.
"After you arrive at the Burrow, go to Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall, you inform the Headmaster of our findings, while you, Poppy, go to your medicine cabinet and get all the things necessary for Potter's recovery. And when you get back at the Weasleys', make sure the wards are secure, and if possible, strengthen them."
He was ready for this — that was made blatantly obvious.
With a last flourish of their spells, the two women departed number four, Privet Drive with as much noise as they entered, leaving nothing but a note, and with the trunk of the Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Lived himself, floating in between them.
Meanwhile, in the steadfast home of the very normal, and the very much in trouble Mr. Vernon Dursley, Severus Snape sat comfortably in the beige leather couch, picking up a magazine on the current stocks in England.
Muggles are dull, he thought, thoroughly enjoying himself as he waited jovially for the Dursley family to arrive home.
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Thanks to the few reviewers who actually took the time to comment on my story, your reviews are taken deeply into heart =)
Mooses007: I rather like the poem at the end of chapter two myself. Thanks! =) Why don't you write some stories of your own? I bet they'd be great!
Kurbani: I don't think I'll change the title. I like it a lot! =)
sillypaulie: Thanks! Hey, update your story soon, okay? You got me sitting on the very edge of my seat! =)
dementorchic: Yeah, my heart wrenches for our bespectacled hero too! I'm going to review The War and your other stories! They're great!
Gryphonmistress: I posted chapter one, two and three at SIYE. Love the site! =)
Chapter five: it's a promising one! =)