A/N: I'm really sorry for making you guys wait. I really meant to post but
I just started uni and right now I'm going through a Farscape phase (you
know they're bringing back Farscape for a miniseries! Yay! And due to
stupid aussies not supporting their own productions, we haven't even seen
the forth season yet! Man I am dying for the forth season dvds to be
released!) Any way Thanks to Daughter of Death, and Fallen angel and every
one else. If it wasn't for your recent reviews I never would have gotten of
my arse to post this.
As soon as he cleared the top stair, he knew something was wrong. His large nose, conditioned from years of identifying ingredients and potions, picked up the all too familiar tang of blood in the air. Guided by this, he easily found the door of Harry's bedroom and reached for the doorknob. Just as he was about to turn it he froze, to the faint sounds of retching coming from inside. He flung the door open, and entered, prepared for the worst. But he still was not prepared for what he saw.
Streaks of deep maroon sprayed the room and all the sheets from a bed were shredded and thrown about the place as though some one had had a violent fit of rage. Blood dripped from every surface, though a pile of books was hidden in the corner and protected by the only intact bedsheet in the room. Snape looked around wildly for the source of the blood and his eyes were drawn to the ragged sound of breathing coming from a small gap between a desk and a cupboard. He moved closer, and shot a finite incantatum down the stairs before calling 'DURSLEY!' at the top of his lungs.
Snape would have mistaken Harry's body for dead if it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of one thin red streaked chest. His hair was glued flat to his head with the sticky substance and his glasses were missing. He only wore under wear and his eyes lolled half open in a grotesque stare that seemed to be looking right past Snape and reflected only a glassy vacancy. His arms, in the tight space were folded in his lap hidden by his legs, which were drawn to his chest so he was in a sort of upright foetal position. Snape looked in horror at the scene that reminded him so vividly of a torture room straight after a death eater rave. What had happened? It couldn't be the changing. Not even that could produce effects like this. Just then the Vernon and Petunia arrived at the door.
At first they didn't realize what had happened, and they began getting angry at the notion that Harry had tried to paint the room red without telling them. But then they saw the look on Snape's unmoving face as he stared to a space beside the desk. They moved over to investigate.
'I knew it... He's finally done himself in with drugs. Such a stupid boy. Had to leave behind this right mess for me to clean up too. Ungrateful little shit, after all I've...' Vernon's voice was interrupted.
'He's not dead' said Snape plainly, choosing not to deal with the realization of Potter's real life and the bastards of carers he had at the moment for fear that the nice little world he had built himself took a drastic twist and all the barriers he had previously constructed came tumbling down. It would not do well for him to lose it now.
'Get me some clean sheets now' he said struggling to keep his voice emotionless at the sight of a boy that he had previously thought to be indestructible from his unwavering luck laying in a pool of his own blood. The Dursley's scurried off to do what he asked, not wanting to be the subject of Snape's spells again.
Without moving him Snape surveyed the boy trying to find the source of all the blood. His nose was bleeding and his eyes streaked with red blood vessels telling him that what ever pain it was, it was worse that the cruciatus to have done strain damage to that many veins. But that couldn't have caused all the carnage that surrounded him. Not trusting himself to lift Harry, he pointed his wand at him and used a gentle levitation spell usually used by nurses, to lift him out of the crevice. As soon as his body was clear of the desk, one pale arm fell exposed from his lap. Harry's body jerked as Snape started surprised and repelled at the new sight that greeted his black eyes. His forearms, or what was left of them were cut to ribbons, some gashes notching the bone underneath. Blood flowed unstemmed from the wounds, dripping to the floor from his hovering form.
Surely Harry wouldn't do this to himself, surely this couldn't be self- inflicted. If it were anyone else then perhaps he could believe it but the golden Gryffindor, defeated Voldemort more times than he, all before growing pubic hairs. But then Snape's views on his life had changed in the past few minutes, after the meeting with his family. He fears however were confirmed as he reached to one of Harry's closed fists and pulled a bloody razor blade from it.
Snape searched his pockets after laying the boy on the bare bed and pulled a small marble, white with three glowing spots of colour on it from his pocket. Blue, Red and Yellow. Press blue for immediate portkey to Grimmauld place, red for a dose of painless potion and yellow to summon Dumbledore in the event of an emergency. It had been a present from Albus when he had began coming home still suffering the after affects of the cruciatus after death eater raids in which he had been spying. Quickly his finger pressed the yellow spot to summon Dumbledore home to Hogwarts, and then he took Harry's limp finger and pressed it to the red spot. Harry had no reaction.
He probed the wounds lightly with his fingers, trying to determine the extent of the damage, his hands covered in blood and his black sleeves becoming sodden.
Just then Petunia came in timidly holding out a clean white sheet to him. It had taken her a while to get it and Snape would bet that they had both attempted to escape through the doors he had sealed before realizing that it would be better to comply with his wishes. He flung a quick slicing spell at it and watched Petunia's surprise as the sheets turned to bandages in her hands.
'Water' he said watching her run out and come back in thirty seconds later holding a jug. Snape tried to wash the wounds and stop the bleeding but it was no use. By the time he had bandaged up one arm, the sheet was already soaked. Harry's face continued to grow greyer and greyer, but Snape refused to give up. He would need to get him back to Hogwarts, and fast. He glanced around the room and waved his wand. Harry's trunk flew out of the cupboard and his books and things shrunk themselves and fitted neatly into it. Petunia stood by and watched in a mixture of awe and disgust as the dark man shrunk the trunk and placed it in his pocket. After spotting the last of the boy's notes on his desk, he shoved them in his pocket next to the trunk and then lifted the boy gently in his arms. That was when Petunia found her voice box again.
'What are you doing?' she said dumbly, as though it wasn't obvious.
'Taking him away from you' Snape said coldly, he was definitely loosing his patience with these Dursley's and right now he was more concerned with the boy's condition than soothing Petunia's worries, no doubt about whether Potter would be back to clean up the mess he'd made.
'He will not be returning. Does Potter have any other belongings that I will need to take with me?'
'Anything else he would own would be in the cupboard under the stairs' Petunia replied.
Snape walked out the door hastily, ignoring the woman, and down the stairs. Harry's teenage sized body was difficult to carry, not because of his weight but his limbs were long and gangly and caught on things. After a quick look in the cupboard and finding nothing but a mattress on the floor, he grabbed his broom and apparated as close as possible to the anti apparition barrier surrounding Hogwarts. The wind was chilly and Harry was in nothing but his underwear, so Snape wrapped his black woolen cloak around him before clutching his broom with one hand and Harry with the other. Once they were off, Snape's balance was precarious at best, with the added weight and the old model broom it was difficult to stay on, so he made head way slowly. In the middle of the air, clinging to his most despised student half-naked and wrapped in his cloak was the last place Snape would ever have thought he would be only a few hours ago. But here he was. He looked at the boy, shallowly grasping for breath shuddering slightly in his arms, and for the first time saw what Harry truly was. Just a misunderstood and underappreciated boy trying to live up to a prophecy with the entire world possibly on his shoulders. He had lost his whole family... almost, and now that he met the Dursley's he knew the full extent of Harry's torment. Sure he had fame but he knew that Harry hated it, the way he would cringe away from the camera, the way he shook when people congratulated him for defeating Voldemort once again. He could see he felt diminished and petty when it was thought that Harry did it for fame and attention. He had seen this before, but never realized or never wanted to realize it for what it truly was. For the first time he saw Harry and not James, and for the first time he let down his guard. When he was inside that house, his only thoughts had been to save Harry and all other reason had escaped his head. That would never happen again. If he were seen to sympathize with the boy it would be his undoing with Voldemort. Right now it would be so easy to just turn around and take this boy straight to Voldemort, let him finish the job and live the rest of his life in luxury.
So easy.
But no.
His thoughts drifted back to Potter and what had happened, but only questions clouded his mind. Why had he mutilated himself? Was he going through the changing? Surely he was too young to go through it, but what other explanation could it be? Unless perhaps Voldemort had managed to convince him to kill himself through his dreams. Potter, he remembered, was no good at occulmency. But still, he would have heard about it at one of the meetings. Voldemort never passed up the chance to brag about his plans to kill Potter, though lately the Dark Lord had wizened up to the fact that their were spies amongst his supposedly devoted deatheaters and had started telling plans only out of necessity. Snape cleared his head. There was no use thinking about it now, besides Dumbledore would probably have some answers when he reached Hogwarts. He could already see the castle lights looming in the distance.
TBC... Till next time! P.S EireVerde If you are reading this, a singlet is an aussie term for a sort of thin cotton sleeveless under shirt. If you're not from aussie land, then just imagine your view of a Yobbo and chances are he's wearing a singlet top or muscle shirt with stubbies (
As soon as he cleared the top stair, he knew something was wrong. His large nose, conditioned from years of identifying ingredients and potions, picked up the all too familiar tang of blood in the air. Guided by this, he easily found the door of Harry's bedroom and reached for the doorknob. Just as he was about to turn it he froze, to the faint sounds of retching coming from inside. He flung the door open, and entered, prepared for the worst. But he still was not prepared for what he saw.
Streaks of deep maroon sprayed the room and all the sheets from a bed were shredded and thrown about the place as though some one had had a violent fit of rage. Blood dripped from every surface, though a pile of books was hidden in the corner and protected by the only intact bedsheet in the room. Snape looked around wildly for the source of the blood and his eyes were drawn to the ragged sound of breathing coming from a small gap between a desk and a cupboard. He moved closer, and shot a finite incantatum down the stairs before calling 'DURSLEY!' at the top of his lungs.
Snape would have mistaken Harry's body for dead if it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of one thin red streaked chest. His hair was glued flat to his head with the sticky substance and his glasses were missing. He only wore under wear and his eyes lolled half open in a grotesque stare that seemed to be looking right past Snape and reflected only a glassy vacancy. His arms, in the tight space were folded in his lap hidden by his legs, which were drawn to his chest so he was in a sort of upright foetal position. Snape looked in horror at the scene that reminded him so vividly of a torture room straight after a death eater rave. What had happened? It couldn't be the changing. Not even that could produce effects like this. Just then the Vernon and Petunia arrived at the door.
At first they didn't realize what had happened, and they began getting angry at the notion that Harry had tried to paint the room red without telling them. But then they saw the look on Snape's unmoving face as he stared to a space beside the desk. They moved over to investigate.
'I knew it... He's finally done himself in with drugs. Such a stupid boy. Had to leave behind this right mess for me to clean up too. Ungrateful little shit, after all I've...' Vernon's voice was interrupted.
'He's not dead' said Snape plainly, choosing not to deal with the realization of Potter's real life and the bastards of carers he had at the moment for fear that the nice little world he had built himself took a drastic twist and all the barriers he had previously constructed came tumbling down. It would not do well for him to lose it now.
'Get me some clean sheets now' he said struggling to keep his voice emotionless at the sight of a boy that he had previously thought to be indestructible from his unwavering luck laying in a pool of his own blood. The Dursley's scurried off to do what he asked, not wanting to be the subject of Snape's spells again.
Without moving him Snape surveyed the boy trying to find the source of all the blood. His nose was bleeding and his eyes streaked with red blood vessels telling him that what ever pain it was, it was worse that the cruciatus to have done strain damage to that many veins. But that couldn't have caused all the carnage that surrounded him. Not trusting himself to lift Harry, he pointed his wand at him and used a gentle levitation spell usually used by nurses, to lift him out of the crevice. As soon as his body was clear of the desk, one pale arm fell exposed from his lap. Harry's body jerked as Snape started surprised and repelled at the new sight that greeted his black eyes. His forearms, or what was left of them were cut to ribbons, some gashes notching the bone underneath. Blood flowed unstemmed from the wounds, dripping to the floor from his hovering form.
Surely Harry wouldn't do this to himself, surely this couldn't be self- inflicted. If it were anyone else then perhaps he could believe it but the golden Gryffindor, defeated Voldemort more times than he, all before growing pubic hairs. But then Snape's views on his life had changed in the past few minutes, after the meeting with his family. He fears however were confirmed as he reached to one of Harry's closed fists and pulled a bloody razor blade from it.
Snape searched his pockets after laying the boy on the bare bed and pulled a small marble, white with three glowing spots of colour on it from his pocket. Blue, Red and Yellow. Press blue for immediate portkey to Grimmauld place, red for a dose of painless potion and yellow to summon Dumbledore in the event of an emergency. It had been a present from Albus when he had began coming home still suffering the after affects of the cruciatus after death eater raids in which he had been spying. Quickly his finger pressed the yellow spot to summon Dumbledore home to Hogwarts, and then he took Harry's limp finger and pressed it to the red spot. Harry had no reaction.
He probed the wounds lightly with his fingers, trying to determine the extent of the damage, his hands covered in blood and his black sleeves becoming sodden.
Just then Petunia came in timidly holding out a clean white sheet to him. It had taken her a while to get it and Snape would bet that they had both attempted to escape through the doors he had sealed before realizing that it would be better to comply with his wishes. He flung a quick slicing spell at it and watched Petunia's surprise as the sheets turned to bandages in her hands.
'Water' he said watching her run out and come back in thirty seconds later holding a jug. Snape tried to wash the wounds and stop the bleeding but it was no use. By the time he had bandaged up one arm, the sheet was already soaked. Harry's face continued to grow greyer and greyer, but Snape refused to give up. He would need to get him back to Hogwarts, and fast. He glanced around the room and waved his wand. Harry's trunk flew out of the cupboard and his books and things shrunk themselves and fitted neatly into it. Petunia stood by and watched in a mixture of awe and disgust as the dark man shrunk the trunk and placed it in his pocket. After spotting the last of the boy's notes on his desk, he shoved them in his pocket next to the trunk and then lifted the boy gently in his arms. That was when Petunia found her voice box again.
'What are you doing?' she said dumbly, as though it wasn't obvious.
'Taking him away from you' Snape said coldly, he was definitely loosing his patience with these Dursley's and right now he was more concerned with the boy's condition than soothing Petunia's worries, no doubt about whether Potter would be back to clean up the mess he'd made.
'He will not be returning. Does Potter have any other belongings that I will need to take with me?'
'Anything else he would own would be in the cupboard under the stairs' Petunia replied.
Snape walked out the door hastily, ignoring the woman, and down the stairs. Harry's teenage sized body was difficult to carry, not because of his weight but his limbs were long and gangly and caught on things. After a quick look in the cupboard and finding nothing but a mattress on the floor, he grabbed his broom and apparated as close as possible to the anti apparition barrier surrounding Hogwarts. The wind was chilly and Harry was in nothing but his underwear, so Snape wrapped his black woolen cloak around him before clutching his broom with one hand and Harry with the other. Once they were off, Snape's balance was precarious at best, with the added weight and the old model broom it was difficult to stay on, so he made head way slowly. In the middle of the air, clinging to his most despised student half-naked and wrapped in his cloak was the last place Snape would ever have thought he would be only a few hours ago. But here he was. He looked at the boy, shallowly grasping for breath shuddering slightly in his arms, and for the first time saw what Harry truly was. Just a misunderstood and underappreciated boy trying to live up to a prophecy with the entire world possibly on his shoulders. He had lost his whole family... almost, and now that he met the Dursley's he knew the full extent of Harry's torment. Sure he had fame but he knew that Harry hated it, the way he would cringe away from the camera, the way he shook when people congratulated him for defeating Voldemort once again. He could see he felt diminished and petty when it was thought that Harry did it for fame and attention. He had seen this before, but never realized or never wanted to realize it for what it truly was. For the first time he saw Harry and not James, and for the first time he let down his guard. When he was inside that house, his only thoughts had been to save Harry and all other reason had escaped his head. That would never happen again. If he were seen to sympathize with the boy it would be his undoing with Voldemort. Right now it would be so easy to just turn around and take this boy straight to Voldemort, let him finish the job and live the rest of his life in luxury.
So easy.
But no.
His thoughts drifted back to Potter and what had happened, but only questions clouded his mind. Why had he mutilated himself? Was he going through the changing? Surely he was too young to go through it, but what other explanation could it be? Unless perhaps Voldemort had managed to convince him to kill himself through his dreams. Potter, he remembered, was no good at occulmency. But still, he would have heard about it at one of the meetings. Voldemort never passed up the chance to brag about his plans to kill Potter, though lately the Dark Lord had wizened up to the fact that their were spies amongst his supposedly devoted deatheaters and had started telling plans only out of necessity. Snape cleared his head. There was no use thinking about it now, besides Dumbledore would probably have some answers when he reached Hogwarts. He could already see the castle lights looming in the distance.
TBC... Till next time! P.S EireVerde If you are reading this, a singlet is an aussie term for a sort of thin cotton sleeveless under shirt. If you're not from aussie land, then just imagine your view of a Yobbo and chances are he's wearing a singlet top or muscle shirt with stubbies (