Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them.
Author's Notes: Reviiiiiews :D!! A VERY big thanks to Darkaus, Squirrelsaretakingovertheworld (Love your username by the way, so true!), Ikoya (A triple thank you for all the reviews), SpongeMonkey, and Demented Chook. Here's the next chapter, let me know what you think!
Note: By the way, I accidently labeled the last chapter as Four when it should have been Three in case anyone was wondering – sorry about that! Here's the real chapter four.
The Flight From Death
Chapter IV: Darkness
When Harry next came to, he immediately wished he could fall unconscious again. The stunning spell, at least, seemed to have saved him a good while of time that would have been spent agonizing over two broken wrists and more then one ugly bruise. For several moments he lay like this, unable to consider moving for fear of causing more damage, so that he did not remember immediately that only a person with a wand could re-awaken one who had been stunned.
This realization, however, came crashing down along with the boot, which collided with his head. With an agonizing sense of déjà vu, emerald eyes snapped open, ignoring the dazed stars to focus upon the grimace of Peter Pettigrew. Yet it was not Wormtail's wand which had restored him, nor, it seemed, was it his foot which had struck him; Severus Snape's greasy head bent over Harry from behind, sneering unpleasantly, wand held arrogantly high.
"I would warn you, Potter, that any further foolish attempts "hero" your way out of this will earn you only pain. Wormtail would be only too willing to torture you, I'm sure." The Potions Master smirked, though his eyes bore warningly down into Harry's and the message was clear: sit down, and shut up.
Wormtail, however, looked far from eager to so much as spit at Harry. His eyes were oddly anxious, and he looked as though he was debating with himself – for a moment Harry fancied he saw a flicker of fear in the older man's eyes.
"S-Sirius is dead?" Obviously the weakness of this statement reached even Pettigrew's ears, for he immediately followed with a half-hearted "Ha!"
The edges of Harry's vision were threatening to go red, yet another furious glare from Snape encouraged him to keep his temper in check. In a terse, disgusted voice that barely masked the pain the thoughts of his godfather still brought him, he replied, "Didn't you hear? Your good death eater friend Bellatrix killed him. He's gone."
Wormtail blanched visibly.
For a few precarious seconds, Harry fought back the crazy instinct to leap at Pettigrew once more. The injustice of it was sickening. How could Wormtail, the filthy traitor who had betrayed his parents, show even the slightest signs of distress over Sirius' death? Had he not sentenced the man to 13 years in Azkaban? Surely anyone willing to leave their friends to rot in that hellhole couldn't be affected by news of their death!
Could he?
Snape seemed ready to turn the atmosphere to the direction he had initially intended it to head in, and quickly interrupted the moments of tense silence.
"Perhaps it would be best, Wormtail, if you discarded of the wand Potter destroyed before it sets the room on fire. I'm sure the Dark Lord would be most displeased if you were to return to his services unarmed." Snape's lip curled.
Wormtail grew distinctly paler, and without a word, bent down to gather the broken halves and rubbery dragon heartstring, and swept from the room.
Snape did not wait long before he rounded on Harry (which Harry thought was particularly dim until the realization that the room was probably warded with silencing charms), his greasy face set into a furious scowl.
"What," he spoke in a tone so dangerously low that Harry tensed, certain he was about to be pummeled, "Were you thinking." It was not a question, and Harry would have been best not to respond, however the pain was clouding his intellect.
"Just because you're a sniveling coward doesn't mean I'm going to sit and listen to the slime who betrayed my parents like a good little boy." He regretted the words almost immediately, but mused that his sneer was nearly as good as Snape's.
"EXPELLIARMUS!" Harry, who had only just begun to gingerly rise to a sitting position, was slammed backwards against the wall. The onslaught of pain brought on such a wave of fury that he imagined his ears were probably smoking nearly as much as Snape's on wand.
"WHAT WAS THAT FOR? I DON'T HAVE A WAND, STUPID!"
"YOU WILL HOLD YOUR TONGUE!" Snape bellowed, and he rose his wand threateningly when –
SLAM!
Snape was thrown backwards with twice the force Harry himself had been, his head knocking against the stone wall where he slumped to the floor, motionless.
"Oh bugger."
"What the ruddy hell is taking him so long, Albus?"
Albus Dumbledore peered over his trademark spectacles at an anxious Arabella Figg. Snape had exited Grimmauld Place in order to attend a spontaneous Death Eater meeting. Dumbledore had requested that Snape return to Headquarters as soon as safety would allow with news of Harry's whereabouts and status, and information that might aid them in devising a plan for his rescue.
Three hours later, there was still no news. The Order was beginning to panic.
Tonks, who was still recovering from her encounter in the Department of Mysteries, kept running her fingers through her now electric blue hair, watched carefully by grizzled ex-Auror Alastor Moody, who's magical eye was noticeably still.
Kingsley stood in the far corner, deep in quiet conversation with Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance, and a very flustered looking Dedalus Diggle. Even Dung appeared oddly solemn, his hand inside one of the lumpy pockets of his tattered coat, caught between glancing suspiciously at Alastor's eye and staring glumly at his frayed boots.
Yet these troubled faces were not as worrisome to Dumbledore as the blank eyes, which stared into the flickering flames in the Emergency-Floo Fireplace. Remus Lupin had been all but despondent in the past month, speaking only when spoken to and appearing worse for wear with every passing day. Not since the Potters' deaths had Albus seen him so depressed, yet even now there was a haunting detachment that was entirely new and ill fitted to the normally gentle hearted man.
Dumbledore left Arabella's side (she was now wringing her hands constantly) to join the weary werewolf in front of the fires. Remus did not even blink, seeming almost mesmerized by the dancing flames. Quietly, the Headmaster placed a hand on the man's shoulder.
The werewolf tensed visibly, the placid mask falling away for a moment to reveal eyes haunted with a terrible pain, before he averted Dumbledore's eyes, his voice strained, "I-I had better go check on Ron and Hermione. I imagine they won't be taking this well." And he hurried from the room.
After Notes: Right! Sorry it took so long, but what did you think? Please Read and Review, even if it's to say something along the lines of, "You have completely destroyed my wonderful mood, and I will hate you for the rest of eternity." :D Flames and constructive criticism are always always welcome. THANKS FOR READING!