"One cocksure idiot father for another."
Harry quivered and shrank back as the impact of Snape's words sank in. Yes, they had cut into him, actually hurt him. He was used to this sort of treatment from the Dursleys – but the horror of finding another hellish relative...who had just confirmed he hated him regardless.
Well – Harry didn't understand why, but Snape's few words had stung much more than anything the Dursley's had ever said. It was weird.
In one movement Snape had rolled up, shrank and pocketed the invisibility cloak, his thin sneer parting to show clenched, unpleasant teeth. "Now I have dealt with the little distractions," he intoned coolly, "wouldn't it be prudent if someone began to pack?"
Harry felt a twinge of anger amidst all the confusion and hurt, and this give him some courage. That was his bloody cloak! "I think you'd better give that back," he muttered coldly, "You know what? I think my Mum wouldn't-"
"Silence!" growled Snape.
Harry flushed. "But I need to know - my mum-"
"Don't question me about your mother!" shrieked Snape suddenly, eyes widening as he threatened to snap out-of-control again.
"And why not?" challenged back the teen bravely, narrowing his eyes. His heart began to pound in his ears as the professor visibly stiffened with his words. Had he gone too far?
Snape's jaw was twitching, his face flushing an unhealthy red. "Because..." he hissed, voice deadly as poison.
The temptation was too great, and Harry's reply was out before he'd even thought it over.
"Because - what..?"
The professor's knuckles were turning white. Harry tensed; knowing he'd gone too far for definite now...
With a sudden hiss of Snape unleashed his fury and lunged forward – but the teen was just too quick for him – he was hardly going to let himself be shoved around this time! In one swift movement Harry had hit away Snape's arms and shot under his legs, almost knocking him over.
Once through, he made a mad scramble to his feet, but was taken down again as Snape took a firm grip of his leg, and began to roughly drag him back. Fear rose in his throat, and Harry yelled, twisted round and lashed out in blind panic.
"ARGH!"
Snape yelled loudly, swore, and let go of Harry's leg, causing him to fall to the floor with a whump. Not daring to spare a backward glance, even out of curiosity, the teen shot forward and scuttled into the nearest room still on all fours.
Breathing heavily from the struggle Harry sprang up and leapt right across his aunt's bed like a mad cat, convinced Snape was close behind him.
The window.
He flung it open and was on the window ledge without a second thought. Escape being the only thing on the teen's mind, things he'd never considered before suddenly seemed plausible.
Things such as – hanging on a thin plastic drainpipe, and shimmying across it high above a concrete paving slab patio...before climbing down onto the adjoining neighbour's flimsy wooden trellis overgrown with ivy...
Indeed the full awful realisation of what he was doing only came to him with the words –
"GET OFF MY DRAINPIPE YOU STUPID, STUPID BOY! IT CAN'T TAKE YOUR WEIGHT!"
But it was too late to listen to the neighbour's yells or Aunt Petunia shrieks by this time - he was already hanging by his arms five foot away from the window, five foot away from the trellis, and fifteen foot off the ground...
Harry swallowed, and inched a bit closer to the trellis, to several gasps of horror below – which he presumed were the neighbours. The way gossip travelled, this escapade would likely be all over the close in less than five minutes.
If he lasted five minutes that was...wondered Harry, as he listened to the drainpipe beginning to creak under his weight, and his aunt's exclamations below. Yet another one of his bloody idiotic ideas.
In an attempt to take some of the weight off of the pipe, he tried to get some grip on the wall with his feet, but only succeeded in clumsily chipping bits of brick off instead, leaving his legs swinging madly.
"Oh my God, oh my God -" wailed Petunia as shards of brick began to skitter down onto her nicely swept patio.
"Oh – my GOD!"
The drainpipe gave off an even louder creak. With one last risky swing (to several gasps from below) Harry gave up struggling and hung limply; licking his lips nervously. He was still a good four feet from the trellis, but his arm muscles had seized, his fingers were almost spent, and so apparently were the screws holding the pipe to the wall. The one closest to him was almost fully out of the wall! It was only a matter of time...
But then maybe he should just let go anyway - he had fallen from greater heights and survived... Harry couldn't pause to think about the fact that both times he had fallen on grass. This time he'd be lucky to escape without a broken leg. Or worse. As it was solid concrete.
As if he cared anyway. Surely this would be an easiest way to end it all.
He hissed through clenched teeth – his muscles were shaking madly, going to fail on him any second...so it would have to be...
Any...
Moment...
Now.
He gasped as he let go, then held his breath. It was a strange feeling, falling so suddenly. Just a sudden terror, the stomach shooting upwards – and the sort of delayed realisation – so much so that he didn't get round to screaming until he was mere inches from the ground.
He was still falling, still screaming. The concrete was zooming toward him, but he was somehow endlessly falling toward it, trapped in mid air. Harry opened his mouth to scream again – yet no sound came out.
And then there was nothing but the greyness of the concrete, and a roaring in his ears. The pathway seemed to bleach red before his eyes. He watched as the colour continued to bleed steadily into the grass verge, slowly stain everything the colour of freshly spilt blood...
He was standing in the Dursley's garden. It was mid to late Summer by the looks of it – the grass already tired and scorched. The hedge around the garden had just been trimmed – the clippings still waiting to be swept off the lawn. It was his job to do that – he remembered. Several of Dudley's shirts were still dripping on the washing line. The tomato plants needed a water – another thing he should be doing before it got too hot. By the looks of the cloudless sky it was going to be another scorching day.
He turned his head. He was now looking at the Dursley's house. The French Windows were open, as was the back door. By looking through the house from here he could tell the front door was wide open too. As were the living room windows, the hallway's. The bedroom windows...
A light breeze took a few of the trees' leaves with it. Harry shuddered, feeling that whatever had gone closely past him had been more than just a breeze. He was sure he had heard something more beyond the sound of the trees. And there was murmuring too. Something murmuring – inside the house.
As he neared the French Windows, the breeze blew again, carrying the murmurings toward him. Fanning out the curtains enticingly.
The murmurs turned to whispers, the curtains turned darker. Blacker.
He could almost make out what they were saying. A little closer.
The fabric swayed. He was at arms length; closer than he'd been before. He reached out an uncertain hand, barely touching the fabric, before he was pulled viciously back by a merciless grip.
A grip he was sure he recognised.
He growled and turned angrily, for all the world expecting the icy cold stare of his Potions Professor. But the while the eyes were cold, they could hardly be black.
They were green. Bright intense green
The hair was short and scruffy, the face was pale, the glasses were round, the sneer was pitiless...
He staggered back. He seemed to be falling again...falling into blackness.
Harry quivered and shrank back as the impact of Snape's words sank in. Yes, they had cut into him, actually hurt him. He was used to this sort of treatment from the Dursleys – but the horror of finding another hellish relative...who had just confirmed he hated him regardless.
Well – Harry didn't understand why, but Snape's few words had stung much more than anything the Dursley's had ever said. It was weird.
In one movement Snape had rolled up, shrank and pocketed the invisibility cloak, his thin sneer parting to show clenched, unpleasant teeth. "Now I have dealt with the little distractions," he intoned coolly, "wouldn't it be prudent if someone began to pack?"
Harry felt a twinge of anger amidst all the confusion and hurt, and this give him some courage. That was his bloody cloak! "I think you'd better give that back," he muttered coldly, "You know what? I think my Mum wouldn't-"
"Silence!" growled Snape.
Harry flushed. "But I need to know - my mum-"
"Don't question me about your mother!" shrieked Snape suddenly, eyes widening as he threatened to snap out-of-control again.
"And why not?" challenged back the teen bravely, narrowing his eyes. His heart began to pound in his ears as the professor visibly stiffened with his words. Had he gone too far?
Snape's jaw was twitching, his face flushing an unhealthy red. "Because..." he hissed, voice deadly as poison.
The temptation was too great, and Harry's reply was out before he'd even thought it over.
"Because - what..?"
The professor's knuckles were turning white. Harry tensed; knowing he'd gone too far for definite now...
With a sudden hiss of Snape unleashed his fury and lunged forward – but the teen was just too quick for him – he was hardly going to let himself be shoved around this time! In one swift movement Harry had hit away Snape's arms and shot under his legs, almost knocking him over.
Once through, he made a mad scramble to his feet, but was taken down again as Snape took a firm grip of his leg, and began to roughly drag him back. Fear rose in his throat, and Harry yelled, twisted round and lashed out in blind panic.
"ARGH!"
Snape yelled loudly, swore, and let go of Harry's leg, causing him to fall to the floor with a whump. Not daring to spare a backward glance, even out of curiosity, the teen shot forward and scuttled into the nearest room still on all fours.
Breathing heavily from the struggle Harry sprang up and leapt right across his aunt's bed like a mad cat, convinced Snape was close behind him.
The window.
He flung it open and was on the window ledge without a second thought. Escape being the only thing on the teen's mind, things he'd never considered before suddenly seemed plausible.
Things such as – hanging on a thin plastic drainpipe, and shimmying across it high above a concrete paving slab patio...before climbing down onto the adjoining neighbour's flimsy wooden trellis overgrown with ivy...
Indeed the full awful realisation of what he was doing only came to him with the words –
"GET OFF MY DRAINPIPE YOU STUPID, STUPID BOY! IT CAN'T TAKE YOUR WEIGHT!"
But it was too late to listen to the neighbour's yells or Aunt Petunia shrieks by this time - he was already hanging by his arms five foot away from the window, five foot away from the trellis, and fifteen foot off the ground...
Harry swallowed, and inched a bit closer to the trellis, to several gasps of horror below – which he presumed were the neighbours. The way gossip travelled, this escapade would likely be all over the close in less than five minutes.
If he lasted five minutes that was...wondered Harry, as he listened to the drainpipe beginning to creak under his weight, and his aunt's exclamations below. Yet another one of his bloody idiotic ideas.
In an attempt to take some of the weight off of the pipe, he tried to get some grip on the wall with his feet, but only succeeded in clumsily chipping bits of brick off instead, leaving his legs swinging madly.
"Oh my God, oh my God -" wailed Petunia as shards of brick began to skitter down onto her nicely swept patio.
"Oh – my GOD!"
The drainpipe gave off an even louder creak. With one last risky swing (to several gasps from below) Harry gave up struggling and hung limply; licking his lips nervously. He was still a good four feet from the trellis, but his arm muscles had seized, his fingers were almost spent, and so apparently were the screws holding the pipe to the wall. The one closest to him was almost fully out of the wall! It was only a matter of time...
But then maybe he should just let go anyway - he had fallen from greater heights and survived... Harry couldn't pause to think about the fact that both times he had fallen on grass. This time he'd be lucky to escape without a broken leg. Or worse. As it was solid concrete.
As if he cared anyway. Surely this would be an easiest way to end it all.
He hissed through clenched teeth – his muscles were shaking madly, going to fail on him any second...so it would have to be...
Any...
Moment...
Now.
He gasped as he let go, then held his breath. It was a strange feeling, falling so suddenly. Just a sudden terror, the stomach shooting upwards – and the sort of delayed realisation – so much so that he didn't get round to screaming until he was mere inches from the ground.
He was still falling, still screaming. The concrete was zooming toward him, but he was somehow endlessly falling toward it, trapped in mid air. Harry opened his mouth to scream again – yet no sound came out.
And then there was nothing but the greyness of the concrete, and a roaring in his ears. The pathway seemed to bleach red before his eyes. He watched as the colour continued to bleed steadily into the grass verge, slowly stain everything the colour of freshly spilt blood...
He was standing in the Dursley's garden. It was mid to late Summer by the looks of it – the grass already tired and scorched. The hedge around the garden had just been trimmed – the clippings still waiting to be swept off the lawn. It was his job to do that – he remembered. Several of Dudley's shirts were still dripping on the washing line. The tomato plants needed a water – another thing he should be doing before it got too hot. By the looks of the cloudless sky it was going to be another scorching day.
He turned his head. He was now looking at the Dursley's house. The French Windows were open, as was the back door. By looking through the house from here he could tell the front door was wide open too. As were the living room windows, the hallway's. The bedroom windows...
A light breeze took a few of the trees' leaves with it. Harry shuddered, feeling that whatever had gone closely past him had been more than just a breeze. He was sure he had heard something more beyond the sound of the trees. And there was murmuring too. Something murmuring – inside the house.
As he neared the French Windows, the breeze blew again, carrying the murmurings toward him. Fanning out the curtains enticingly.
The murmurs turned to whispers, the curtains turned darker. Blacker.
He could almost make out what they were saying. A little closer.
The fabric swayed. He was at arms length; closer than he'd been before. He reached out an uncertain hand, barely touching the fabric, before he was pulled viciously back by a merciless grip.
A grip he was sure he recognised.
He growled and turned angrily, for all the world expecting the icy cold stare of his Potions Professor. But the while the eyes were cold, they could hardly be black.
They were green. Bright intense green
The hair was short and scruffy, the face was pale, the glasses were round, the sneer was pitiless...
He staggered back. He seemed to be falling again...falling into blackness.