Harry Potter and the Spirit Within

by Maven Cree

Harry gains an unexpected mentor and learns more about himself than he may have wanted to know. The secret to defeating Voldemort was there all along, will he find the strength to use it?. Cannon until Book 4.

4. To Question

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of violence. (Yes, it's what you think it is…(finally!) Plus some other implied nastiness.).

Harry Potter and the Spirits Within

by Gates (aka Maven Cree)

Chapter Four: To Question. 

It was a rare occasion that the call of heroism in Gryffindor house was not levelled in Harry's direction.  But Harry was by no means jealous of the attention bestowed upon Seamus and Hermione.  In fact, he found it something of a relief.  A break for the celebrity status he'd been forced to endure since he first came to Hogwarts.

Harry had only had to spend one night in the hospital wing.  He had gone into extreme shock.  A vision of Karkaroff being captured by Voldemort and the suffering the man was enduring had hit Harry like a freight train.  It had happened so quickly, and with such force, coupled with the fact that he had previously never had a vision while fully awake, was too much for his system to handle.  The shock had effectively shut him down.

The timing could not have been worse.

As Harry was still in the beginning stages of his training, his magical levels were off balance.  It would have taken a high level of medical magic, not to mention time, to cut through the interference.  By the time Madame Pomfrey would have gotten to him, it may have been too late.

Harry and Hermione were more than a little surprised to find out that the wizarding world knew nothing of the muggle life saving method.  Hermione's parents, as they were both dentists, had taught it to their daughter at an early age.  Seamus's muggle father was a fireman, so he knew how to do it as well.  They were awarded twenty points each by Professor McGonagall.  Madame Pomfrey, being the medical matron was the one of a very few on the staff who were acquainted with the procedure.

As such, the Gryffindor common room was transformed into a classroom of sorts.  McGonagall had asked Hermione and Seamus to teach CPR to any of the house who wished to learn it.  Dana Blackstone and John McCray, two seventh years, also knew how to perform it and helped with the instruction.  Madame Pomfrey gave them what literature she had on the topic so that it could be done without danger.  Gryffindors of all backgrounds wanted to learn, even other muggle-borns, as, even though they knew about it, not every muggle was aware of the proper method.

Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation became something of a fad at Hogwarts.  The other houses (Slytherin excluded) all began their own little CPR classes.  Officially, Slytherins, through pride alone, refused to learn a muggle form of aid.  Even so, a few discretely approached Madame Pomfrey in private.

Harry was grateful for the distraction that this trend caused.  It drew attention away from his own personal torments.

It was a month before Karkaroff's body was found… what was left of it.  The skinless, supposed corpse had been magically suspended upside down in the street in front of the Ministry of Magic. His limbs had been severed rather crudely at their bases and were planted in the ground below him standing up.  His eyes had been dug out of his head, as had been his tongue.  His genitals had been shredded like parchment and his ears had been removed.  These horrors were added to when 'Karkaroff' had been brought down.  It was discovered that the spell keeping him afloat…

…had also been keeping him alive

…and conscious.

No sooner had the body touched the Earth than an anguish filled cry escaped it.  The body began to spasm violently before finally releasing its long last breath.

All this had been in front of a multitude of wizarding (and some non-wizarding) people, including several reporters from various wizarding news agencies, ministry officials, and the Minister of Magic himself, one Cornelius L. Fudge.

It was a month of hell for Harry Potter.  Snape had been called away the night Karkaroff was captured.  No one but Dumbledore was supposed to have known this, but as always, Harry saw.  The dark professor showed up in the hospital wing just before lunch the next day as Harry was preparing to leave.  He gave Harry a potion to drink that would dampen violent attacks of pain through his scar while he was conscious, but would not work while he was asleep.  It could not remove the pain completely.  Harry had downed the potion and the older wizard turned to leave.

"Professor…"

He turned around to face Harry again.  Harry wished he had kept his mouth shut, but he could not ignore the need to say… something.

"I--I'm… sorry."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry had blushed furiously.  "I--I saw.  The meeting… I… saw."

Snape had narrowed his eyes dangerously, but said nothing.  Instead he turned on his heal and stormed out without making a sound.

*~*~*~*~*

The second week of October saw the coming of the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year.  Teachers were hard pressed to keep the attention of the excited students as the week wore on.  By Friday, they had all but given up.  Only the lightest of their perspective subjects were taught on that day.  In charms, the third years were taught Cheering Charms.  Fourth year transfiguration class busied themselves transfiguring cacti into plush toys.  Fifth year potions… well, no on had really expected that to be any different, and Snape did not disappoint them.  The Gryffindors and Slytherins spent their last class of the week stressing over a vomit-repressing potion.  Somewhat thoughtful, some of the students realized, as they would more than likely be stuffing themselves sick the following day, with Honeydukes goodies and Butterbeer dreams.

Harry and his fellow Order students awoke early Saturday morning.  They would only have one day to visit Hogsmeade that weekend.  Sunday would be spent with their various mentors, training for their part in the war.  Harry had even less time as he was required to meet with Snape that very night.

The morning was spent devouring Honeydukes' stores, and Ron and Harry were eternally grateful that Hermione did indeed bring a vial of her vomit-repressor, perfectly brewed as always, which allowed them to continue in their crapulence.

They opted to have their lunch at a small restaurant near Gladrags, as The Three Broomsticks pub would no doubt be filled to the gills.  In fact it was anther trip to the Quidditch shop, and a pass through Zonko's Joke shop before they finally found their way to the pub for their traditional Butterbeer.  Proper timing too, as the sky that had been threatening all day had finally decided to break.

Most of the students had made their way back to Hogwarts, but those who remained stuffed themselves into various stores in an attempt to squeeze out every last drop of the weekend that they could.  Three Broomsticks was crowded, but not overly so.

The trio, joined at the Quidditch shop by Ginny, found a booth in the back and enjoyed themselves speaking of everything they could think of that would take their minds away from the training sessions of the following day.  None found their training too daunting, (the others were astounded that Harry was actually finding positives in his sessions with the Potions master), but it still took a great toll on all of them.  Nothing had ever been taken as seriously by the four.

They had been there for nearly a half hour when the twins of mischief themselves came in looking unusually despondent.

"What's wrong, you two?" Ginny asked.  She hadn't seen her brothers looking so down since the end of the Tri-Wizard tournament.

The two sat down resting their heads on their fists in a mirror image of each other.

"We were seeing the realtor about buying the shop down the street," Fred began glumly.

"Buying a shop?"  Ron said incredulously.  "You two can't afford a shop!"

"We have an investor."

"Who?"

"None of your business!  Drink your Butterbeer."

"Anyway," George continued, "We were in negotiation when Zonko himself decided to stroll by."

"The old badger."

"He'd heard about our Weasley Wizard Wheezes."

"The bugger was laughing at us!"

"Said we don't stand a chance.  Said he's going to run us into the ground."

"Said we should save our money or open in Diagon Alley or something."

"He knows this is the best location for joke sales."

"Reminded us that he's been here for almost a hundred years."

"And stomped out everyone else who's come along."

"And they were all better jokesters than us."

"They created the classics!"

"And they never stood a chance."

"And neither will we."

"And the trouble is…"

"He's right," they finished in stereo unison, slumping even further onto the table.

"Codswollow!"

The group looked up.  Madame Rosmerta threw her dishtowel down on the table.  She pulled a spare chair from an adjoining table.  She sat down with intent.

"Now I've seen your jokes.  Students in here are all the time talking about them!  And I've seen Zonko's.  And you've definitely got what it takes to challenge him.  Yes, Zonko's is tried and true, but he's just that.  He doesn't change.  One or two new pranks a year?  From what I hear, and I hear plenty, you two have more jokes than you know what to do with!"

The twins blushed and a trace of their usually mischievous smiles crept back onto their faces.

"Still," George said.  "We haven't got his business experience or his savvy or… what… what are you doing Hermione?"

Hermione had rested her hand on George's forehead.

"Checking for fever.  I've never heard you two speak with so little confidence."

"In the school, we've got free reign," Fred said.  "We're heading out into the real world now."

"Finite Incantarum," Ron cast, pointing his wand at his brothers.  Fred gave him a wry look.

"We're not under a spell Ron.  Can't we be serious without everyone thinking something's wrong with us?"

"No," four voices barked.

Rosmerta sat back into her chair.

"Do you all know the history of this shop?" she asked, casually waving her hand around.

Five heads turned in Hermione's direction.

Rosmerta continued.  "When I moved in here, oh… many years ago, I was up against heavy competition.  There were four other bars, all well established and well loved.  I was young, I was scared, but I was determined.  When I first opened these doors, the sign outside read: 'The Broomstick.'   Three years later, it was 'Two Broomsticks', and Angus Pile and his 'Well Bottom' were gone.  'The Pickle' took a little longer, twenty years, but you don't see Joseph Jennings around here anymore, do you?"

"What about the Hog's Head.  They're still around," Ron pointed out.

Rosmerta waved her hand dismissively.  "Different sort of crowd completely.  There's no competition between us."

"So… how did you… get rid of the others?" George asked.

"Nothing underhanded, if that's what you're thinking," she responded.  "I was simply better.  I gave the people what they wanted.  I listened to what they needed.  I remained loose and changed with the times.  And when you don't focus on profits so much, you'd be surprised at how quickly they roll in.  And keep in mind…"  she said leaning in suspiciously.  She lowered her voice to a conspiratory whisper.  "It isn't Zonko who attends our little get-togethers.  Our friend picks the best of the bunch and he chose the two of you."

"She's got a point," Harry said.

"Of course I do!" She said, straightening up, with a smile.  "Just remained focussed and you'll do fine.  Be a little Slytherin about it!"

"Slytherin?" Ron balked.  "How does being slimy and underhanded, help them? Aside from the obvious, I mean."

"I beg your pardon," Rosmerta said, looking indignant.  "I was in Slytherin during my time at Hogwarts."

"What?!"

"You were?!"

"But you're so nice!"

"And you're in our… group…"

"Hmph.  Slytherin is not a synonym for bad," she said.  "Just like Gryffindor doesn't mean good.  Need I remind you all of a former Gryffindor named Peter…?"

"Point taken," Harry said.

"But they're all so… so…" Ron protested.

"The pressure in that house is immense," she said.  "Even in my day.  Of course, Grindelwald was the problem back then.  So many parents were gone to the wrong side and any little thing that was said, went right back to them.  I was one of the lucky ones.  My family stayed on the side of light.  It could get rather lonely at times though.  Because I wasn't one of them, I could never really be friends with too many in my house.  They couldn't risk it getting back to their parents that they were friends with a disrupter.  It didn't help that my best friend was in Gryffindor, either.  But I'm sure Minerva got it worse from her house than I did from mine.  You Gryffindors have a tendency to set your mind to one way of thinking with no exceptions."

"Minerva?"  Hermione asked.

The matron smiled.  "Imagine my horror and disappointment when she told me she was going to be the Head of Gryffindor house," she 'tsked' lightly.  They knew full well she was joking.

"Professor McGonagall is your best friend?"  Harry questioned.

"For many, many years now.  Try to remember Harry," she said in all seriousness.  "Look to the people, not to the house.  Every home has its bugs.  Every dwelling has its stars."

With a final smile and a wish of luck to the twins, the bar matron returned to her duties.

*~*~*~*~*

Potter was late.

It was putting his already foul mood into nosedive.

Grading first year papers was like strapping on an anchor.

The door to his classroom opened.

"It's about time!" he snapped then looked up.  It was not Potter.

"Warrington?"

Ash Warrington: former member of Slytherin House.  The former chaser had graduated Hogwarts the previous year.  Snape had neither seen nor heard from him since.  The young wizard looked extremely pale and shaky.

"P-Professor Snape… I'm… I'm sorry to bother you, sir…"

"Warrington, what in Merlin's name is wrong with you?"

The boy pushed the door in behind him.  He looked to the ceiling furiously blinking back the shiny moisture that was threatening to fall.

"Sir, I… I don't… I didn't…" He shuffled forward on unsteady feet.  "I--"

A desperate sob tore through the younger wizard's throat.  He dropped to his knees pressing his face to his former professor's knee, tears falling unhindered.  Snape placed his hand on the head of the sobbing boy who was clutching at his robes.

"I—I didn't know where else to go…" came Ash's muffled voice.  "I don't know what to do.  Help me, sir, please!  You're the only one who can help me!"

"War—Ash… what has happened?  You need to tell me if I am to help you."

The boy sat back on his legs and tried taking in some deep breaths to calm himself.  Severus helped the boy to his feet, closed the classroom door and steered him into his office.  He moved him to a chair then went to his stores cabinet.

"I'm going to give you Lilacara Dosa to help calm you down a little," he said pulling down the vial of lavender liquid.  He picked up a silver goblet.

Severus cleared his throat mildly.  "Veritaserum," he whispered, barely moving his lips.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see the door to one of the previously-prepared potions cabinet open a crack.  Seconds later, the bottle of clear liquid appeared on the counter next to him, but out of sight of the disturbed young man.  (Who was holding his head in his hands anyway.)  The professor added two drops of powerful truth agent into the goblet and placed the bottle back on the counter.  It disappeared again and its housing cabinet closed.

He handed the potion to the boy who was rocking slightly in his seat, his arms wrapped tightly about himself.

Ash downed the liquid without question and handed the cup back to the professor.  The boy's breathing steadied somewhat and the shaking subsided.  Snape reclined against the edge of his desk in front of the boy.  He would not allow himself to speak first.  If Ash was to have the strength to get through whatever it was that was troubling him, he would at the very least need to find the strength to speak.

Several minutes passed in silence.  The young man continued to study his lap.  Then there was a loud sniff and a sigh.

"I'm a coward," he said miserably.

Snape waited.

Ash looked up.

"I'm a coward and a disgrace to my family."

"I highly doubt either of those assumptions are true, however, perhaps you should enlighten me as to the reason for this very un-Slytherin display."

He sniffed again.  "I--I don't know where to start."

"The beginning is usually considered appropriate."

Ash nodded and took a breath.  He looked to the empty hearth.

"My father… He… Today… {Sigh}…He and some of the… fellows, were going out.  I was invited to come along."

"Your first time."

Ash nodded.  "My--My initiation isn't until next month.  My nineteenth birthday.  B-But, father thought I should come along.  Get a feel for things."  He shook his head and watched his lap again.  "Join in the fun," he muttered in a low voice.

Snape waited.  Behind his emotionless visage, a feeling of dread was increasing.  He had an inkling as to where this conversation was going.  He hoped his other 'guest' had the good sense to keep quiet.

"I thought… I thought we were going to find some muggles.  Just… just mess with some stupid muggles.  No harm done.  I mean, they were everywhere, driving around in their stupid autos, speaking on those stupid tel—whatevers… We could have grabbed any one of them…"

Snape couldn't find the power to release the breath he was holding.

"Instead…

"I mean… she was muggle…

"…but…"

He ran a hand across his face.  "We went to a school.  A muggle school… They… We… …She… she couldn't have been more than… seven years old…  She was so small…"

Snape clenched his teeth, but his face remained neutral.

"They… We took her away; a muggle hotel, not far from the school.  Just… apparated into one of the empty rooms…"  He shook his head in seeming disbelief.  "Father, he—he wanted me to watch.  To learn…

"…

"…And the three of them…"

Ash ran both hands through his hair, pulling at his as his head hung low.

"Gods… I didn't know… I'd never imagined…"  He looked up into Snape's face.  "I didn't realize what it truly meant.  What we're expected to do."  He shook his head.  "I'm not ready," he cried.  "I'm weak.  I could barely watch…"

Ash began to sob again and Severus handed him a handkerchief.  After he'd settled some, he continued.

"She was a muggle.  A damn, filthy muggle!" he said, apparently more to himself.  "They're dirt!  They're cattle!  It's not supposed to matter…!"  He was yelling at this point.

Snape remained silent.

"But all I could think about… All I wanted to do… was to curse the hell out of my father… and his friends… and to get her the hell out of there!  She was so scared," he added in a small voice.

"And afterwards, after they'd killed her and left her for the muggles to find… Out in the streets, all those muggles in their stupid autos and on their stupid talking machines…  They… they didn't seem… I couldn't just… They seemed like…"

…People, Snape finished mentally.

"People," Ash said.  "And I hated them even more for that."

"What is it that you want of me, Mr. Warrington?"  He asked flatly.

Ash's head snapped up.  He looked at his former Head of House with pleading eyes.

"Tell me what to do," he implored.  "I was raised to follow the Dark Lord.  But I… What if…"

"Are you questioning Lord Voldemort?"

"No!  I just…" he sobbed.  "This is what I meant!  I'm a coward!  I don't feel like a Death Eater.  What if… what if muggles… aren't all that bad.  I mean… they are.  I hate them, but… is destroying them the only way.  Most of them don't even know about us?"

"You are questioning Lord Voldemort."

"…"

Ash blinked at him.

"I am questioning Lord Voldemort," he said more steadily than anything else he'd uttered so far.  "And for that, I must die."

"For betraying Lord Voldemort," Snape said stiffly, "death can be your only assignment.  All of our kind would have you pinned as a target."

"Then it's done," he said solemnly.  "At least maybe I can… have an honourable death.  Perhaps my father won't be shamed."

"Your life outside these walls is forfeit.  There is nowhere for you to hide, is there?  No one would to protect you, would they?"

Snape pierced him with his gaze.  "For who in this world would dare risk Voldemort's anger?  Who would dare to stand up to the Dark Lord, just to protect, one confused young man?  To give him time to 'think things through'."  He leaned in until his face was mere inches from Ash's.

"Who.

"Would. 

"Dare?"

Ash did indeed look confused.  The emotion on his face showed that he clearly expected Snape to hand him over to the Dark Lord right then, or to kill him, himself.

Then.

Dawning.

Ash's eyes seemed to light up in understanding.  Snape straightened, as did the young man.  The boy set his jaw firmly.  An enormous weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders.  Snape knew very well, that another would soon replace it, but for now, it seemed enough.

Snape, satisfied stood up and walked behind his desk.

"Get out of my sight, Mr. Warrington.  Your father has by now discerned your location.  I question your fitness to become a Death Eater.  As your former Head of House, I shall give you leave tonight.  Keep in mind, however, that the next time I see you, I will be expected to kill you."

Ashe stood.  "I understand, sir. Good-bye."

The younger wizard turned and left the office without further comment.

Snape pointed his wand at the fireplace and lit it.  He grabbed a pinchful of powder and threw it at the flames.

"Albus?"

A few moments later the Headmaster's cheerful face appeared in the flames.

"Severus.  What can I do for you?"

"I thought it prudent to inform you sir, that there is an unscheduled person on the premises."

"Indeed?"

"Mr. Ash Warrington is in the castle.  He appears to be lost."

"I see," Dumbledore said thoughtfully.  "Thank you, Severus.  I shall see to it that he is given some assistance."

Snape nodded slightly and the floating head disappeared.  He remained where he stood, staring at the flames.

"There will be no further lesson tonight, Mr. Potter," he said without emotion.  "Return to your common room."

The door to his office opened again and closed.

*~*~*~*~*

A beautiful Sunday morning saw the school excited for their second day in the Wizarding village.  Dumbledore encouraged them all to take advantage, hinting that the next Hogsmeade weekend might not be for some time.  The Gryffindors in the Order didn't know if this was true or not, but it had the desired affect.  An hour after breakfast, Hogwarts was all but deserted.  The first and second years were mostly outside as Madame Hooch had opted to organize an Intramural Quidditch day.  Several teams of first and second years competed for Hogwarts first Intramural Cup.  The Teams were organized on the spot – mixed, with a mandatory of one student from each house on every team. It would be an experiment, but it was hoped that because of their young age, inter-house rivalries would not be as cemented into their psyches.  Those not participating were pleased as punch just to watch and cheer.

The Order students knew they'd be gone for hours.

Professor Flitwick wanted to see Hermione a half hour after the other students left.  Sirius likewise wanted to meet with Fred and George.

The remaining four would meet with their trainers after lunch.

Ron and Harry grabbed a few sandwiches and spent the lunch hour in the common room playing a game of Exploding Snap.  They finished early and headed off to meet with their respective mentors, Harry with his Invisibility Cloak tucked into his robes.  As empty as the school was, it wouldn't do to take chances.

"…Do you smell… burning… hair?"  Ron asked when they were not far from the Gryffindor house.

Harry sniffed and wrinkled his nose.

"What is that?"

Moments later they got their answer.  Fred and George came traipsing towards them, grinning like idiots.  Their faces were blackened by ash and soot.  Their formerly red (now mostly black) hair was singed and standing on end.  They never looked happier.

"What happened to you two?" their younger brother asked.

Their grins merely widened.

"Top secret," Fred smiled.  "Harry, you really should have introduced us to Snuffles much earlier."

"Yeah," agreed George, shaking his head with regret.  "So much time wasted," he 'tsk'ed.

They continued on past the younger Gryffindor's, en route to the common room.

Ron and Harry looked at each other.  They smiled.

It looked as though Gred and Forge were back.

Zonko didn't stand a chance.

*~*~*~*~*

As Dumbledore's office was closer, Harry accompanied Ron to it first, before making his way down to the dungeons.  Ron attributed this to what he believed had to be Harry's desire to spend as little time as possible with the Potion's master.  Any sane person would feel that way.  He couldn't understand how Harry was coping with spending so much time with the greasy git.

Just before reaching the corner that led to Dumbledore's stone gargoyle, Ron heard a very familiar voice in a very unfamiliar tone.

"Don't walk away from me, Headmaster!  I know you're behind this!"

Ron and Harry widened their eyes and looked ate each other.

"Percy?" Ron whispered to Harry in disbelief.

Both boys ran to the curved corner and peeked around it.  The curve of the hallway and the relative darkness of the corridor, allowed them to see, but remain largely unnoticeable as long as they stayed still.  Percy and Professor Dumbledore were standing just outside the stone gargoyle.

"Percy…"

"Professor--" the angry young man interrupted.  "My family yells.  We play jokes on each other.  We tease.  We DO NOT keep secrets.  We do not hide things from each other.  Not like this.  My family has been talking in secret.  Conversations end when I enter a room.  My own mother and father look at me and I can see the see the discomfort in their eyes.  This is not how Weasleys behave!  Not normally.  And I know you have something to do with it!  You're the only person alive who could do this."

"Percy, I have done nothing that--"

"Don't give me that!  I want to know what it is you're doing to my family!  Are you putting them in danger?!"

"These are dangerous times, Percy.  You know that."

"You have NO RIGHT to usurp our lives like this!  We are not your puppets!"

"Percy…" Dumbledore tried again, his eyes holding a restrained sadness.  "There is nothing that I can tell you.  I'm sorry.  I truly am."

Percy was clenching his fists at his sides.  And for a frightening moment, Ron feared that his angry brother was going to hit the older man.  Instead, he turned his back to him, now facing in the direction of the spying Gryffindors.  His eyes and teeth were as tight as his fists.

"I don't believe you, Headmaster," he said with quiet venom. He sighed, steadying his breath.

"I've always respected you… until now.  I cannot force you to tell me what it is you're doing to my family, nor can I make you stop."  He held Dumbledore's gaze.

"…But so help me…" he said dangerously. "if any of them are injured, hurt or worse because of your… manipulation… you will regret it."

He took a tense step away from the distraught professor and looked up.

"Ron?"

Ron's red hair was visible even in the slight shadows.  His height gave no mistake of it being Ginny.  He and Harry straighten up from their crouch.

"Er… we were just--"

Percy walked quickly to them and placed a strong hand on his brother's shoulder.

"I need to speak with you," he said urgently.

"Percy…" Dumbledore began in a warning voice.

"YOU WILL NOT PREVENT ME FROM SPEAKING TO MY BROTHER!" Percy yelled, his head whipping around with even more venom.

Dumbledore signed and closed his eyes.  Percy steered Ron away leaving a divided looking Dumbledore and a confused looking Harry in their wake.

*~*~*~*~*

"Perc!  What are you on?!  You can't talk to Dumbledore like that!"

"Dumbledore may be the most powerful wizard of our time, but he's still just a man.  He makes mistakes."

"But Perc--"

"Look at what happened with Harry and the Dursleys!  Everyone kept telling him it was a mistake, but he refused to listen!  Harry could have been killed!"

Ron paled at this.

"You agree with me on that point at least.  I can see it."

Ron swallowed with some difficulty and nodded.  Indeed, he had been furious when he found out what had happened to his best friend.  Not just at the Dursleys, but at the man who had put him there.  It still bothered him, but to a lesser extent, mainly due to the fact that Harry didn't seem to blame Dumbledore in the least.

"You and I," Percy continued, looking at Ron steadily, "we trade barbs.  We insult each other.  We play mean jokes.  But we're still family and we still love each other."

Ron again nodded slowly.

"Dumbledore may mean well, but I don't want another one of his 'mistakes' costing this family.  He's not one of us.

"It won't Perc," Ron said.

"It already has!  Weasleys love a good row, but we've still always been close.  That's changing now.  I'm family.  I'm being pushed out and you're all letting him do it.  He's not one of us, Ron.  He has no right to dictate how we run our lives!"

Percy sounded as though he were pleading.  He was definitely hurting, and as much as he annoyed Ron at times, he never wanted to cause his brother pain.

"Ron… Please… tell me, what's going on… I can't bare this.  I feel like I'm being punished, but I can't think of anything that I've done wrong.  Mum and dad are stopping conversations when I walk in the room… They won't talk to me… I--I'm being pushed out of this family and I--"

Percy's voice cracked and he turned away.  Ron's anger towards Dumbledore flared again.  How dare he put them in this position?  He imagined himself in Percy's place.  He'd go mad if he thought his family was pulling away from him.  He had a near over-whelming urge to tell Percy right then and there everything he knew… about the order, about the training…

…Training.  He was being trained to be a leader.  A strategist.  Trust was paramount.  If people were to follow his plans, he had to be trusted.

…And Dumbledore trusted him to keep the secrets of the Order.

…Damn.

"Perc…" he began slowly.  If it were at all possible, Percy's face fell even lower.  "Perc, I can't… tell you… what it is.  You're partly right.  I can tell you that much.  Dumbledore is part of the reason, but he's not the whole reason.  We're not trying to push you away Percy, it's just… this is… bigger… that all of us…

"I wish I could tell you.  I really do… but… there's just too much at stake right now.  You'll just have to trust us.  I hope you understand… I'm sorry."

Percy closed his eyes.  After a moment he straightened up and took a deep breath.  When he opened his eyes again, he pinned Ron with the most sincere, yet regretful look he'd ever seen.

"I'm sorry too, Ron," he said, solemnly.  "I--Just promise me that… whatever  all this is, whatever is happening… promise me you'll stay safe, and that you'll keep the family safe."

"Percy, it's not as lost as that…"

"I think it must be.  Why else would--  Just--- just promise me Ron."

Ron looked intently into the face of his older brother.  The two were nearly the same height, Ron being almost an inch taller.  Percy was one of the few people Ron could look directly in the eye without having to crane his neck.  It made it all the more difficult to see the emotion playing in the other wizard's eyes.

"I promise," he said firmly.

Percy clapped him on the shoulder once more and then surprisingly pulled Ron into a tight, restricting hug.  Ron had just realized that he ought to hug the man back when Percy gave him a final squeeze (Ron was also surprised at how strong his brother was) and spoke.

"Take care Ron," he said quietly, with much emotion.

Then he marched off down the corridor without looking back.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry couldn't wait for Ron to return.  He couldn't afford to be late again for his meeting with the Potions master.

He first went to their training room, but the Professor wasn't there.  Harry then went to the classroom.  The door to Snape's office was ajar.  Harry listened carefully and after not hearing anything other than the scratching of a quill, he knocked and entered.  Snape was at his desk marking the very same papers he hadn't been able to finish the night before.  He didn't acknowledge Harry's presence at first.  Harry stood in front the large desk and cleared his throat.

"I'd… I'd like to apologize for being late last night, sir."

Snape put the quill down, folded his hands and looked up at the boy.  "And the reason for said tardiness?"

"…I saw someone that I didn't think belonged here.  I wanted to… to see what I could see."

"And what precisely did those Gryffindor eyes of yours see, Mr. Potter?"

"…Someone who needed help."

Snape raised a curious eyebrow.  It was obviously not the answer he was expecting.

"What's going to happen to him, sir?"

Snape paused.  "That, I do not know, Mr. Potter.  He's asked the question.  It's a start.  The rest shall be up to him."

"The question?"

"Change always begins with a question, Mr. Potter.  We can only hope that Ash is prepared to deal with the answer.  Regardless, I don't really have to say what's expected of you on this topic, do I?"

Harry shook his head.  "I never saw anything, sir."

Snape gave a curt nod and stood up.  "Very well.  We have much to cover tonight.  You're cloak, Mr. Potter."

Harry replaced his cloak and followed the teacher to their training classroom.

"We're going to begin to work on actual spells today.  You will need to concentrate on what you have learned in these past weeks.  Summoning your magic and focussing it.  Do not use the words.  They will limit you."

Harry knitted his brow.  "How am I supposed to do a spell if I don't say the word.  The word is the spell."

Snape sighed irritably.  "Have you learned nothing from me, boy?  The words don't matter, Potter.  True magic is not limited to sounds and syllables.  It's your thoughts and your needs which steer the magic.  Words are a focus point, but they are not the trigger.  YOU are."

From his robes he pulled out a small piece of parchment and summoned a quill form the air.  After writing on he shoved the parchment into Harry's hand.

"Read this," he commanded.  "Exactly as it is spelt and as thought it were a charm."

Harry cleared his throat.

"SHOW-KRU HONE."

Nothing happened.

"Now.  Say it again, but this time, concentrate on summoning that book on the desk there."

Harry regarded the man oddly for a moment, then did as he commanded.

"SHOW-KREW HONE."

The book flew to his hand.  Harry looked at it.

"Was, that… was that wandless…?"

"As you were holding your wand, I'd say no," Snape replied sourly.

"But, I didn't summon it.  I mean, I did, but I didn't use the Accio Charm."

"Yes, you did Mr. Potter.  You just used it in Japanese.  I wrote it phonetically so you that even you could not mess it up.

"You thought of summoning and when you said the words the book came to you.  You did not know what words you were speaking but your mind knew what it wanted.  That is what the magic was responding to."

"So… spells are useless then?"

"Spells are a focus.  The human mind, even yours, does a great many things all at once.  A spell leaves no doubt of your intent.  The more powerful the spell, the more of your mind's resources need focus.  So for those spells, you will continue to use words.  You need to practice working without words for the smaller spells.  This will make you stronger.  The magic will become almost second nature to you."  He paused, a smirk creeping up onto his face.  "And do not forget the added advantage of your opponent not knowing what you are about to do."

"How Slytherin."

"Precisely.  Shall we?"

*~*~*~*~*

For nearly two hours Harry re-learned his first and second year charms.  He summoned and levitated small objects that Snape had conjured up.  He locked and unlocked the door and lit and extinguished the torches that lined the room walls.

It was difficult.

It would have been more so without the previous training and control.  With each new spell, Harry would have to try several times before anything happened.  But the more he practiced the spells, the easier they became.  His wand would have been much, much easier and less taxing, but Harry felt a growing sense of accomplishment whenever he achieved the desired effect.

Then he was bidden to try something a little harder.

*~*~*~*~*

Professor Snape inclined his head slightly indicating that they should begin.  Harry didn't have time enough tot blink before he was hit with a Stinglebee Curse.  His entire body felt the same as his leg whenever it would fall asleep.  Pins and needles all over… times a hundred.  Snape waved his wand and with a bang, the pressure increased.

"The purpose is to stop me, Mr. Potter."

He increased the pressure again.  Harry sank to one knee.  How was he supposed to concentrate on attacking or defending himself when it hurt so much?  All he wanted was the pain to be off of him.  That, and for the Potions master to hurt himself.

"This is rather pathetic.  The great Harry Potter--"

Shut up, Harry thought.

"--cannot even deflect a simple stinging charm."

Shut up!

"Where is that famous Gryffindor pride?"

SHUT UP!

"What would your parents say?"

CRACK!!!

Snape went flying backwards over three rows of desks, crashing into the fourth.  He hit the floor with a hard 'thud' and did not move after that.

Harry, likewise, stood frozen in his spot.  His entire body tingled from the effects of the Stinglebee Curse and the power he had used to launch his teacher across the room.  It took several moments before his senses returned to him, along with a deep feeling of dread.

"Oh, Merlin… Oh, my god… Professor?  Professor Snape?  Are you all right?"

Harry took several static steps forward.  Snape, on his side, still wasn't moving.

Oh, god, I've killed him.

Harry crouched down and reached his hand out.  The supposed corpse coughed.  Harry jumped back.

"Professor?"

The Potions master coughed twice more and rolled onto his arms.

Harry reached his hand out again.  "Professor, are you--"

Snape's head whipped up and he shot Harry a look that would flash freeze lava.

Harry immediately backed off and stood up.  Snape pushed himself off the floor and concentrated on brushing the dust from his robes.

"I—I'm sorry Professor.  I didn't know I would--"

"I think we are finished for today, Mr. Potter," Snape snarled, continuing his ministrations.  He turned his back to the boy.

An unexpected heaviness filled Harry's chest as he gathered his things and started for the door.  The Potions master's quiet voice caused him to halt in his tracks.

"Ten points to Gryffindor."

Harry turned.  Snape was retrieving his wand from the floor, his back still to Harry.  The boy knew better than to say anything and left quickly, the phrase 'High praise form Caesar' running through his head.

As he trotted back towards Gryffindor tower, a strange grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

*~*~*~*~*

"…And forty points I believe would be appropriate Mr. Longbottom."

"Th-Thank you Professor, but, Professor Sprout already gave me thirty."

Ron's eyes nearly fell out of his head as Neville and Professor McGonagall stepped through the portrait hole.  Harry and Hermione could scarce believe it themselves.  First of all, occasions where Neville earned points for Gryffindor were rare in and of themselves.  Now there were two professors awarding him points… and he was suggesting to turn some down?!

"Fine.  Then consider the forty for your perseverance," McGonagall said.  "You've done your house proud."

She squeezed Neville's shoulder momentarily before disappearing back out the portrait.

The trio pounced on the red-faced Gryffindor.

"Neville!  Seventy points!  What did you do?" Hermione squealed.  The common room was empty except for the trio and Neville as everyone was still at Hogsmeade, playing Quidditch or in training.

Neville shrugged bashfully.  "I… managed to cross-breed a Mandrake Root with a Laedidel Root."

"But that's impossible," Hermione pointed out.  "They hate each other.  They would never even be seen in each other's company.

Harry shook his head and tried to remember that they were talking about plants.

"What does the Laedidel Root do?" Ron asked.  Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly.  Laedidel Root is a healing plant.  It's the main ingredient in Pepper-Up potion."

"And these plants could never be crossed before?" Harry asked.  Neville shook his head.

"No.  They're both rather… herbocentric plants.  They think that other plants are beneath them and each sees itself as the social better.  So when ever anyone tried to cross-pollinate them, they rejected the match."

"So how did you manage it?"  Hermione inquired.  Neville went red again.  He shrugged.

"I… got them drunk. Firewisky."

The trio looked at each other silently for a moment, before bursting into laughter.  Neville joined them.

"Bloody brilliant, Neville!" Ron said, clapping the boy on the back.

"Thanks, Ron," he said.  "There's only one problem now.  Professor Sprout said that the seedling they created is a brand new plant, and since I'm the one who figured it out, I have to think of a name!"

"Have you got anything in mind?"  Hermione questioned.

Neville blushed, his familiar bashful face coming back at full force.  He ducked his head.

"Well I… Sort of… But it's… It's dumb…" he said quietly.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Neville.  What is it?"

He blushed deeper and shrugged sheepishly.

"Reva Root," he mumbled quietly before scuttling up the dormitory steps.

Hermione looked at her friends puzzled.

Harry gave a sad little smile.  "He's named it after his mother."

*~*~*~*~*

After Neville's departure, the trio settled themselves back into the plush chairs and continued with their interrupted conversation.  Hermione quickly re-invoked a privacy spell.  The common room was empty save for the three, but if anyone else were to enter, all they would hear would be the tail end of a lively conversation about Quidditch.  Enough time for the three to end their true discussion.

"If I'd known that blasting Snape would've gained us house points, I would've done it years ago! …Repeatedly!"  Ron said.

"Ron, that's not funny," Hermione chastised.  "Harry, are you sure he was all right?"

"He seemed fine to me," Harry replied.  Besides, with everything else I've 'seen' him go through, he thought, a little tumble into some desks is nothing.  "But I don't think he'd take to anyone else knowing about it.  So…"

"We won't say anything, Harry," Hermione said, jabbing Ron with her elbow and thereby silencing his imminent protest.

There was a loud 'CRACK' sound from just inside the portrait door, causing the three of them to jump to their feet, wands drawn.  Dobby the house elf widened his already large eyes looking pathetically remorseful.

"Excuse, Dobby, Harry Potter, sir.  Dobby did not wish to frighten Harry Potter and his friends," he apologized. "Professor Dumbledore has sent Dobby, sir," he continued.  "Professor Dumbledore wishes Harry Potter and his two friends to follow Dobby now."

"Follow you where, Dobby?" Harry asked, his wand already re-stored into his robes.

"Oh," Dobby began wringing his hands.  "Dobby cannot say sir.  Strict instructions Dobby has.  But Dobby wishes he could tell Harry Potter.  Harry Potter has been so good to Dobby.  Maybe if Dobby gave Harry Potter a hint…"

The elf looked torn, his loyalties drawing him in two directions at once.

"That's alright, Dobby," Ron said.  "You don't have to tell us.  We'll follow you."

Dobby wrapped his thin arms tightly around Ron's legs.

"Harry Potter's Wheezy is so good to Dobby!  Harry Potter has the kindest friends!"

"Yeah, yeah, um… Dobby," Ron said, prying the elf's arms from his legs, "Shouldn't we be going.  We don't want to keep Dumbledore waiting."

"Yes, yes!  We must go!  Follow Dobby!"  And the elf sped towards the portrait.

The trio looked at each other and shrugged before following.

*~*~*~*~*

Dobby led them down through the school to the level just above the dungeons.  This area was not as gloomy as the Slytherin domain, but it was similarly bare and not exactly welcoming.  No classes had ever been held in this part of the school.  On one of their nightly excursions under Harry's invisibility cloak, he and Ron had discovered, much to their disappointment, that the rooms they could gain access to, were all empty.

The liberated House Elf stopped in front of a large wooden door with iron crossings.

"Good luck, Mr. Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said, and then disappeared with another loud 'CRACK'.

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck began to stand up in warning.

He opened the door.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, do come in," Professor Dumbledore said.

The Headmaster was standing at the far side of the dark room, which was lit by only five blue flamed torches.  Professor Snape stood grimly a ways to his right and Sirius was equidistantly to Dumbledore's left.  Professor McGonagall was to Sirius's left and Remus stood between her and the Potions master.  Looking down, Harry saw that the teachers were all standing on the points of a large silver coloured pentacle.  The bottom part of the framing circle (between Remus and Minerva) was incomplete.

The door closed behind the three.

"No doubt, you are wondering why I have summoned the three of you here.  I apologize for the added subterfuge, but it was necessary."

He paused and motioned towards the centre of the circle.  There was a smooth oval-shaped blue stone, translucent and shining, resting on a metre tall pike sticking out of the floor.

"We've found a solution to your selective recall problem, Mr. Potter," he explained.  "This is an Argumentum Stone."

Hermione beside him, gave a quiet gasp of recognition.

Dumbledore smiled.  "Well, as it seems that Miss. Granger is acquainted with the Stone, perhaps she wouldn't mind enlightening her friends."

Hermione blushed.

"Well… er… They're quite hard to come by," she started.  "The stone is sort of like a pensive; only in reverse.  Instead of bringing you into the memory, the memory is brought out.  Oh, and it can only be viewed twice.  Once when it recording, and once during its only playback."

"Excellent!  Five points to Gryffindor, Miss. Granger," the headmaster smiled.

Harry was looking rather pale.

"Excuse me, Professor," he spoke up.  "Does that… Will there… Do you mean to say that… everyone here…"

Dumbledore held up his hand.  "I understand your desire for privacy on this matter, Harry," he said solemnly, "And under normal circumstances I would respect that wish, but I'm afraid, the Argumentum Stone requires five fully trained wizards or witches to act as anchors, or it will not work.  So yes, everyone present will be privy to your memories of that day.

Harry looked anxiously around the room

"I fully trust everyone here to behave with discretion, Harry, however, these are your memories.  If you are not content with this current selection, you are welcome to substitute any of us for anyone else.  I'm certain Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be more than happy to oblige you…"

The thought of the Weasleys, who'd been the closest thing to parents that Harry could remember… the idea of them seeing what had happened to him… no he couldn't have that.  If he had his way, no one would be witness to these memories.  But after his initial conversation with Dumbledore on the subject, he knew there was no way around it.  The Dursleys were in prison.  There would be a trial.  The court would have to know his side of what happened.  Harry even went so far as to think that he'd rather the Dursleys go free and the charges against them dropped.  He did not want to testify.  He did not want everyone to know what had happened to him.  It was just too… embarrassing.   The ancient wizard told him that that decision was out of his hands.  As an under-aged wizard, it wasn't his choice weather or not the Dursleys were arrested.  So they were back to the original problem.  And now there was a solution.  And Harry fought to keep himself from getting sick.

"No," he said quietly.  "No, everyone's fine."

In his peripheral, Harry could see Ron's eyes widen incredulously.  Harry knew all too well what was running through his friend's mind: 'Are you mad?!  Get Snape out of here!'

Harry ignored the look.

"Good," Dumbledore said.  "And though it is not specifically required for the spell, I would like Ron and Hermione to remain at you side… that is, should they wish to.  The Argumentum Stone can be very taxing.  They will act as your supports."

"We'll do it, Professor," Hermione said, without hesitation.  Ron nodded.

"Excellent.  Are you ready Harry?"

NO! his mind screamed.  His throat felt dry and his chest was tight.  His stomach was beginning to feel hollow.  Was he ready?!

As he could no trust himself to speak, Harry merely nodded.

"Then step in to the centre please.  All three of you."

The trio did as they were told, the silvery pentacle closing behind them.

Ron and Hermione flanked Harry on both sides.  Dumbledore addressed them, seeing the question in their eyes.

"The two of you need only stand by Harry, supporting him with your thoughts… and physically should he need it."

His friends nodded again and Harry swallowed.

"Harry, you will need to place your left hand on the stone," Dumbledore explained to the obviously increasingly anxious boy.  "At the same time tap it with your wand.  Concentrate on your memories and say: Infeego."

Harry took a deep breath and tried to stop his hand from shaking as he raised it.  He placed the hand on the smooth stone and held up his wand.  Another pause and Harry summoned the memories he'd been trying so hard to forget.  He shivered visibly and closed his eyes.  He steadied his breathing, his rational side telling him that the sooner he started, the sooner it would be over.

His wand tapped the stone.

"INFEEGO!"

The stone flashed and a wave of rippling air expanded out from it.

The small room seemed to vanish, as did its occupants.  Each witch and wizard only aware of their own existence as they faded into the memories of what happened to The Boy Who Lived on the day before school began…

*~*~*~*~*

August 31st

Washing Uncle Vernon's car.

It wasn't so bad.  Dudley usually kept his distance.  The whale of a boy was as fond of water (and bathing) as were most cats.  Fifteen years old and his mother still had to bribe him into showering each day. (Duddikins, mummy will give you an extra piece of bacon if you shower this morning.)

His cousin would often watch, smirking from the doorway or the lawn, pointing out how inept he was. (You missed another spot, Potter.) Fortunately, the tub would usually grow tired of this and go back inside to his telly… usually.

This day, Harry wouldn't be that lucky.

"So, Potter, looking forward to another year at that freak school of yours?"

Harry wearily looked at the reflection in the glass.  Dudley and Piers were standing on the lawn, sneering at him.

"Honestly, Dudley," Piers commented, "My father wouldn't let an incurable criminal near our car."

"Oh, Potter knows his place.  He'll keep in line or he knows he'll catch what for."

Harry ignored them and picked up the hose.

So tempting, he thought and began to wet the car.

While Dudley had been referring to Harry's imminent return to Hogwarts the following day, Piers was under the impression that Harry would be beginning his fifth year at St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys; a lie made up by his uncle, who refused to acknowledge the truth in front of anyone who didn't live at Number 4, Privet Drive.

Harry dropped the hose, picked a large sponge out of the bucket and began to soap the driver's side door.  He had to use both hands as neither was working all that on its own; a reminder of his aunt's reaction to the garden spade being broken.  For someone so skinny and shapeless, Aunt Petunia possessed a surprising amount of strength.

"Watch this, Piers," Dudley said, quietly, although not so quiet that Harry couldn't hear him.  He froze.  Those were the words he feared most coming out of Dudley's mouth.

A loose ball of mud splattered against the window Harry had just cleaned.  Dudley and Piers broke into hysterics.  Angrily, Harry turned around.  He saw that Dudley' was already scooping a second handful from the freshly watered garden, which Harry had just finished tending a quarter of an hour earlier.  Harry angrily threw the sponge back into the bucket.

"You know, no matter what your father does to me for being late with the car, if you keep throwing mud at it, Uncle Vernon's going to suffer for it anyway.  You know you have to go to that business dinner of his tonight.  Do you want him to be late for that?"

Dudley and Piers regarded each other and for a moment, Harry thought that maybe Dudley would act his age for once and see some logic in the situation. He knew he was wrong when the softball-sized pack of mud hit him in the chest.  A third hit the door as Piers got in on the fun. Harry signed and leaned against the house.  Might as well let them do their worst and get it over with.

Then again, he though, they'll probably wait till I've cleaned it all off then start all over again and I'll probably be out here doing the garden till midnight too.

"Waaa!!!"  Harry was brought out his revelry as he was sprayed with cold water.  Piers dropped the hose and fell to the ground, clutching his stomach in laugher.

"Looked a might filthy there, Potter," he said once he'd regained his breath.

Harry ground his teeth in frustration.  Don't let them bait you.  Don't let them bait you, he repeated to himself.  He took off his glasses and twisted himself to dry them on the back of his shirt. (The only part of him that wasn't sopping wet.)

"Don't ignore me, Potter!" Dudley bellowed.

Go to hell, Dudley, Harry thought and continued to dry.

*SMASH!!!*

Harry felt his insides go cold.

No.  Please no.  Please, no, no, no, no…

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as Harry re-set his glasses onto his face.  He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

He turned slowly… painfully slowly, back to the car.  He thought his legs would go out on him.

There was a large hole in the car's windscreen; a bludger-sized stone from the garden lay in the front seat.  What remained of the car's front window was fractured and fragmented beyond repair.

He wasn't certain how long he'd stood staring but when the ability to the move returned him, Harry slowly turned to face Dudley.  He was beginning to shake.

His portly cousin was standing in the front of the car's bumper, a sadistic grin carved into his fat face.

"You--you really hate me that much?"  Harry asked quietly, his voice filled with disbelief.

Off to the side, Piers snorted a laugh.

Dudley opened his great gate of a mouth and Harry could almost see the seconds of his life counting down before his eyes.

"DAD!!! DAD!!! COME QUICK!  HARRY'S BROKEN THE WINDSCREEN!!!"

Both he and Piers ran towards the front door, mock horror plastered on their faces.  Moments later, his aunt and uncle came stomping out of the house.  Harry, who had been leaning against the house for support, looked up.

His uncle was a shade of purple he had never seen; almost bordering on black.  His aunt was grasping her throat so tightly, he thought he might strangle herself.  Harry found he only had one single, solitary thought running through his mind:

He's going to kill me.

There was no exaggeration in this thought.  No embellishment.

After all he had already been through, Harry was certain he was about to die.

"Uncle Vernon, I--"

"Get.  In.  The.  House."

"I swear to you Uncle, it wasn't me."

"Get.

"In.

"The.

"House."

Harry swallowed gingerly.  He stepped past his relatives as quickly as he could manage, his back glued to the building, and ran into the house as soon as he was clear.  He didn't stop until he reached his room.

Shutting the door behind him, Harry began to look frantically back and forth seeing nothing.  A familiar hooting caught his attention.

Harry ran over to Hedwig's cage, where she had previously been snoozing, and opened the door.  His beloved pet climbed out onto his arm.

"You'll have to go, girl," he said speaking just under a whisper.  He carried her over to the window.  "It's not safe for you here anymore.  Go to Hermione.  She needs an owl and she'll take good care of you."

Hedwig eyed him suspiciously and gave him a questioning hoot.

"I'll--- I'll be okay, girl.  Don't worry about me."

She hooted again.  The smart owl obviously didn't believe a word the boy was saying.

"Please girl… Please do what I say.  I can't be worrying about you right now.  Just please… go…"

He opened the window and held the owl out.  Hedwig gave him another searching look before fluttering off his arm and squeezing her way through the bars, which were just wide enough for her to fit through.  Outside, she perched herself on the windowsill giving him a last long look.

"Go," he said encouragingly and tried to smile.  The owl narrowed her eyes and then flew away.

Harry watched her for a moment, the pretended smile falling from his face.  He shivered.  The cool breeze coming in the window reminded him that he was still wearing a dirty wet t-shirt.  He found it somewhat odd that part of his mind was worrying that he'd catch a cold when the rest of him was sure he was about to die.

He removed his ever-present vest and tucked his wand into his floorboard hiding place.  Even though he wouldn't be needing it anymore, it had served him well and he didn't want it broken.  Maybe they would bury it with him.  He'd never been to a wizarding funeral before… not one he could remember anyway.

He pulled another over-sized tee shirt from the dresser, but found difficulty in removing the wet one.  He was shaking so badly now, not all of it from the cold, that he could barely lift it from is skin.  He found himself caught up in it with his arm and head becoming tangled in the wet fabric.  After struggling with it for a moment, he finally managed to tug the blasted article off of his head…

…And found himself staring into the eyes of his purple skinned uncle.

He hadn't heard the man open the door, or come into the house for that matter.  Yet there he stood, hand clutching the doorknob, Dudley and Piers snickering behind him.

Harry wanted to swallow, but found that he couldn't.  He dropped the wet tee and slowly brought his open hands up in front of him.

"Uncle Vernon… Please… I swear to you… on my parent's graves---"

Harry never got to finish his plea.

He saw stars as the back of Vernon's fist connected with the right side of his face, sending him the distance of the room.  He hit the floor with an undignified thud, which caused a sharp jarring pain to shoot up his arm from his elbow.  His breath left him and he was unable to gain another as a heavy foot connected with his lower rib cage.  He instinctively moved to curl himself into a ball, but hadn't quite made it before the same heavy foot kicked him just above his left knee.  He cried out and received another kick in the same spot for his trouble.  The crack was audible in the tiny room.  Several more kicks followed… on his legs, his back, his arms.  When Harry finally managed, to curl himself up (most of himself, his left leg was no longer obeying him) Vernon reached down and picked the boy up by his neck with his two beefy paws.  Vernon punched him flush in the face before tightening both hands around Harry's neck and shaking him.

"You! Blasted! Freak!  You've ruined our lives!  If it's the last thing I do, I will make sure you and your kind are wiped off the face of the Earth!"

"Vernon," Petunia said calmly from the doorway.  "The rental is on the telephone, they can have a car here in an hour, but they need your card."

Vernon glared Harry.  The boy was barely touching the floor and was not getting any air.  He was weakly clawing at Vernon's wrist.  His uncle lifted him fully and then threw him to the floor.  He started for the door.

"Dad…?"

Vernon gave a curt nod to his son, walked past his wife and thundered down the stairs.

Harry, on his stomach, raised his head as best he could.  He cast a pleading glance to the door.

"A-Aunt Petunia…"

"Oh, dear…" Petunia said with much grief.

She walked forward.

Stepped over Harry.

Reached through the bars.

And closed the window.

"There," she said walking back to the door.  "Can't have the neighbours privy to your abnormality, now can we?"

She exited the room closing the door behind her…

…leaving him alone with a grinning Dudley and Piers.

Harry closed his left eye as the right one was closing quite nicely on its own.

He never saw who did what, but the two friends proceeded to punch, kick and stomp the defenceless boy with sadistic glee.

By some wicked fate, Harry remained conscious throughout the entire ordeal.

They stopped after a time.  Perhaps someone had heard his prayers.  Perhaps they had just gotten tired.

But this was not the day for Harry's wishes and suppositions.

Vernon had returned.

Harry heard a jingle.  Not quite bell like, more like keys.

But it wasn't keys.  And it wasn't a bell.

It was a sound Harry hadn't heard in many years.

Vernon's belt.

When Harry was younger, he'd been threatened by it.  Vernon would take it off and chase him around the house with it.  Several thousand puddings later and Vernon had ceased the need to wear a belt.  Harry had never seen it since.  But he remembered it: a strip of doubled leather nearly a finger's length in width.  The buckle was cheep metal shined up to look expensive.  A client had given it to him as a gift.

To Harry it was a curse.

Or maybe a nightmare?  He opened his good eye as much as it would allow…

"No…No, please…"

…and immediately wished that he hadn't.

He couldn't stand, or even fully crawl, so Harry pulled himself along the floor with his better working arm until he was literally backed into a corner.  He covered his head and neck as best he could with one weak arm.

The first strike felt like acid on his bare skin.  He lost count of the others as he tried to make himself as small as possible.  It proved fruitless when Vernon, still spitting his vicious ramblings, grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him to the centre of the room.  Above his own cries Harry hear his uncle bark out orders to the other teens still present.

"Dudley take his arms.  Hold him down.  Piers, hold his feet.  Stretch him out!"

Harry thought he would pass out from the pain of his damaged limbs being stretched alone.  But it seemed, the closer any of them got to him, the more awake and aware he actually was.

Dudley sat his enormous girth down on Harry's arms almost completely cutting the circulation to his fingers.  Piers, who wasn't as wide, but thick in his own right, sat on Harry's legs.  He had little time to register that pain as the belt came slicing down onto his bare back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He struggled madly trying to free himself but he would only be stretched out again.  His pulse roared in his ears mudding the sounds of his own screams, the other boys' laughter and cheers and his uncle's shouts of: "Hold him!  Hold him down!  He's moving!  Hold him tighter!"

It was his Aunt Petunia's high voice which, ironically stopped the assault.

"Vernon dear, you and Duddikins need to get ready.  They'll be dropping the car off soon."

Vernon backed off and stood straight as though he'd just been pruning some roses.  "Right you are my dear," he said in a rather bright voice.  "Come Dudley.  Piers, say hello to your father for me will you."

"Right Mr. Dursley," Piers said climbing off the prone Harry.  Dudley joined him, seeing his friend to the door.

Vernon turned back to Harry and his light attitude left.   At this point, all Harry could do was listen.

Vernon picked his head up by grabbing a meaty fistful of the boy's hair.

"This is it boy.  I've had enough.  Finished!" he hissed.  "Fourteen years you've poisoned this household.  No more.  You're not going back to that school.  You're not leaving this room.  You're not anything anymore."  He turned Harry's head so that Harry was facing him, regardless of the fact that one eye was completely swollen shut and the other was quickly following.  "Tomorrow," he stressed in a frighteningly low voice.  "We. Finish. This… Once and for all."

He released Harry's head with a toss, causing it to hit the wooden floor.  A final kick to the side and Vernon left, locking the door behind him.

It was only then that Harry felt the drowsiness of unconsciousness creeping in on him.  But for the first time since the ordeal began, he did not want it.

"Have to… get… out…" he murmured to himself.  "Can't… stay… have to… get out…"

He used his left arm (the right one was no longer working) and tried to pull himself along the floor towards the bed.  White-hot pain shot up from his left leg making him catch his breath.  He collapsed and rolled slightly onto his right side.  His left pant leg was soaked in blood.  There was an extra point pushing against the material.  The bone above his knee had broken and pushed through the skin.  It was too much for him and Harry finally sank into the comforting dark of unconsciousness.

~~~~~~~

A tapping sound brought him back to awareness.  He was still on the floor of the littlest bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive.  He was still shirtless and still bloodied and still unbearably sore.

But he could move.

He was able (after a few failed attempts) to push himself up onto his knees.

His knees…

Harry thought he must have been dreaming.  It must have been a hallucination caused by the beating.  He could have sworn that his left leg had been broken.  But he ran his hand over the spot.  It was tender and sore, but whole.  So he must have been dreaming…

But in the dim pre-morning light, he could still see the dark patch of dried blood on the same leg.  It puzzled him, but the tapping sound continued and drew his attention to the window.

"Hedwig!" Harry squawked.  His throat was raw and scratched and his voice had suffered for it.

The snowy owl was flapping her wings excitedly from the windowsill.  He struggled to his feet and went over to the window.  Opening it, he held his finger to his lips indicating that she should be quiet.

"Hedwig, what are you…?  Never mind.  I'll be down in five minutes.  Wait for me up the street," he whispered.

The owl hooted quietly and took off.

Harry pulled out the set of clothes he'd previously set aside for that day.  He changed quietly in the dark, not wanting to risk waking the Dursleys by flipping on the light.  He retrieved his few valued possessions from the cache in the floor and stuffed them into his pillowcase.  His wand went into his vest.  His vest onto his back.  The only thing left out was a gift from the Weasley brothers, given to him during his first escape to the Burrow:  a set of lock picks.

And he knew how to use them.

Harry made short work of the bedroom door, opening it carefully and listened out in the hallway.  Vernon's snoring was deep and steady.  Harry picked up the pillowcase and Hedwig's cage.  Shoes in hand, he made his way down the stairs, aware of the location of every creak and groan in the wood.  Sleeping underneath it for so many years, gave him a certain insight as to where to step.  Especially when avoiding the bottom one, which sounded like a thrice rusted door hinge.

He picked the lock to his former sleeping zone and as carefully as possible removed his trunk.  Vernon snorted once and ice water fear ran through him.  But Vernon soon resumed his buzz saw breathing and Harry continued on his way.

He managed the items out of the house and onto the front lawn.

When he heard someone call his name, Harry's heart jumped up to his throat.  Then he realized the voice was coming from the vicinity of his ankles.

"Sebastian?" he inquired into the darkness.

"Isss it time to go to your ssschool now, Harry?" the snake asked, climbing up onto his trunk.

"Er—yeah.  We have to go.  Right now."  Harry began pulling the trunk again.  He dragged it along the grass beside the curb as to still the noise.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"  He answered without stopping.

"You're hurt Harry." The snake had slithered up to Harry's hand and was flicking the air with his tongue.

"I'm fine, Sebastian."

"You need to sssee a Veterinarian."

"I said I'm fine!"  He snapped.

Sebastian was quiet for several minutes and Harry began to feel guilty for yelling at his new friend.

"Sebastian, I'm sorry…"

"I know.  But you ssstill need to sssee a Veterinarian."

"… Later."

There was a hoot from above.  Hedwig swooped down, plucking her own cage from Harry's other hand and followed along with it.

Harry walked to the nearest corner then up to Peekman Street.  Down to Bellywith Road he finally stopped.  He withdrew his wand and held it out to the street.  In seconds there was a loud bang and a large violently purple triple-decker bus appeared, seemingly out of thin air.  The Knight Bus drew to a stop right in front of Harry and doors flew open.

Stan the conductor was a little surprised to see the famous Harry Potter (whom he still addressed as Neville) standing there with a trunk a snake and an owl in the wee hours of the morning.  But who was he to judge.

Harry knew that once Stan opened his mouth, Harry would not likely get a word in edgewise.

"King's Cross, please," Harry said warily and started into the bus.

*~*~*~*~*

The image began to change.  No longer a dawning street in Little Whining, but a smaller indoor area made of heavy stone brick.  The wave was reversing itself, melding back into the Argumentum Stone.  Harry and the others present, found themselves standing back at the Hogwarts in the same little room they had never left.

The re-orienting silence was broken by a sniffle.  Harry looked to his right.  Hermione's face was streaked with tears.  Her eyes were red and puffy.  To his left, his friend Ron was oddly devoid of colour.  He was extremely pale and staring at his feet.  Remus and Sirius each looked a cross between blindingly furious and seriously ill.  Professor McGonagall was dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a delicate handkerchief.  Snape's face was a mask. Nothing new there, but he at least was looking Harry in the eye.  Unreadably.  Professor Dumbledore had his eyes closed.  No one seemed to know what to say.

Frustrated, nauseous and embarrassed, Harry turned and with an angry wave of his hand, banished the entry portion of the circle.  He stormed from the circle and from the room, only frustrated, shaken silence following him.

To be continued…

A/N: (Why is it that every time I go to update, ff.net shuts down? Is it me? Is someone trying to tell me something? :P )

So why didn't Harry use magic? So how was Harry healed enough to get out of the house? So how come a lot of other things… All answers forthcoming. As I've said… There *IS* a method to my madness! Everything I've done or will do has a purpose, either to plot or to character development. And if not answered now, it *WILL* be answered later. I *PROMISE*. Big stuff coming!

Why was Seamus the one doing CPR instead of Dean? Not all muggles know CPR. We all know of it, but it doesn't mean we've all been trained in it. Therefore I don't see it any more likely that Dean should be the one to do it than Seamus.

Lirthe – you got it guys! But don't look for strict alignment, but there will be p.o.v. similarities.

P.A.W.S. – sorry. You all missed on that one. august wind was closest with People Against Wizarding Supreme. I'm not going to reveal the true name yet. That will come later.

SHOW-KREW HONE is a melding of Shokan Suru, the pre-congregated form of 'summon' in Japanese.

I've gotten some e-mails and such about the length of this story, suggesting that I put out shorter chapters to post sooner. Sorry, can't do that. Actually, I have no control over that. The chapters tell me how long they want to be. I only stop when it feels right. And please remember that although I know where this is going and the things I want to happen, this is still a work in progress. I could shoot out short quick chapters, but then I'd have to go back and revise and repost all the time. The quality of the story would drop and from what your reviews are telling me, you don't want that to happen. So I ask you all to be patient. I do post as soon as I can and I'm always writing.

{Oh, and one more note about the Slash thing. What I wrote in my last A/N isn't saying that Slash equals smut. For me, Slash a romantic OR sexual relationship between two people of the same sex. What I was saying about my two upcoming stories was that the one of them was smutty pillow fluff, which just happened to take place in a slash environment. The other story that I said is actually a story, is also a slash relationship, but it's not simple a fluff, smut piece (which could take place in either a slash or non slash story.) Once again, the relationship between Harry and Severus in THIS story is NOT going to be slash. In other words, not romantic OR sexual. Harry's not going to be involved with *ANYONE* in this story.}

Now hit that button! (Come on! You know you wanna…)