Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter Two: Harry's Summer

Every night I walk the streets,
Awake while everyone else sleeps.
I'm giving unease to anyone I meet.
-AFI, Advances In Modern Technology

A boy, about sixteen, with messy raven black hair and startling green eyesran down the streets of Surrey. His face was long, thin, and he had the appearance of one who hadn't eaten or slept in days. The baggy, worn clothes he was dressed in made him look even skinnier than he already was. His once sparkling emerald eyes seemed dull and emotionless. But the most interesting thing about him was the scar on his forehead. It was in the shape of a lightening bolt and looked as if it had been gotten recently.

Of course, everyone in the wizarding world knew this was false. And everyone in the wizarding world knew who Harry James Potter was. Or at least they thought they did. The Harry Potter they knew wouldn't be in a muggle neighborhood in the dark of night, nor would he be running from a gang of his cousin's friends.

"Hey Harry, where are you going? Haven't you missed us?" A scoffing voice asked. Last summer, Harry would have been tempted to curse them into oblivion, right in Dudley's face. But his cousin wasn't here this time to shield either party from being hexed or beaten. The overweight boy was in the Dursley's living room, shoveling food in his mouth with his piggy little eyes fixed on the television screen.

With that mental image Harry didn't know whether to laugh or gag. As it was, he couldn't do either. Dudley's gang didn't seem to be getting tired; block after block, fence after fence, they never even hesitated in their "Harry hunting". Now, after almost thirty minutes of this, Harry could barely breathe. Not eating and sleeping for the past few days were definitely taking toll on his body. The stitch in his side was becoming unbearably painful. His lungs felt constricted and the sweat on his brow dripped into his eyes.

It was getting harder to see with the salty liquid in his eyes and the black spots that were starting to form. The drunken pack behind him got louder and more excited as he slowed down to inhale deeply. Crisp green lawns and identical neat houses in rows. It was all he could see. Harry's sight began getting blurry and he could no longer make out the golden numbers identifying each home.

All I need is to get to the Dursley's or Mrs. Figg's house. That way, they'll leave me alone until I can threaten Dudley into controlling them.

"HARRY! C'mon, buddy. We don't want to hurt you!" Harry knew this was a matter of opinion, since the group suddenly burst out laughing.

A need to get somewhere safe overwhelmed him. Harry squared his shoulders and concentrated his vision. To his relief, Mrs. Figg's place was only two houses away. It took all the strength he owned, but Harry forced himself to trot weakly to her door and tried to ignore the sudden silence that came upon the street. If those bastards even TRY to touch me I swear I'll curse their heads straight up their-

A hand came out of nowhere and covered his mouth tightly. Another pulled the arm he was about to press the doorbell with behind his back. Piers Polkiss's face grinned into his, "Hello there, Harry," he said in an odd voice. Harry grimaced as the smell of alcohol and cigarettes attacked his face. That has to be the most disgusting smell in the world, he thought, grimacing.

Struggling seemed useless against several boys bigger and stronger then himself. Yet, he did it anyway. Screaming seemed useless with a hand pressed firmly against his lips. Yet, he did it anyway. Trying to catch Mrs. Figg's attention when he was being dragged away into her hedges seemed useless. So he gave up and took it.

Pain rained down on him instantly, he couldn't even tell where it was coming from. Was it Kevin's sharp kicks in his sides, or was it Benny's fat fists banging on the sides of his head? Piers must've gagged him because no matter how hard he tried- he couldn't yell out. Harry's senses dulled considerably, he no longer could figure out if they were even hitting him anymore.

Numbness seemed to spread and Harry knew he could stop all this if he tried. His wand was in his back pocket (to Mad-Eye Moody's dismay, surely). There was bound to be a guard somewhere... but where were they? Didn't they know he needed help? A part of his mind was buzzing in accusations:

You snuck away from the guard. You've gotten yourself into this mess. You were spoiling for a fight all year. Anyway, you deserve it.

"No..." Harry whispered, "I don't..."

You killed Sirius. You deserve it. You. Deserve. It. How far are you going to go, Potter? Kill Ron, Hermione? How about Dumbledore? You sure seemed angry at him that day. Maybe you should just present yourself to Voldemort. He'll be glad to stop your little killing spree.

"Maybe I should..." Harry rasped into the gag.

Fortunately, the boys ignored him and resumed their beating. A light flicked on in Mrs. Figg's living room and her voice yelled out to them. "What's going on out there? Don't you know what time it is?"

Dudley's gang froze. Harry, however, took advantage of the opportunity and gave a strangled cry, which followed with coughing from his aching chest. Figg's face immediately showed in her window. She glared at the lot of them, then noticed the battered Harry at their feet. Her eyes widened in understanding.

"That's it! I'm calling the police!" She scurried in the other direction screaming angrily about hoodlums.

The boys circling ran off, all except for Piers Polkiss. The rat like, wiry teenager leaned in close to Harry's gagged and bruised face, and did the thing not even a Seer would've predicted. Piers kissed him on the nose with a peculiar, malevolent gleam in his eyes. That was the last shock Harry James Potter could take, and promptly passed out in Mrs. Figg's hedges. He completely missed the elderly woman in the corner, gaping like a fish.

Harry Potter glanced at his surroundings. Everything was in dark shades of gray. Something in the back of hismind told him not to make a sound; to leave. Fast. But how can you leave a place you have no recollection of entering?

"How did I get here?" Harry whispered softly to himself.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up while an strange sense of Deja Vu overwhelmed him. Cold dark floors, musty smelling walls... but it couldn't be! Harry started running. Thump. Thump. Thump. Was that his heart, or his footsteps? Surely, they were loud enough for everyone to hear.

In what seemed like an eternity a corner finally appeared in the hallway. Harry hurriedly turned and stopped dead in his tracks. Doors... doors.

How many were there? He didn't stop to count. Instead, he walked straight ahead and reached for the door knob.

"No..." Harry's mind moaned. "Not there! Don't go in there!"

His hands seemed to have a life of their own. No matter how hard he wanted to pull away, get away from that door, they just kept reaching. All too soon, the skinny fingers were closing their grip on the handle- only, there was no handle.

The door knob melted at the contact of Harry's skin. Alarmed, he jerked his arm back, realizing he had gain control of it again. Silver liquid dripped from his fingers. It looked startlingly like Unicorn blood. Harry suddenly felt the urge to vomit. Then there was a cold sensation flowing into his shoes, into his socks, and right into his toes.

The day just didn't want to stop torturing him, it seemed. A dark gray substance was now in a pool where the door had been. Standing in it were a pair of familiar black boots. Though Harry didn't dare take his eyes off the syrupy liquid, a few seconds later he wish he had. In the pool's reflection showed a man's face. A face which had the look of being once handsome, but presently was haunted, tired, and wasted.

Sirius Black looked back at Harry Potter.

"Why did you kill me, Harry?" Sirius asked sorrowfully, his gray eyes blinking mournfully.

Harry screamed.

"Potter!" A stern voice exclaimed angrily.

Who's that? Where am I?

A large, hooked nose and beetle black eyes clouded Harry's vision. Once again, Harry screamed. Severus Snape looked down at him in disgust.

"And you are supposed to be a Gryffindor," he snarled.

"Severus, leave him be. He's had a hard night."

Harry recognized the voice as Dumbledore's and lifted his head up painfully. "Hullo, Headmaster."

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled slightly. "Hello, Harry. How are you? You had us worried sick."

Snape snorted disdainfully.

Everything still seemed blurry. "Headmaster," Harry hesitated. "Did you happen to see my glasses anywhere?"

"Ah, I am so sorry to be the one to tell you this, Mr. Potter, but they were gone when Mrs. Figg found you." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Perhaps it was time you bought a new pair, anyway."

Snape just lingered in a dark corner, his black eyes watching the exchange carefully. "Gone...?" Harry repeated stupidly. He had that pair of glasses as long as he could remember. The Dursley's where forced to get his eyes checked when he complained about not being able to see clearly at school. Of course, they bought him the ugliest, cheapest pair.

"I think that is unnecessary, Albus," Snape's silky voice said. "I am able to concoct a sight improving potion. Having glasses can be hazardous in a fight against the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Ah, yes. Good idea, Severus. But Mr. Potter needs a way to see until then. A charm will have to do for now, I think."

The Headmaster pointed his wand right between Harry's emerald eyes and whispered a spell under his breath. Everything immediately came into focus.

Harry inhaled sharply, "I never seen so well in my life!"

"Maybe that is because you were too lazy to get your eyes rechecked regularly. Most likely thought it was below you. I mean, the great Harry Potter should need no assistance to see," the Potions Master sneered.

Harry flinched slightly. "I didn't know my eyes needed to be rechecked. I've always seen the same ever since I got my glasses."

"You cannot tell me you only wore that same pair of spectacles most of your life, Potter. It is idiotic. Surely, your relatives bought you a renewed prescription before you began Hogwarts."

Harry shook his head. "Those are the only glasses I ever wore in my entire life." He suddenly snorted in a disgusted sort of way. "And the Dursley's didn't even want to buy me that pair. They would rather have me go blind than waste another cent on my eyes."

Which look exactly like my mother's, Harry added silently.

"Merlin, Potter. Must you be so dramatic? I think you just refused to go get your precious eyes rechecked, or never asked," Snape spat.

Sighing, Harry just sat back and rubbed his face. As much as he hated to admit Snape was right... Well, it was true, he should have asked. Even though his uncle would have probably chucked him straight back into his cupboard. Wait a second, his cupboard? When did he think of that cramped little space as his?

"Severus," Dumbledore started in warning, but then he sighed as well. "When do you suppose the potion will be complete? You know this charm only works for a short while."

"If I start tonight I will most likely have the temporary solution tomorrow morning. Of course, I will have to do some tests on Mr. Potter first so I can give him the right prescriptions. You do know, Albus, that he will need to take a series of potions before the results become permanent. Once a week for about three months, I should say, seeing how powerful the lenses in his glasses were."

Harry nearly gagged. Letting Snape run tests on him once a week, for three months?

Just then he noticed Snape staring directly in his eyes. "No, Potter. I will not be running tests on you once a week for three months. I will, however, be running tests on you once a month and giving you the potion once a week."

Harry felt quite relieved at that. He had to see the Professor almost everyday in classes and meals, what's a few extra minutes in the dungeons to help his vision? Yet, a heavy rock still felt as if it lodged itself in his stomach. He didn't want to see Snape at all. Ever. Since the Pensieve incident Harry felt as if he were walking on eggshells around the man.

"W- when will I have to take the first test?"

Snape eyed him closely before turning to Dumbledore. The old wizard's eyes were still twinkling madly. "You have only spent two weeks at the Dursley's so far, Harry. We will need to arrange something with them"

The thought of Snape bursting in his relative's home with a portable potion's lab momentarily amused and horrified Harry. Merlin knew what his Uncle would say to that. Somehow the thought of him taking anymore threats from wizards didn't exactly make Harry feel safe. True, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley pretty much ignored him so far, but Vernon was strained and intensely enraged that a wizard would tell him how to take care of his "freak of a nephew" as Vernon put it.

In the beginning it was kind of fun. Straining the evil bastards that condemned him to hell every summer really cheered him up a bit (albeit bitterly). But Uncle Vernon appeared to be ready to snap. Harry had never seen him look so angry, so he backed off the second week and did whatever his Aunt Petunia asked of him (which wasn't really much anymore, anyhow).

The very notion that a wizard as threatening as Snape would just pop in their house was frightening. No way was Harry going to another trial, either. Especially for trying to ward off his own uncle.

"I am sure that Mrs. and Mr. Dursley wouldn't mind that you used their kitchen for a short while, Severus. After all, it is to help Harry's sight," Dumbledore said kindly, not realizing the look of horror on the teenager's face.

On the other hand, Snape did. "Calm down, Potter. It's not like I am going to curse the roof off your house."

The thought of Snape cursing off the roof of his Aunt and Uncle's house would have entertained Harry to no end a year ago. But with Sirius gone and his Uncle Vernon giving him the evil eye everytime he moved or breathed, he realized that the thought wasn't funny at all. With all the people who wanted him dead, Vernon Dursley was probably at the top of the list just then.

The decision was made. Snape was going to his summer home to run the tests tomorrow morning, add a few finishing touches to the concoction, then have Harry drink it. Assuming, that is, that he wasn't already dead when Snape came back.

"Err... Professor," he inquired, "Don't you have anything else to do all day tomorrow?"

Snape gave him the look of loathing that suited Harry and Harry alone. "I have a very busy schedule, Potter, so you should feel lucky that I am doing this for you. Especially, after you ran off a few hours ago," he snapped.

Damn.

Snape WOULD have to be my guard the day I felt like running off. Oh yes, and bloody beaten to a pulp.

"Harry, you shouldn't go off like that. This is for your protection. Those boys were very intoxicated, they wouldn't of known better if they had killed you."

I wish they had.

It was very good that Snape wasn't trying to read his mind again, or whatever he liked to call it. He was studying Mrs. Figg, who plastered on a big fake smile and was offering him some tea. The smile didn't reach her eyes at all, which were dark with concern.

A/N 6/19/05: I realized I edited the whole of Hazardous Sanity but none of this. That was thoughtless of me, eh? I fixed a few mistakes and the format for you new readers.