Embracing His True Self

Chapter 7

Dilemas and Disturbances

Severus sat in his rooms, which were deep in the dungeons of Hogwarts, a place that had always been a sanctuary for him. Nobody came down here, not even Albus Dumbledore, although he would Floo call him from time to time, but mostly he just used Patroni Messaging. He had created the idea during the last war, or at least he was taking credit for it. For all he knew, Albus had taken credit for someone else's work; he wouldn't put it past the old hypocrite. Severus sat swirling the tumbler of whiskey in his hand, his face utterly conflicted as he stared into the flickering flames of the fire, not really seeing it in front of him.

He had absolutely no idea what to do. It was obvious the Dark Lord didn't have Harry; if he did, he would have called all the Death Eaters together once more. At least he assumed the Dark Lord would have called, he would want to show that Harry escaping more than once was just sheer happenstance ―blind luck― and that he always got his way in the end. It had been something he admired about the Dark Lord, his tenacity; he was willing to go to any lengths necessary to get what he wanted. That was, he'd admired it until his Lord began hunting down toddlers because of a stupid seer's words. He was so conflicted; his loyalty had always been to the Dark side. He was a dark wizard, it was…natural to him. But so many books, spells, and potions had been adjudged 'dark' just because of ignorance and fear. Of course, this was just on the British Isles; everywhere else wizards freely practiced Dark Magicks. Durmstrang was a perfect example; they had actual defence classes, not just the rubbish they taught here.

His brow furrowed as he tried to work out what was going on with the Dark Lord; he had been acting very…curious since his return. Not curious as if he was doing things differently, it was the questions he'd asked, and the potions he'd requested. The Dark Lord had never been a vain man, as evidenced by his deteriorating looks over the past few decades before his downfall. The Dark Lord certainly wasn't malnourished, so he had no real reason for those potions either.

He knew it was only a matter of time before word got out about Harry's disappearance. This left him in a very tight spot; did he tell the Dark Lord and risk him finding the boy he was doing his hardest to protect? Or did he keep silent and end up cursed into next week for failing to inform him? With that was the very real possibility of falling totally out of favour and having the Dark Lord kill him as a traitor. Which he would be in that case. Not to the cause; the cause was always his own, close to his heart. Muggles should never know about magic, and he should be able to freely brew whatever potion he felt like, without 'breaking the law' just because some idiot had come along and labelled it 'dangerous'.

Raising his empty hand, he rubbed at his temples, feeling torn in two. This couldn't continue, it had almost torn him apart over the year he'd had to endure it last time. Even then he had felt as though he was betraying all that he was, all that he would ever be. He wasn't a light wizard, but unfortunately his ties to the past kept him precariously teetering on a thin line of rope.

Dumbledore of course had been so eager to have someone so far up in the enemy's ranks in his flimsy Order that he'd tried to emotionally blackmail him into it. He had allowed the old coot to think that he'd succeeded, but he'd always made sure that the information he passed along was nothing that could bring the Dark side down. Even during that time the other Order members were just a bunch of sitting ducks, getting picked off one at a time. He'd watched their pained faces, mourning the loss of each member as the organization slowly all but crumbled. Then the worst thing imaginable happened: not only had the Dark Lord died, he had taken out the one thing, the one person Severus cared about before being disembodied.

He had assumed Dumbledore would have had him arrested with everyone else, until he realized that Dumbledore somehow knew the Dark Lord would be back. He had sworn a Vow while in a tight spot, swearing to help Harry defeat 'Voldemort' when the time came. It was just too bad the boy was as light as they came, since the Vow would have been negated if Harry didn't want help to defeat the Dark Lord. No, he was now in a tighter jam than ever. He wished he could trust the Dark Lord to tell him everything. Unfortunately he was just…too far gone, too obsessed with the prophecy and killing Harry, instead of trying to convert him to their side. The thought of it happening now though was laughable; the Dark Lord had killed the boy's parents, and had tried to kill Harry numerous times over the years.

Gulping down the whisky, Snape realized that the cube of ice was already gone, indicating how long he'd spent lost in thought. He still had no idea of what the blasted hell he was going to do. Severus didn't so much as react to the burn surging down his throat; the clink of the class hitting the arm of his chair and the crackling of the fire was all that could be heard. Why the hell did the Dark Lord have to believe in a stupid prophecy? And why the hell did Lily have to be so bloody damn pure and honest and good ― joining the Order which had sent this entire situation down this path. He didn't have any faith in predictions; you chose your own path, which in a way was exactly what the Dark Lord had done. He had chosen to go after Harry, and this was the results of it.

Where was the damn boy? Why run away? Why now? The boy wasn't scared of anything. It was quite frankly infuriating how fearless he was; it had made him utterly impossible to protect. For some reason he didn't think the boy had run away; if he had planned on doing so, he wouldn't have waited until now, he would have done it years ago, surely? Unless the pressure was getting too much for him; everyone seemed to forget he was just a fourteen-year-old boy. He too would have buckled under the pressure of being expected to face such a powerful wizard at such a young age. Still, this was so out of character for Harry that he just couldn't believe it.

Groaning under his breath, he stood up, unaffected by the alcohol, or rather not impaired; he'd only had two glasses spaced out over so many hours, he honestly hadn't kept track. Flicking out the flames burning in the fireplace, he carefully ensured they was thoroughly doused. Grasping a handful of Floo Powder, he stepped into the fireplace and yelled in his destination: "Spinners End!"

It wasn't long before he was standing in his childhood home; everything was covered in a small layer of dust that had accumulated while he was away. He didn't linger long, merely regained his footing before he Apparated to his next destination. Now there was no way for Dumbledore to trace him to there; to Spinners End, yes, but not to the Dark Lord's hideout.

Taking a deep breath, inwardly he was unable to believe what he was about to do. The urge to backtrack and return to Hogwarts was strong. If he told the Dark Lord and Voldemort found Harry first, he really didn't know what he would do. Looking back wistfully, he summoned up his steely courage and resolve. The Dark Lord knew he was here now, he would have been alerted the second he Apparated onto his land. Stepping forward, Snape suddenly stopped in confusion. Rippling tendrils of his magic out, he was surprised to feel blood wards on the property. He could sense something vaguely familiar about them, or the magic itself, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what. Regardless of that, he could feel the wards humming... welcoming him into the property? Baffled to the core, he stalked up the path and into the building, not sparing another glance at his surroundings as he walked with purpose towards the hall the Dark Lord used to greet them in. His mind was still dwelling on the wards; there was something going on, he just couldn't put his finger on what.

Severus entered the room, his gaze falling on the figure in the middle, sitting on the Lord's seat. His jaw unhinged momentarily before he regained his iron-clad composure. He could scarcely believe his eyes: it was not Lord Voldemort standing in front of him... no, it was Tom Riddle. Somehow, someway, the wizard he'd only heard about, and whom the elder generation had revered was back. His heart thumped dangerously fast in his chest; if the Dark Lord was sane…and went back to his old goals…this was going to tear him apart. Well, more than it already was. Breathing deeply, he tried to steady himself; unfortunately, sane or not, he would continue going after Harry.

In fact, the Dark Lord looked to be as deep in thought as Snape had been just ten minutes prior.

"You have news, Severus?" Tom demanded. His snake-like quality might be gone, but the demanding steely undertone was very much still present. He might look different but those red eyes could still burn holes in you without any effort whatsoever.

"Harry Potter has gone missing from his home," Severus managed to get out without stuttering, feeling as though his heart was about to explode. He had actually done it; he prayed that the Order somehow managed to find the boy before the Dark Lord did. He hated this feeling of confliction, at this rate he was going to go grey before he turned forty.

"Missing?" Tom repeated. Well of course that was what they would think. After all, he had brought the rest of the boy's possessions to the manor, after going through them thoroughly to remove the tracking charms that had been placed on various items. The first item he'd discovered to be spelled was the boy's glasses; he had to admit he would have placed one on those too. There had been others placed on Potter's invisibility cloak, his owl, and last but no means least, the photo album which he had not opened, allowing the boy that much privacy at least.

"Yes, My Lord," Severus respectfully confirmed, surprised when no move was made to start searching for Harry. What was he missing? He was receiving jarringly fragmented pieces of puzzles, unfamiliar attitudes; had he somehow slipped into an alternative universe?

"I see," Tom said, remaining calm, taking delight in the obvious confusion and wariness he could feel coming from Severus. "Anything else?"

"Nothing. The Order will begin scouring both the magical and Muggle worlds to look for him," Severus stated, sneering out the word Muggle with distaste and heavy disdain. There would never be love lost between him and a Muggle; he loathed them all, not necessarily enough to kill them, but he'd rather never go near one.

"Keep me appraised, and I will send a House-Elf for the potions I requested in twenty minutes," Tom curtly replied. "Now go, before he gets suspicious." Dumbledore believed that Severus or any of his Death Eaters only came when called after all.

"My Lord," Severus said, nodding curtly before he turned and left the way he came.

Lord Voldemort watched him leave, blood red eyes boring into his back. He wanted to trust Severus, and he really did. If there was anyone whom he could feel kinship with, it would be that wizard, maybe even Potter as well. Three wizards with Muggle blood in their veins, three of the most powerful wizards in the magical world…Muggle-borns who could potentially have magical ancestors. He didn't want to believe it, yet the evidence was staring him in the face; he needed further proof though. He needed the blood of some Muggle-borns to test, to see if there was magical blood in their veins.

Who would have thought love would somehow enable people to change their beliefs more thoroughly than fear could? He had always considered it a weakness, but now he realised it was what motivated most people. It was the same reason that stopped his most loyal from coming to him when he needed their help most. Oh, he wanted to believe they thought him dead, but that wasn't true, his mark had still been present; faded, true enough, but still there, proving he was still alive. But they had been too terrified of his ways to find him and continue with the quest they had all at one point believed in.

He would have to change, he realized, if he were to have any hope of his most loyal remaining that way... if they even were still loyal now, or just serving out of fear. He couldn't help but curl his lip; he wasn't a man fond of change, in fact he loathed the very thought of it, but to get things back to the way they were, without the prophecy clouding his vision... It would take time for them to trust him again.

Harry groaned weakly, sitting himself up as he rubbed at his temples. He felt as though Dementors were circling around him; with the obvious exception of not being cold he exhibited all the other symptoms of their presence. He felt like they'd been sucking the life out of him; straining inwardly, he realized it wasn't life he felt drained of... but his magic? What the hell had happened last night? He had proved to Voldemort that his mother wasn't a 'Muggle-born' witch, but a descendant of magical people. The Lestranges, of all people. He had noticed Voldemort's shock at the appearance of the 'Gaunt' family; he wondered who they were, and why he'd been so shocked about them. Maybe there would be more information in the library; if he was going to be forced to stay here, he might as well make the most of it.

Standing up, he had to hold onto the wall as a dizzy spell hit him. Harry concentrated on breathing evenly as he squinted to see around himself as always without the aid of his glasses. He had expected to be escorted back to the cell he'd been in before, when Voldemort had had enough of him, or rather, just got too exasperated and angry to be anywhere near him. He was actually surprised he hadn't been cursed; Voldemort must be losing his touch, not that he'd ever tell him that. Instead he had been shown into a very…gorgeous room, and he hated to admit it but it was pure luxury. There was a queen-sized four poster bed beside a sliding door that opened out into a balcony. An ensuite next to it, a built-in walk-in cupboard... it was the kind of place he'd always imagined owning some day in his dreams of when he was free of the Dursleys. Other than the bed it was empty though; everything looked brand new, as if it had just been bought. The wood still had that new smell to it, as did the bedding.

The bedroom door was open, he noticed that it didn't even have a lock, not that he was surprised; even if it had one, it would be easily unlocked. It was a simple spell, one he'd known even at the age of eleven: 'Alohomora' he thought to himself. He poked his head out the door and looked towards both ends of the corridor cautiously, expecting who knows what to be lurking there, but nothing, not even a sound could be heard. As he made his way down the corridor, he went back to his original though, what had happened last night? A frown appeared on his face as he continued to walk; there was a very familiar feel to this place, a feel that shouldn't be there.

Just as he was about to open the last door, he finally realized what it was that he now sensed: the blood wards! The wards that had kept him 'safe' in Privet Drive. What the hell were they doing here? Why had it affected his magic? Why would they protect this house? They were supposed to protect him from the only other person that was here!

"Come in, Potter," Tom demanded.

Harry shuddered at the feeling of déjà vu he experienced, flashing back to the dream he'd had last year on, quite frankly, almost this very day. The dream where the snake, Nagini, was telling Voldemort that a Muggle was at the other side of the door... before he killed Franks. He was just someone who had been looking after the property even after the Riddles had died. Harry understood why he had been able to see out of Nagini now; he was a Horcrux, just like Nagini was. They were connected to each other, just like he was connected to Voldemort.

Harry opened the door reluctantly, finding himself in some sort of hall, which was doubling as a dining room apparently. There were plates full of breakfast foods lying on the table, and his nose caught the smell of it all, causing his stomach to rumble hungrily. Then his half blind eyes caught sight of Voldemort, causing him to freeze, and gulp loudly. Holy shit, thought Harry to himself, as an unfamiliar emotion swelled through him but left just as quickly. He continued to stare at the wizard dumbly.

What. The. Fucking. Hell. Was. Going. On? Harry thought, feeling as though he was going insane. Voldemort was changing his looks and attitude faster than Draco Malfoy went through new robes. It was like looking at an older version of the teenager from the Diary Horcrux during his second year.

"Lost for words, Potter?" Voldemort asked, smirking in satisfaction. As always, it was amusing being able to elicit genuine emotions from the boy. Harry was squinting to see properly; it was the first time he'd noticed it, perhaps because the boy had infuriated him too much for him to notice before.

"No," Harry said, immediately snapping into gear, glaring at Voldemort for good measure and arching an eyebrow at the hand that twitched.

"Drink these," Voldemort commanded, placing three vials of potions on the table beside him.

Harry wasn't inclined to do what he was told... especially considering he was being held captive by Voldemort. Yet his mind returned to what had happened in the dungeons what felt like days ago.

"I do have other means at my disposal to ensure they are taken, Potter, and I guarantee you won't like any of them," Voldemort snarled, his patience completely gone. To damn bad the Imperius curse wouldn't work; it had been humiliating when the boy had successfully broke out of his curse, and in front of his Death Eaters no less. Inwardly he knew it had nothing to do with magical prowess, but rather with the boy's mental state; his mind was unyielding. He would find Occlumency and Legilimency a piece of cake, of that he had no doubt. "I think I've proven by now that I do not want you dead, otherwise you would be."

"What are they?" Harry asked; none of them were familiar to him, just like the potion from the healer and the heritage potion Voldemort had brewed.

He was seriously reconsidering having let Potter out of that cell; did he grate on everyone's nerves like he did his?

"One will correct your eyesight, another will heal your injuries, and the last one will give your body the nutrients you've been missing thanks to those despicable Muggles," Voldemort replied, spitting Muggles out as if it was the nastiest of words.

Correct his eyesight? He liked the sound of that… "Let me guess: the potion to correct my eyesight is illegal?" Harry asked sounding indignant.

"No, it's just extremely complicated and expensive, only a few Potion Masters can even brew it," Voldemort explained; was that anger he heard at the unfairness of potions being termed illegal? Perhaps it wouldn't take much to turn Potter to him after all.

Snape was Harry's immediate thought, he knew he was right without even having to wonder. Which meant what? That Snape was really on Voldemort's side? Or was he really spying? Did he dare drink the potion? What if there was something wrong with it? No, he doubted Snape would mess up a potion intentionally; he wouldn't risk his cover or Voldemort's wrath this soon in the game of war that was currently brewing on the horizon. He had no choice anyway; he wasn't under any illusions that he really had a choice. Voldemort would force him to drink them one way or another; he still couldn't get used to the fact Voldemort wanted him kept alive! Still, it was better than being hunted by him, he mused quietly, especially considering he really didn't want to fight him. It didn't mean he wanted to be stuck here though, but as he'd already thought several times before ― where else could he go?

Tom stalked up the stairs to where his most loyal follower was currently healing from the mental damage done to him after spending over a decade under his father's Imperius Curse. For a wizard who hadn't been in Azkaban, he was in very bad shape, not just mentally but physically as well. It made Tom despair at the state he knew his other followers would be in; the thought that he might have lost them to insanity was disheartening, to say the least. He couldn't help but also wonder what the Lestranges would think upon learning that Harry Potter was related to them. He knew they would react negatively, unlike the teenager he currently had in his home. It didn't seem as though much could trouble Potter; had he truly been through so much that little bothered him anymore? Or was he just that good at hiding his genuine emotions? He hadn't been when he was eleven.

The child he remembered had been very vocal back then; nothing had changed in that respect, he was just more bitter at the world in general. Yet his emotions had been obvious in his face, in his eyes... much like his mother, who had stood defiantly in front of him, refusing to move aside. That sort of foolhardy courage and pride was what he liked in his followers. It was just too damn bad that Dumbledore continued to get his claws into generations of children and convince them that his goal was to exterminate all Muggle-borns. At the beginning it hadn't been, things had just gone bad towards the end there, along with him losing his sanity.

Opening the door to Crouch's room he observed what was happening. Voldemort knew the healer realized he was there by the stiffening of his spine. The wizard was still deeply uncomfortable with him, but he was loyal, and that was all that mattered. "How is he?" Tom demanded of Grant.

"He's doing much better, My Lord," Grant said respectfully. "He will be fine to get up and about soon," although, he thought unhappily, it hadn't been good for him to have been taking Poly-Juice Potion for nearly a year on top of everything else. He had to stop himself gaping, he knew without a doubt that it was his Lord but his looks had changed so rapidly since he saw him last.

"My Lord," rasped Barty, trying to get up, to see if he was needed. He wondered if his sight was playing tricks on him.

"Stay down," Tom ordered, his red eyes flashing in irritation.

Almost immediately Barty stopped moving, doing as he was told.

"I have a guest in the manor. He is not to be touched under any circumstances; if he is…death is the consequence for anyone stupid enough to disobey me," Tom commanded, his tone showing just how serious he was.

Barty desperately wanted to ask who it was that the Dark Lord held in such a high esteem, but he didn't dare. He would find out sooner or later, since his Lord was kind enough to allow him to stay here... since he had nowhere else to go. Not only was he 'dead', but if he tried to claim any of the Crouch estate he would end up back in Azkaban before he could draw another breath. He was essentially homeless; regretfully there was nothing he could do about that. Ever since he had returned he had been going from one emotion to another so fast it felt like he was getting whiplash. He didn't know what to think anymore, and that new look of his Lord's just wasn't helping matters. He'd heard of the Dark Lord and his good looks, mostly from Lucius' father, and later from his portrait. He had assumed they were exaggerating, having being so enamoured with the Dark Lord... but boy…he was wrong to have doubted them. "Yes, My Lord," he said, realizing belatedly he had not replied to his demand.

"Good," Tom stated sharply. He knew Barty would heed his warning; it was the others he was more concerned about. He didn't have to be worry about that yet; it would take a while before he could break his people out of Azkaban. He had quite a lot to organize before then, including finding out if Dumbledore was guarding the prophecy. With the Headmaster already knowing he was back, he wouldn't put it past the old fool to guard it. With his flimsy Order, he probably wouldn't have many people guarding the room…with Potter 'missing' he might not even have anyone guarding it. Still, it was a bit too risky to try for it at the moment until he knew more. He still had to know what it said, but regardless of what it did ― everything was already set. He couldn't kill Potter, wouldn't kill him; he couldn't risk destabilizing his soul any more than it already was … he had no idea what killing another part of his soul would do to him.

So it didn't matter what the prophecy revealed in the end, but he still had to know what it said.

Turning swiftly, he left the room without saying another word. Tom returned to his office, and sat down in the dark room, his scarlet eyes zoning in on the piece of paper showing Harry Potter's family tree. Could the boy be right, or had he just been lucky? It wouldn't be the first time, it was as though Potter had been bottle fed Felix Felicis at birth. The amount of luck the boy had was just utterly irritating and diabolical. Although Tom mused, it was perhaps a good thing, now; not only would he be immortal as long as the boy lived, he could potentially gain one of his greatest allies.

He just needed to know which buttons to push. Dumbledore was evidently already one of them. How the boy didn't hate the filthy Muggles he didn't know. He hadn't been abused to the extent the boy had, yet his hatred was sealed... but it wasn't solely for that reason. No, the war also had had a huge impact, even though he'd never admit that to any living creature.

There was one way to know for sure whether the boy was right: administering the potion to other Muggle-borns. The thought made his lip curl in disgust, but if the boy was right ... his plans would need to be altered to make sure Squibs couldn't leave the magical world ― that way he would prevent another influx of Muggle-Borns. He found himself startled by his thoughts, had he just made plans without first knowing whether the boy was right? Damn Potter to hell, he was getting under his skin and into his mind, spreading his peace-to-all-living-things attitude at the same time.

The wards alerted him to the fact Grant was now gone; Pettigrew was in the kitchen, no doubt hiding from him. This thought brightened him up and caused him to smirk. Potter was in his library, and Barty was still in his room, which did surprise him. He'd expected the wizard to get up regardless of his orders to find out who he had placed strictly off-limits to any harm. His followers might think he didn't know them but that was far from the truth, he knew them better than he knew himself sometimes.

To test Potter's theory he would need someone with access to Muggle-Borns; that only left him with one option: to use Severus to find out for him. This wouldn't be possible until after the summer holidays; he would demand Severus do it with the first-years when Hogwarts started back up. That way the ignorant children wouldn't have any idea of what was going on. They wouldn't know enough to tattle back to the fool Dumbledore and bring attention to Severus' orders. The Potions master was more important than finding out if Potter was right or not, at the end of the day, since it was vital he always knew what the enemy was up to. That is, if Severus was truly on his side and providing accurate information; there was just no way to know unless he set the wizard up. He had no reason to suspect anything as of yet, but if he did have to... he wouldn't be pleased.

Tom didn't even twitch when Nagini slithered into the room; he merely moved his hand so it trailed down her body as she slithered by until she'd wrapped herself around his chair and across his lap. She was perhaps the only living creature that hadn't reacted to his new looks. She was just as always, happy to have someone taking care of her. Whoever said snakes were independent creatures had it wrong, not that he cared what others thought of snakes.

"Master? What's wrong?" Nagini hissed, sensing his chaotic emotions and wishing to help him even in the smallest measures.

The Dark Lord had to remember that it wasn't as safe as it used to be to speak to Nagini... not with another parselmouth in the manor. The disgruntled look on his handsome face would have had Harry laughing uproariously; too bad he wasn't there.

Severus himself sported an extremely disgruntled look on his face as he stared at the disgustingly normal house. The lawn was immaculate, not a blade out of place; the plant beds didn't have a single weed in them. The magical world wasn't messy per se…but this was a nightmare. It was too Muggle for his tastes; how had he ended up here? Oh yes, Dumbledore, as always demanding his presence. It was odd that he hadn't allowed Minerva to come, she usually went with him... Snape wished Dumbledore had let her. No, instead he had demanded him and Moody to follow him.

Severus made no attempt to hide his disgust; Dumbledore would just assume it was at the situation and being so commanded. The old git would never come to the conclusion that he still loathed all Muggles, which he did; Dumbledore was just blind to his true character. He had been all too easy to convince of his change of heart, but the only thing he'd cared about was saving Lily... which hadn't turned out well at all, obviously. The rest Dumbledore had assumed on his own, and Severus wasn't about to clue him in otherwise.

It seemed only Moody could see through his masks, although he hadn't even looked at him suspiciously since getting out of that blasted trunk of his. It had affected the paranoid Auror more than he cared to admit; it probably stung more than a little that his 'old friend' hadn't even realized it wasn't him. It made Snape inwardly grin in feral satisfaction at the thought of Moody in there, biding his time under the assumption that Dumbledore would figure it out and he'd get out. Those thoughts had surely tapered off after the first few months. Oh yes, he would never let the Auror live it down... and he was just waiting for a time when he could bring it up and rub it in his scarred face.

Severus reluctantly moved closer when Albus began knocking on the door. Then to his horror the biggest, fattest teenager he'd ever encountered answered the door. His black eyes were wide; how on earth could the boy get around the house? Had they enlarged the doors to make sure he could fit? Dear Merlin, Muggles truly were insane ― he was surprised Potter was so thin if this was the sort of family he'd grown up with. Getting anything he wanted, even if it was evidently unhealthy; did the parents not have even a small measure of control with either boy? This boy looked unpleasant but the words out of his mouth made him even more so.

"What do you freaks want?" Dudley grunted, staring at them rudely. He knew they wouldn't use their magic on him ― his parents told him that they weren't allowed.

"Hello, Dudley! We're here to speak to your parents, are they here?" Dumbledore asked, eyes twinkling brightly as if nothing pleased him more than to talk to the boy. Truth was, he was admiring the boy's tendency to make Potter's life as unbearable as possible. He couldn't have planned that better if he'd decided to ensure it had happened himself. The boy's parents had created such a child in Dudley as he had known Potter would turn out to be like if he'd been left in the magical world to be pampered. It proved his decision right at the end of the day... not that it mattered, as Potter would still die sooner or later.

Dudley grunted before turning his back on them and lumbering towards the kitchen. The House shook in his wake, almost groaning under the stress of having such a heavy-set burden day and night to hold up. "MUMMY, DADDY! THE FREAKS ARE AT THE DOOR!"

"Freaks?" Severus questioned, his face twitching in anger at being called such, that vulgar little word. It brought back memories of his childhood, specifically ones dealing with his father and Petunia… Surely she hadn't raised Harry calling him a freak? No, the woman had adored Lily…although they had fallen out when Lily had gone to Hogwarts. They must have made up at some point since Petunia had been at her wedding. He'd heard the rumours about Black terrorising them from the other Order members. He heard the boy squeak when he spoke before he disappeared from view altogether.

"Regretfully Harry didn't have as good a childhood as I hoped," Albus sadly lamented, his twinkle gone and his body hunching as if he'd just suffered a physical blow of pain.

"Which means what exactly?" Severus asked coldly, the sinking feeling in his stomach causing him a great deal of concern.

"What do you want?" Vernon Dudley barked loudly, his beady eyes looking around them at the neighbours. He could just see their faces pressed up against their windows seeing the freaks in front of his home. He was perfectly normal and he didn't want the neighbours thinking otherwise. They were supposed to have the freak for the rest of the summer according to the crackpot old fool.

"Do you know where your nephew is?" Moody also barked loudly.

Severus stared straight at Vernon Dursley, the bad feeling in his stomach growing to epic proportions. He saw that Vernon reacted to the word 'nephew' as if it physically repulsed him to have a nephew. This wasn't the reaction one had to a nephew they cared for.

"The lazy freak has disappeared," Vernon grunted, gesturing towards the stairs and having nothing further to do with them.

Severus' eye twitched; neither Dumbledore nor Moody seemed surprised by this attitude. Why? Surely Dumbledore wouldn't send Potter here if he knew…then again, he had basically admitted that he had sent him back here knowing his childhood wasn't 'great'. Dumbledore had this huge tendency to underestimate things, or rather understate them, as the case may be. He had to find out just how 'not good' Harry's childhood had been; it seemed as though he might be looking at why the child had chosen to run.

Stepping into the house, Severus moved towards the first door on the left and peered into the living room; nothing. Moving swiftly towards the kitchen, he saw her there, sitting down with a cup of coffee. Three large packets of biscuits were lying on the table between the two biggest people he'd ever encountered. The sink was overflowing with what he assumed was the remains of breakfast... they surely had just eaten? Yet they were eating again; he told himself he really shouldn't be surprised. His eyes narrowed in on Petunia― she hadn't changed the slightest in all the passing years, other than becoming sourer, it seemed.

"YOU!" she spat, her brown eyes glimmering with disgust and a good amount of fear.

She remembered him then; good, he would find it easier to get answers to his questions. "Where is Potter?" Severus demanded; in the background he heard Albus entering and Moody lumbering up the stairs in a second attempt to find some sort of clue that Shacklebolt had missed, no doubt.

"The lazy boy didn't come out of his room when I called him to make breakfast; he wasn't anywhere to be found," she said just as bitterly as her statement of recognition had been.

"You heard nothing?" Albus patiently enquired, as if he was used to dealing with Petunia's attitude.

"We told you, the boy disappeared," Vernon shouted. "Now get out of my house, and don't darken my doorstep again! You told us when we took the boy in we wouldn't have to deal with you freaks!"

"The wards are no longer as…efficient as the blood wards, we really should find somewhere safer for you; Voldemort might come here," Dumbledore said; he couldn't let anything happen to them, after all. The boy would go back to them with or without the blood wards.

"The freak isn't here, he has no reason to bother us!" Petunia sniped, adding, "Leave us alone."

"Do not be so easy to dismiss my advice, Petunia. I cannot spare the people to watch over the house; we must concentrate our efforts in finding Harry," Albus warned.

"Then go and find the brat, but do not bring him back here," she said, sick and tired of Harry and the wizarding world... who were forcing their presence on her and her family. Of course she knew Dumbledore would just force her to take Potter back in, so the longer he remained gone the better it was for them.

Severus was quite frankly aghast at the manner in which she was speaking; she genuinely held no love for Potter. He had assumed the boy had been spoiled beyond comprehension, pampered and doted on by her. How could he have misread everything so egregiously? For a child who spent his life ignored…he did display all the signs, he belated realized…but they could be construed as a disregard for the rules. He was used to being ignored, so he didn't ask for the teachers' help, instead he just tried to help on his own.

In the kitchen of Privet Drive ―the home of the Boy-Who-Lived― his preconceived notions were shot to hell.

Albus hearing Moody clambering back down the stairs and went to investigate, hoping his old friend had found a clue as to where Potter was. The tracking charms he had put on the boy's possessions had vanished; he was either under the wards of an un-Plottable property, or he had found and removed them. The second was as unlikely as the first, so he wasn't sure what to believe anymore; what he did know was that Potter was getting harder and harder to control every year.

"Anything?" Albus enquired, his tone genuinely desperate.

"Nothing, everything belonging to the boy is gone; there's no sign of a struggle or magic. It seems as if he's left on his own accord," Moody muttered darkly. Of all the foolish decisions the boy had made ― this topped the list. He was in a significant amount of danger and he decided to run away? Now they had to look for him and keep Black from freaking out... No, they'd leave that to Lupin. Although they might need the werewolf for his sense of smell if they caught up to Harry and get close enough that his scent still lingered. They would worry about it when that time came; they just needed to get the boy before something happened they couldn't repair... like death at the hands of the Death Eaters or Voldemort.

"Then there is nothing for us here, they didn't see or hear anything," Albus told him, frowning in concern.

Severus stared down at Petunia, only half listening to the other wizards' conversation. She was worried, terrified really. Uncaring of the consequences, he slid into Petunia's mind, meeting no resistance ― not that he expected any; she was a Muggle. Then like a film reel, he summoned all of her memories dealing with Potter and they played for him like a movie on fast forward. She knew he was doing something, and was able to see the same memories he could, but her attempts stop him were futile. Her memories showed Severus that the problem wasn't just them ignoring Harry, it was abuse…but she rarely lifted a hand to him. She just doled out the occasional smack with anything close to hand... such as a frying pan. It was mostly Vernon Dursley who was physical with Harry. Snape viciously ripped himself from her mind, causing her to feel faint and clutch her head in agony.

Vernon opened his mouth to roar at the wizard, what about he didn't know but since he blamed magic for every little thing... this was no exception. Unfortunately he wasn't able to, since Severus had viciously penetrated his mind, making no secret of what he was doing ― not that it mattered, since neither Albus or Moody had returned to the kitchen. He couldn't blame them; these were the most disgustingly rude people on the planet. That was the nicest name for them really, he thought as he watched Vernon's memories of Harry's life under this roof. Severus removed his wand, his face filled with seething fury as he pointed it straight at Vernon's heart. He would be saving other people the pain of having to look at him. He should kill Dursley where he stood and save two boys in the process, before the disgusting brat ended up more like his father than he already was…Snape had a feeling it was far too late. There was no hope for Dudley Dursley; he would probably die before he reached his thirties, the way he was going. Severus' grip on his wand tightened as he fought with himself; killing Dursley in the open would only grantee him a one-way trip to Azkaban.

"Severus?" Albus called, sounding slightly irritated ― not to anyone else, but Snape knew Dumbledore well enough to know when he was losing his patience... and incidentally his mask of kindness along with it.

He gave the Dursleys a look of such utter loathing that conveyed the depth of his emotions. His eyes blazed with 'I'll be back'; the Dursleys would die, just as soon as he could do it without drawing suspicion on himself. Not that it would, really, after all he 'hated' Harry Potter, so why would he kill his family? Dumbledore had to keep that impression at least; he couldn't let him find out how he really felt.

"Let's go," Severus coolly stated as he emerged from the kitchen, his face a calm, composed yet bored mask. He left the Dursleys trembling in fear, two of them with massive headaches and the knowledge that their actions had been laid bare for the wizard to see. When he left he closed the door behind him, sparing a vicious smirk at nothing; they would regret their actions. It wasn't solely for the fact it was Harry Potter but because he detested abuse ... and what had happened to Harry was as bad as it could get. He didn't blame the boy for running, he just had to find him before the Order and the Dark Lord did, and keep him safe from those who sought to use him or kill him.

"Where is the boy?" growled Moody; he had no idea where to start. He shifted the hat he had on his head, making sure it covered his magical eye. Despite the fact it was covered, he could see perfectly clearly with it ― as if such an item would fool his eye. He had on trousers that went down his leg, covering his wooden stump.

It was a good question, Severus thought; where would a boy go to hide? He wouldn't be stupid enough to go to the magical world or any of his friends. It would be a question of whether Harry had taken money from his vaults, or stolen from his family to stay in a motel or hotel. He wouldn't stay in the immediate vicinity; if he was smart he would have walked a few miles before stopping. Was he seriously contemplating hunting the Muggle world for the boy? He hated this world, but he did know a great deal about it. He and Potter would never get on, but they didn't need to for him to make sure the boy was safe. With narrowed, thoughtful eyes he followed Albus and Moody back to Grimmauld Place where the rest of the Order were already waiting to get their orders. The idiots would end up lost; they didn't have a clue about the Muggle world.

It would have been hilarious watching them try ― if he wasn't on a mission himself now:

Find Harry Potter.

"Has Ron said anything?" Albus enquired, staring at Arthur.

"Nothing, he's unaware of what is going on, as per your request, Albus," Arthur firmly insisted.

"How about Hermione?" Minerva asked, worried about Harry being out there alone. If anyone, Harry probably trusted Hermione the most.

"No, they've not been in touch with him…perhaps that's why he's done this?" Molly suggested. She was loaded down with guilt at the thought of anything happening to Harry.

"Does she suspect anything?" Albus asked, knowing the girl well enough to know if she did suspect something, they wouldn't just be keeping an eye on Black and looking for Harry, but keeping an eye on the determined witch too.

"I made it sound like we were making sure that they were sticking to the rules," Molly said brushing it off. Evidently she was not as concerned as Albus was when it came to Hermione Granger, perhaps brushing off the teen's intelligence at the same time.

Severus sat through everything stoically; his mind wandering like it hadn't before. Were Granger and Weasley using Harry? Telling Dumbledore everything the child said and did? Were the Weasleys using Harry's desperate desires for a family to make sure he stayed light? The thought quite frankly sickened him to the core. He'd thought he had seen it all, by both sides.

Severus stood up abruptly, not even waiting for Albus to give them leave as he walked out of Grimmauld Place's kitchen and Apparated to Spinners End. He barely landed on his feet before he was pacing back and forth in his small living room, his cloak swishing behind him and knocking the empty potion vials he had on small tables skittering around to the floor.

His world was being torn asunder; any remaining loyalty he had drained completely. Not only that, but his hatred of Dumbledore heightened exponentially. He had no idea what to do; if he thought he was stuck a day ago…well, he felt even more conflicted and torn than ever. How did he protect Harry Potter without breaking his word? His Lord wanted Harry dead; he refused to allow it. The Dark Lord wouldn't stop until Harry was dead… and the light would never let him go and would continue searching for him even if the Dark Lord took over; they believed wholeheartedly in Harry being the one that must end the war, just because Dumbledore said so.

His stomach finally rebelled against the images he'd seen of the abuse and he vomited violently down the sink in the kitchen... which he made it to by the skin of his teeth. He had failed in his vow ― all thanks to Dumbledore. Would he even be able to convince the boy to stay hidden if he found him, or had the manipulations run so deep that he couldn't even contemplate the thought of being betrayed?

R&R Please.