Chapter Three

Revelations

By MissBubblez

A/N: Sorry if some of it seems a little boring, it was a little rushed. Just a little Severus having a temper tantrum in front of his mentor.

—

Three days have flown by since the day Harry Potter went missing. It was ironic really, no one, not even Albus Dumbledore, a prominent and renowned wizard and powerful one at that, had no idea of where the boy could be lingering. A simple mistake due to his godforsaken old age and clumsy memory. Oh, how he dreaded and regretted not planting an emergency tracking charm on the poor child.

Aurors were taking daily patrols through Harry's old neighbourhood, donned in perfectly normal muggle clothes with their wands practically glued to their hands as they monitored the activities that took place there.

Severus had taken the courtesy of reporting his findings and encounter with the boy during that night as additional information if the old man ever needed it for something. Once being told, the Aurors were sent out to investigate immediately, ordered to look in every nook and cranny of the area. But alas, it was all in vain as they came up with nothing but shattered glass and oddly turned cars that were scattered about on the road and even pathways like some mysterious force had pushed them there. The street lamps were destroyed as well, some laying on the ground — as well as a few having crashed into the side of the houses nearby — with their frames fragmented.

Snape's report shook the Headmaster thoroughly when he reached the part of the boy's display's of uncontrolled power as well as the fact that he apparated away to escape the man's touch. Of course, Snape simply picked it off as nothing but a bit of accidental magic, but even his words seemed doubtful of themselves.

As being a person who witnessed and experienced the source of the power first-hand, it was considerably clear that the boy at least had some kind of sense in what he was doing. And it seemed almost instinctual, like an aggravated animal resorting to wild violence when being backed up into a corner they knew they couldn't escape unless they did some of their own damage.

The boy had the audacity to slap away his hand after all!

Nevertheless, it didn't change the matter that almost everything was beginning to turn upside down at a moment's notice. Dumbeldore was growing restless and overly apprehensive about the whole event, while Severus seemed to be having the time of his life, on the outside at least. Truth be told — which he would never concede to admitting even when under the pain of Cruciatus curse — he was growing particularly concerned for the missing boy. Sure, he was the devil spawn of James Potter, but he was also the child of a woman he loved very dearly; Lily Evans.

Besides, believe it as it was or not, even he had a heart that wasn't as cold as he made it out to be. Occasionally, that is. Okay, extremely rarely. He could probably count the number of people he cared dearly about on one hand.

And as time continued on as if nothing was extraordinarily wrong, that growing — if not overly annoying — feeling of worry shifted him to voluntarily offer his help in the search party.

—

It was in one second that young Harry was staring up at what he thought was about to be his demise; a shallow face and an abnormally large nose (which made him raise an eyebrow at the view of it at first) that oddly seemed to fit with the man's facial features. A daunting, but tight expression pasted on his face — not as menacing as Vernon's own spectacular purple-ish enraged face, but furious enough to give Harry a particular message that was more than just clear in his head. 'Resist and I'll knock you unconscious' either that or something along the lines of: 'I'm barely holding myself back from strangling you, you little brat'.

Actually, it might have been both now that he thought about it.

The next second was a (literal) mind-twisting experience that he was sure he wasn't ever going to forget about for the next few years of his life. If he could somehow manage to survive for that long at least. It was, if it was even humanly possible, comparable to that of being stuffed through the entrance of a tube (maybe even a straw) before having every one of your limbs squeezed into a tight compress and shoved down into the cramped place. Uncomfortable wasn't the best way to put it, no. Of course, how comfortable could you possibly be when all of your bones were making unsettling cracking sounds as well as the peculiar sensation of having all of your internal organs swapped around simultaneously? Hm, yes, it was more… agonizingly painful than anything. Screw the fact that your brain felt as if it had transferred to your stomach, everything was unnervingly torturous.

And within just another passing moment, he found himself scrawling across the ground like a wounded animal that was wildly thrashing around in his attempts to pull himself to his feet. He stopped, ceasing all movement. Then he laid back to stare up at the black, polluted mist that shrouded the sky, coating it with filth while the stars hid behind it. Blinking away any feelings of wetness around the rim of his eyes, he took a quick intake of air before gasping rapidly.

He tried wiggling around a little, noting down how numb and pathetic his limbs felt. He could just barely sense any feeling in his legs and his left arm down held little to nothing of feeling. Numbness, that was all there was, and that was all he could feel at the moment.

Thankfully for his own reassurance, his brain was in place and his abdomen was where it was supposed to be — he didn't know about anything else though. His bones were still in place (most of them) and he didn't feel any pain, not really at least. There was an aching in the back of his head as well as an irritating throbbing consciousness that reverberated on his forehead, most likely a migraine by the looks of it.

There was the briefest of thoughts that he held onto, a rather childish one, yes, but nonetheless, it was a comforting thought. At least my brain didn't end up in arse. And he was immensely grateful for it.

When he finally found himself stable enough to sit up on the spot, he found himself wanting to kick himself for trying to do so but at the same time not because he was already in too much pain. Enduring it was easier said than done because the doing part was always the hardest, not that he wasn't unfamiliar with the entire experience. It really just sucked going through over and over again. It was a lot like buying ice cream (not that he's actually had any before in his life) only for it to fall onto the ground and having to buy another one that ends up with the exact same fate as the first one.

Pushing through the much-unwanted agony of it all, he mustered up the strength to at least get to his knees instead of lying prostrate like an open book on the ground. Oh, how he coveted a cold glass of water by now. Maybe even the blissful release of another blackout so his body could rest a little longer. Of course, he knew better than to remain lying in the middle of who-knows-where and understood that his first step of action should be to survey his surroundings.

How the hell did I even get here anyway? He wondered vaguely, bringing up his one good hand to his face and groaning quietly. In the time-lapse of not even twenty-four hours in the day, he took note of everything that had transpired. It was incredible, really, unbelievable.

A woman had come to rescue him from Dursley's, now he's come to the realisation that he'll be living on the streets for the rest of his life, he somehow hurled a car a couple of feet onto the road with the small object of a pebble — and not to mention that creepy dude that was running after him. Shadow man, Harry named him. Maybe he was just a pervert. But his gut told him otherwise. There was also the clear evidence that showed him that he had somehow moved from one place to the other without even moving (excluding the part where he slapped the man's hand out of the way).

It couldn't be magic— actually, no, it could. He debated with himself, his face furrowing down in what made it seemed like he was having a problematic war with his thoughts in his head. Looking around the environment that he was unceremoniously dumped like a black trash bag being thrown on the side of the curb, he shook his head with a slight eye twitch. He found himself suffering under the unintentional rip that was splitting his head into two, one side of that being what little rationality he had left, and the other more ludicrous side of him forcefully dragging him down. Until finally, he came to the simple conclusion; Yep, it's magic. Maybe— no, it is magic.

Silence.

Or maybe that man knocked me unconscious and I'm dreaming. He squinted his eyes down on a particular patch of grass before wincing as a sudden jolt stung his arm. Nope, nope. I'm very much awake, yep, definitely.

Harry, now even more thoroughly confused (if that was even a possibility at this point) by the events of what had brought him to where he sat now, contemplating on his current options, jerked his head up resolutely. There was one of two things that he could do right now. Either; hurry up and get up and explore the area, or lay down on the ground like the miserable child he thought of himself as. The latter option was actually very tempting for the split second of a moment before he shook it off and huffed. He did enough of that in his little cupboard under the stairs back at the Dursleys.

With the numbness of his legs soon adjusting to the new weight that was being placed upon them, Harry staggered to his feet with one of his arms hanging limply by his side as it swung back and forth. Well, that's unsettling. He figured that it was just asleep (or maybe broken), hopefully, it'll wake up sooner or later. Preferably sooner.

His mind began to uncloud and his vision almost banged into focus, his eyes seeing everything mimicking in doubles at a time. As the vicinity merged back into focus, he could just scarcely identify the place he was in as a relatively abandoned graveyard— no, wait. It's a park, just a park. At least he thought it was.

Well. This is… interesting.

—

"Severus, please," Albus beseeched the volatile Potions Professor, softly batting his hand as a gesture to calm the thrashing man down. But of course, to no avail. Another one of his many trinkets were thrown across the room with a deafening shatter with fragments of glass flying across the room, scattering along the wooden floorboards loudly. "Oh, dear."

The piles of paperwork that were all meticulously aligned on his desk were pelted forth by an unseen wind, gliding through the room in graceful movements as they fluttered about in the air. The bookshelf behind Dumbledore's desk quivered as if being threatened, fragile books being forced out from their slots and falling one by one, each of them landing on the ground with a bang.

Severus, obviously aggravated by the topic at hand, shot another furious shot towards an innocent, floating trinket that was on display on one of the tables in the office. His thoughts were whirling, his head was throbbing, and his brain was racking through every one of his brain cells to try and constrain every ounce of rationality that was left within his mind. He tried to grasp onto it tightly, but his frustration overthrew him in less than a few seconds of his endeavour.

"You need to find him, Albus." Although his words may have sounded like a suggestion, it was a pushing demand that left no room for arguments to be held in. "Without those damn blood wards protecting the boy, he's as good as dead." He warned, seething at the very thought of it before slamming both of his hands onto the desk as he leaned in.

Blue met obsidian, concern and fury in one and gratitude but immense worry in the other. There was an unsettling silence that rested over them, the outburst of magic finally dying down as Snape found it within himself to calm himself from his anger tantrum. There was a tang of guilt for mercilessly destroying some of the old man's trinkets and whatnot, but he reassured himself that they would be fixed with the flick of the hand sooner or later.

"I understand your worry, Severus. Trust me, I do." Dumbledore said softly, tenderly patting his wrinkled hand on Snapes own, earning a rather hesitant flinch from the towering man that stood on the other side of the desk. It was a rather awkward gesture for the reclusive Potions Master. "If it gives some comfort, the boy is alive, not dead. The reports have been vague, I know, but—"

"It has been a week! A week, Albus!" Snape whispered dangerously, his face murderous with a snarl. Dumbledore retracted his hand, placating with his eyebrows raised slightly. His expression softened into a sombre look, a gravely understanding appearance as he allowed the black-clad man to continue with his rant. He knew where Snape was getting with this, and he was just as frustrated as he was — it was better for the Potions Master to release his emotions with words, no matter how spitting they may be in front of his presence. He could at least give the man that much.

"I don't know about you and your incompetent so-called search party, but this is just appalling! You said so yourself that night that the boy would be found shortly. And yet, it's already been a bloody damn week and there's still no sign of the child! You senile old man! He was under your protection, he was your responsibility, Lilly trusted you to look after her child! How could you—"

Dumbledore raised a hand to his face, temporarily cutting his words off with a sharp look. "Severus," he quietly chided, his gaze pervasive and hard. Snape straightened himself off the desk, raising his head high with his chin looking down on him, his hands returning to his sides before organising themselves behind his back as his hands curled into fists. "My boy, I am fully aware of what I vowed to in her time of living, as should you." He lowered his hand down before allowing a small smile to grace his lips as the atmosphere lightened up when a soothing trill called from the window. "Now, I believe we have some rather prominent news to read over. I assume we're both on the same levels of eagerness to read this most recent report on Harry's whereabouts?"

As if on cue, the dazzling beauty of the phoenix soared through the opened window that was left ajar for his returning, swooping down onto the desk with a rolled piece of parchment tied to his claws. Fawkes, in all his glimmering beauty, lifted his leg up for his owner to notice. Dumbledore inclined his head in gratitude, nodding in acknowledgement before taking the parchment into his hands.

"Thank you, Fawkes," he softly said, side-glancing at an impatient Potions Master in front of him. He too, in much hesitation, gave a jerk of approval towards the bird before returning his attention to the parchment resting in the Headmaster's hands. Fawkes gave another thrill before sailing up to his familiar golden perch, digging his head into his chest under his wings into a much-needed slumber from his journey.

Unravelling the parchment delicately, Dumbledore's eyes quickly swept through the letter, a smile tugging at the side of his lips. Snape was dubious whether or not it was safe to take that as a good sign or not. With Albus, there was no telling what or why he was smiling. Seeing as, more often than not, the old man kept smiling even through the most disastrous of times.

"My, my," he whispered under his breath, stroking the sides of his long beard thoughtfully. Snape gave a displeased grunt, raising a brow to the top of his hairline as he tapped his foot impatiently. Dumbledore seemed to notice this because his smile only grew wider, much to Snape's chagrin. "Ah, yes. This will do well, very well!"

Snape interjected, "And what might this good news be, Headmaster?"

There was a dangerous grin growing across the old wizard's lips by now, and Snape shuddered at the mere sight of it. Mischief was glinting in his rekindled sparkling eyes, a sign that the Potions Master wasn't going to enjoy one bit of this moment at all. In fact, he was already growing unsettled but keen on figuring out what was making the old coot so giddy all of a sudden.

"It would seem, that the search party has indeed located the area where young Harry is hiding in. Or, well, living I suppose," his smile faltered slightly before pulling through, "Although they can't be precisely sure of where the child is, they have given the town name that he's currently residing in; near the Midlands, it seems."

Snape froze, tensing ever so slightly, not allowing a single glimpse of his shock show upon his face. His upper lip curled in disdain, not willing to let himself grow back into his old childhood habits of sucking in his bottom lip to bite down on it when unnerved.

Of course, the action didn't go by without notice, as Dumbledore continued on a little mockingly in a joking manner, "Yes, near the Midlands. It would appear... that he's currently staying in Cokeworth at the moment, though the report hasn't specified if he's been taken in by any households, so, we can only presume that he's wandering the streets and alleyways as a means to survive." A grim look slapped the optimistic smile off of his face and was instead replaced by a sullen frown, his eyes glazing over slightly as the sparkle dimmed significantly.

"So," Snape started, having brought himself out of his own ruminations. "I'm expecting you to have me sent there to look for the boy myself, am I, or am I not correct?"

A similar smile graced Dumbledore's lips as he nodded once, bringing his hands back together. "We do have Aurors searching the place inside and out at the moment, but any additional assistance with the search is most certainly welcomed with opened arms." He waited for a moment, allowing himself to give a beatific smile "Your help is most appreciated, Severus."

—

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