CHAPTER 13
ATTACKS
Harry bolted upright, gasping for breath. He swung his legs over the bed and lurched unsteadily toward Ron's bed. But Ron's curtains were open, revealing an empty bed. All his roommates' beds were empty.
He raced down to the common room, nearly slipping on the stone stairs in his haste. Ron and Hermione sat near the fireplace, a game of Wizard's chess between them, but the game was ignored as the two talked in hushed tones. Hermione cast worried glances at the small stack of medical books they'd shoved aside and Ron nodded and sighed. They both looked up in confusion as Harry hurried over.
"What's wrong?" Hermione demanded, jumping up and pressing her hand aggressively against his forehead. "Are you sick? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"
Harry swatted her hand away. "What time is it?" he asked desperately.
"9:15," Ron provided slowly. "Why?"
Harry glanced around nervously. "Voldemort's going to attack Hogwarts at midnight!" he whispered.
Hermione gaped and Harry knew she was about to start in with a million questions that there wasn't time for, so he turned and ran from the common room toward his Head of House's office. He heard the pounding of footsteps behind him and shouted one-word answers to Hermione's interrogation over his shoulder.
Thankfully, McGonagall was still up grading papers. She looked up in surprise when Harry burst in the door. "Mr. Potter, what in the name of Merlin..."
"Professor, I need to know Dumbledore's office password. Voldemort's attacking Hogwarts tonight!"
"What? How do you..."
"Professor please! The password!" he begged. They only had about two and a half hours to somehow prepare against an attack.
"Lemon drop," she said, still looking startled.
Harry nodded in thanks and tore off again, sprinting through the halls, past the gargoyle, and up the spiral staircase until he was at banging on the door to Dumbledore's office. "Professor!"
The door swung open. Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles and upon seeing Harry's grave expression, stepped aside without question. "Come in."
Harry hurried in while Hermione and Ron clambered up the stairs out of breath. The two fell into two chairs while Harry paced.
"I had another dream, Professor. Voldemort was telling the Death Eaters they're to attack Hogwarts at midnight!"
Dumbledore looked at him with a serious expression, then walked around his desk. "Details, Harry."
Harry pulled at his sleeves as he tried to remember. "Um, he said not to harm any purebloods but they're going to kill Muggleborns. I don't know about half-bloods, I don't think he said. They're supposed to find you and me first thing. He wants to torture me in front of you. That's all he said; I don't know anything else."
Ron stared at Harry fearfully while Hermione looked around at Dumbledore. "Hogwarts can stand attack, right?" she asked clutching the edge of his desk. "You can strengthen the wards and we can get the ministry here..."
The door burst open, interrupting her, and several professors followed McGonagall in. Harry noticed Snape was missing. He must have been one of the masked figures in the vision.
Dumbledore explained the situation in a quick, authoritative tone. "We must gather the students. Tell them to bring only their wands and cloaks. They don't have time to change if they're in their nightclothes; they'll just have to go as they are. No student is to be allowed to send an owl; news of this evacuation must not leak. Get them to Hogsmeade and load them on a train towards Beauxbatons, then return immediately. Septima, I'll need you to take temporary charge of the Slytherins. We'll have Hagrid, Aurora, Sybil and Bathsheba go with the students. I'm afraid that's all we can spare. The rest of us must prepare for a confrontation with Voldemort's forces. Go quickly."
The professors scattered. McGonagall shooed Ron and Hermione out of their chairs and toward the door. Harry made to follow.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, "I'm sorry, but you cannot go with your friends."
"What? But Harry has to come with us!" Ron argued, casting a protective look at his friend.
"Do not worry, Mr. Weasley, I will send Harry somewhere safe."
Hermione darted forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Harry. "Be safe. Let them take you away from here, okay? Donot fight them on it, understand?"
"I'll be fine," Harry assured, hugging her back. Though it was a moment of panic, he relished the rare embrace. It somehow made him feel braver about what was to come.
"Don't be stupid, Harry," Ron instructed fiercely as McGonagall ushered Harry's friends out the door.
Under Dumbledore's instruction, Harry helped pump out urgent notices to wizards and witches that could help. Owls swooped in and out of the window, diving steeply down to fly among the trees.
When Dumbledore seemed momentarily finished with talking through the floo, Harry figured he should address the reason he had been kept behind. "Professor, I don't know if I can duel as well as I did in our lesson earlier. It took a lot out of me, but I can still..."
"I'm not keeping you here."
Harry blinked. "Really? But I thought..."
Dumbledore gestured for him to follow and the two walked swiftly from his office. "Harry, my boy, I would never offer you up to Voldemort. I will protect you from that fight as long as I can."
Dumbledore paused a moment to direct a small group of staff. Madam Hooch's yellow eyes were narrowed and she wielded a broom as if she planned to simply beam Voldemort over the head with it. Madam Pince stood, lips pursed, clutching three books to her chest protectively. She spoke quietly and was determined to focus her energies on saving the library, until Dumbledore strictly reminded her that there could be no library without a castle. Madam Pomfrey bustled over, but Dumbledore ordered her to stay out of the fray and to prepare the infirmary. They would need her when the battle was through.
The three women hurried off and Dumbledore returned to his swift pace. Harry followed, feeling a little childish when he had to jog a little to keep up with his headmaster's purposeful stride.
"Why am I here if I'm not supposed to fight?" Harry asked, picking up where they'd left off.
"I'm sending you home. I've arranged the Portkey."
Harry paled and his step faltered. "The Dursleys? But why?"
"There are protection spells at your home that disguise your location. If Voldemort sensed you on that train, I fear he would be lured there."
"But Professor, I can help!" Harry pleaded. "Maybe I can duel as well as earlier and if not, I'm still pretty good. If I could beat you and Professor Lupin, it makes sense to keep me here! Maybe I could stand off in the shadows and cast spells or something!"
"Absolutely not," Dumbledore said with a frown. "I will not put you at that risk."
Harry was about to protest when McGonagall ran up, her cheeks flushed and her hair coming loose from her normally strict bun. "The students are on the train."
"Good. Now I need you to take Mr. Potter back to his relatives' home. Harry, you are not to leave that house until a Hogwarts professor comes to get you, is that understood?"
Harry sighed. "Yes sir."
Dumbledore turned to address the Hogwarts' ghosts and a gaggle of house elves.
McGonagall cast Harry a worried glance. "Come along, Potter. Portkeys will only work out on the grounds."
Harry reluctantly jogged along after as his head of house walked swiftly through the corridors. Things were fast becoming chaotic. Aurors ran by with severe expressions and pressed uniforms. The rest of the ragtag group of protectors didn't look quite as prepared. One man had his robes on inside out and another still wore his nightcap.
Distracted by the commotion, Harry almost collided with someone.
"Harry! Why haven't you left with the other students?" Mr. Weasley exclaimed in concern. His three oldest sons stood behind him. Bill patted his father on the shoulder and hurried off, presumably to help with the wards. Charlie cast Harry a quick, crooked smile, looking almost excited to fight. Percy stood up straight and proper, ignoring Harry and trying to look important.
"I have to go to the Dursleys," Harry said unhappily.
"Good," Mr. Weasley nodded. "We've got to keep you safe."
McGonagall put a hand on Harry's shoulder and urged him to come along. Harry looked back at Mr. Weasley. "Be careful, okay?" he called anxiously.
Professor McGonagall pushed through crowd, pulling Harry with her. Her robe flowed behind as she hurried down the stairs to the grounds and it reminded Harry suddenly that he had fallen asleep in his school uniform. He winced. His uncle wasn't going to be pleased.
His stomach dropped when his professor pulled out a ratty old tome that was obviously the portkey, but memories of the fourth task didn't have time to creep in before the book was thrust into his hand and he felt the familiar tug at his navel.
When everything stopped spinning, Harry reluctantly opened his eyes and peeled his white-knuckled grip from the book. Rows of identical houses loomed before him. Privet Drive. The cold perfection made him long for the Burrow.
McGonagall marched right up to the Dursley's front door. Her knuckles rapped against the wood loudly and Harry sighed. Uncle Vernon was not going to like this.
The door swung open. In seeing who it was standing on his front porch, Vernon's expression turned murderous. He glanced around at the neighboring houses as if he expected the inhabitants to be peering through their windows, just waiting for something odd to gossip about in the morning.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed. "It's the middle of the bloody night!"
McGongall frowned at Vernon's crass language, but was, as usual, all business. "Our school is under attack. Harry will have to stay here until it is safe. Do not let him leave the house until a professor comes to pick him up."
Vernon barely had time to sputter a protest before McGonagall shot Harry one last stern look of warning and hurried away, disapparating at the edge of the wards.
Harry peered up at his angry guardian. "I'm sorry but all the students had to leave! It was an emergency!"
"Shut up." Vernon grabbed his collar and pulled him inside. Harry stumbled over the threshold. When the door closed, Vernon grabbed a handful of Harry's hair, dragged him to the cupboard under the stairs and tossed him in.
Harry massaged the ache in his scalp as the small door slammed closed and the lock snapped into place. Vernon's heavy footfalls clomped up the stairs and dust cascaded down onto Harry's head. He brushed the debris off the cot he had outgrown and lay down. His feet hung uncomfortably over the edge so he curled up his legs and pulled a small, ratty blanket over himself.
Staring at the wall, Harry's mind raced through every possible outcome of the impending fight. Nearly half the Weasley family was there and losing them would be more than Harry could bear.
He shook away the thought.
He turned onto his back and stared at the spider webs on the ceiling. They'll be fine. They're prepared. They have the advantage.
As time wore on, Harry's eyes slipped closed. It seemed so inappropriate to fall asleep when a country away, everything he cared about was about to be battled for, but his earlier dueling exercise had drained his energy. The adrenaline rush that had kept him animated during the last couple hours was quickly dissipating.
He fought against the pull, but his eyelids eventually refused to wrench back open.
-
He was at Hogwarts, standing outside the front doors. The whole castle was silent and dark.
An unsettling shiver tickled his neck and he turned around to see a tall, cloaked figure walking purposefully and confidently up the path, followed by a mob of hooded Death Eaters. Harry's scar throbbed, announcing the obvious.
As they drew closer, the group fanned out, some rushing off to the sides of the castle, no doubt to cover the major escape routes. The majority, however, continued toward the front door with their leader. Voldemort was apparently feeling a growing need for dramatic displays.
Harry followed uncertainly, nervous at the proximity though he knew no one could see him.
Voldemort raised his wand to the sky and hissed, "Morsmordre." Harry scowled at the hateful symbol that cast the green glow of death across the grounds.
The front doors burst open and Harry hurried inside, running through bodies without even a tingle to prove he was real. He could see nothing in the dark hall. It was so lifeless, Harry started worrying that Dumbledore hadn't pulled the defense together in time and had ordered everyone out of Hogwarts.
Voldemort marched into the front hall, his Death Eaters eagerly following. The blue glow from their wands barely lit their way and cast every nook into shadows. Harry wanted desperately to call out to announce their arrival, but it was pointless. This was a vision, nothing more. No one would hear him.
"Remember, the Potter boy is mine. Bring him to me alive," Voldemort coldly reminded his followers.
Suddenly, with a rushing sound, a flame flared in every torch along the entranceway, illuminating the hall. As the alcoves and niches filled with orange light, a very different sort of army was revealed. Aurors, professors, house elves and civilians surrounded the masked figures. Dobby was there, socks hanging off his ears and holding three small paring knives in one hand, a skewer in the other. Harry spotted the man in his nightcap wielding his wand without a trace of fear on his face. Even Madam Pince could be seen, practically growling in determination to make sure no book in the castle would come to harm. Harry felt a surge of pride for their ragtag numbers.
Dumbledore emerged from the ranks. Harry thought he looked like an epic hero, much steadier and more confident than Harry could ever be.
"None of my students will be at your mercy tonight, Tom."
Voldemort trembled with rage. "AVADA KEDAVRA," he snarled, thrusting out his wand. Green light flew toward Dumbledore. The headmaster conjured a bird to take the blow so the curse wouldn't hit those behind him.
The others took this as their signal and charged. Death Eaters and light wizards rushed each other, shouting spells. The hall lit up with flashes of color and house elves attacked the ankles of the intruders with kitchen objects. One smashed a Death Eater's foot with a frying pan and Lucius Malfoy had to stop to pluck out Dobby's three paring knives out of his shoe. Peeves swooped low, cackling as he threw dungbombs at the enemies. The ghosts flew into the faces of Voldemort's ranks, blurring their views. The Aurors attacked in coordinated formations, though Madam Hooch was equally effective having abandoned her wand and chosen to join a few villagers in beating one of the cowering Death Eaters with brooms and gardening hoes. A few spells shot straight through Harry's chest, sending a shiver up his spine despite his being unable to feel a thing.
Harry frowned as he crept closer to the main fight. He noticed that the killing curse was not among the impressive spells Dumbledore fired off and Harry was slightly annoyed. If Dumbledore could just defeat Voldemort now, Harry wouldn't have to figure out how to do it in his short time left. Then again, Hagrid had once told Harry that Voldemort wasn't human enough to die so maybe even Avada Kedavra wouldn't do the trick.
Harry followed Dumbledore and Voldemort, watching closely as they battled, looking for any clue on how to defeat the monster. They passed Mr. Weasley fighting a Death Eater and Harry paused to watch a moment. The Weasley patriarch stunned the masked figure and Harry punched the air in victory before rushing back over to Dumbledore, feeling elated at the small triumph.
"The students aren't here!" a masked figure yelled to his master, running in from another door. "None of them!"
With a cry of fury, Voldemort turned and shot the Cruciatus curse at Mr. Weasley, who had tried sneaking up on the evil maniac during the distraction. Several Death Eaters attacked Dumbledore while their master punished Ron's dad for the attempted assault.
Harry watched in horror as Mr. Weasley screamed and writhed on the ground. Charlie ran toward his father, but a beam of purple light hit his chest and he fell to his knees, seemingly unable to breathe until someone disarmed his attacker. Charlie was left passed out on the floor and Percy was stunned when he tried to drag his brother out of harm's way. People tried to help but the Death Eaters' highest priority was in protecting Voldemort.
Harry watched helplessly, growing increasingly panicked as the spell dragged on. Less than a year ago, he'd felt the Cruciatus curse for only a moment. He couldn't imagine the agony of having it stretch on this long.
"STOP IT! STOP!" he screamed. He knew his cries could do nothing but he couldn't help himself as he watched the man who was always so eager to ask Harry about plugs and airplanes begin to claw at his own chest in anguish. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!"
A change came over Voldemort's face, his expression melting from fury into confusion. Harry stared as Voldemort's wand hand seemed to slowly wrench to the side. Once the wand's tip no longer pointed at Mr. Weasley, the curse ended and the balding man was left barely conscious. Bill raced up, grabbed his father under the armpits and pulled him up and back. He cast a spell at his father's tormentor, but Voldemort flung it away distractedly. He stared hard at his hand.
Suddenly, comprehension dawned over the snake-like visage.
"Potter!" he hissed, looking around wildly. Harry's eyes widened in surprise and he took an automatic step back.
The action in the room momentarily paused. Death Eaters looked around, ready to grab Voldemort's intended prize. The Aurors and villagers took advantage and took a few down. The distraction of the professors' was even greater, terrified as they were that a student could still be vulnerable. Harry watched in horror as Professor McGonagall took a hit while her head whipped around, frantically searching for her student. Harry couldn't believe it. She had been the one to drop him off! She should have known he wasn't there! She hit the ground and Harry ran toward her.
Voldemort summoned a shield around himself and seemed to concentrate hard on something. Harry knelt by his house head's side. There was a gash along her ribcage, but she was still breathing.
Unexpectedly, Harry's scar erupted in terrible pain. He dug his fingernails into his scalp and crumbled fully to the floor, thrashing and twisting on the ground. A terrible scream erupted from his throat.
It ended as abruptly as it had begun. Harry gulped in shaky breaths and climbed to his feet wondering what in the world had just happened. He was startled to find everyone looking around in confusion. Bill Weasley and Professor Flitwick both called his name and urgently yelled that he get out of there.
"So you are here, Potter. Not physically, no, but somehow, you're here," Voldemort muttered, cocking his head to the side in interest. He snapped out of it and looked to Dumbledore. "There is no point in staying tonight, but I assure you, old man, that next time, I will get what I came for."
He then reached into his robes and grabbed a small pendant. The Death Eaters scrambled to follow his example and they all portkeyed away.
Harry woke with a jolt. It took him a moment to remember where he was until his eyes adjusted and could make out the palest line of moonlight coming from under the door.
He heaved a sigh of relief, dragging his hands over his sweaty face. They had won. Voldemort had been completely taken by surprise.
But what had happened with his connection with Voldemort? What did it mean? Obviously, it was the cancer at work, messing around with his magic and stretching it in ways it was never meant to be stretched. But he remained nervous. His connection with Voldemort was one of the things that was apparently strengthening and Harry wasn't sure if it would help him destroy Voldemort, or help Voldemort destroy him.
-
The next morning, Harry snapped awake at a harsh banging on his cupboard door. It was thrown open as Harry maneuvered himself off of his cot and Aunt Petunia thrust some of Dudley's old clothes into his hands.
"Change out of those...things right now," she spat. She stalked away to the kitchen, lips pursed in bottled fury.
Harry sighed and changed in the cramped space, banging his knee hard against a shelf with cleaning materials on it. He folded his robes up neatly and eyed them mournfully as he pulled on Dudley's huge, ratty shirt. Somehow it felt like he was turning in his magic. He slipped his wand into the pocket of Dudley's old pants. There. He wasn't turning it in; he was just putting it into hiding for a day or two. He could do it.
As much as his aunt and uncle complained about having him around the house, they certainly didn't waste the opportunity. Harry cooked them both breakfast and was given a list of chores so long it seemed they hadn't cleaned since he had last been home. Some of the instructions would bring him to the front yard and, remembering McGonagall's warning, Harry began to protest but he shut his mouth when he saw his uncle surreptitiously slip whisky into his coffee.
He'd rather take on Voldemort than anger his uncle.
As he pulled the hose out to water the flowerbeds, he hoped the Stensons didn't catch sight of him. It would be far too painful to protest that he couldn't stay when all he could think about was running away to their house.
Harry's stomach gurgled miserably as he rolled up his sleeves. He hoped a professor would fetch him soon. The hunger pains were always the worst in the first few days back at Number 4.
His uncle went to work late and his car nearly knocked over the mailbox in his rush. Harry kept his head down and glared at the flowers. How his uncle still had a job when he was drunk every morning was a mystery.
Harry walked on eggshells all day, keeping his head down and doing what he was told. He hadn't forgotten his aunt's betrayal the last time he was home and didn't trust her not to report a transgression back to her violent husband.
Vernon was late getting home that evening. Aunt Petunia watched the clock with an anxious frown. She bustled around, trying to pretend she didn't notice the time, so Harry pretended he didn't notice either. The dinner Harry cooked grew cold and, on his aunt's orders, he simply stood in the kitchen, waiting to begin reheating as soon as Vernon's car entered the driveway.
Aunt Petunia walked in and out, growing more agitated. Harry leaned against the counter, keeping his expression neutral, but his stomach sank as the minute hand crept around the clock face. He and his aunt both knew where Vernon was.
"It's because of you," Aunt Petunia accused in a low, hateful voice. She refused to look at him.
Harry looked at her darkly. "Right," he muttered skeptically, "he only goes to bars when I'm home then?"
Aunt Petunia's eyes whipped to his and her nose scrunched up in anger. She reached him in two strides and brought her hand across his cheek with a sharp crack. Harry didn't make a sound. His aunt's hand was nothing compared to her husband's.
She poked a finger at him and spoke in that same low tone. "It is because of you."
She turned to walk away and Harry felt his anger swell. "You're just going to let him hurt me again!" he erupted before he could stop himself. He felt so betrayed. He knew that didn't make sense, his aunt had never felt any love for him, but he knew that when Vernon got home, Aunt Petunia was going to let him take his anger out on her nephew and it just seemed so unfair. "That last time, I could have run, but I stayed to protect you and Dudley like you've never done for me, and you did nothing when he threw me through that table!"
Harry's breathing was heavy and his throat stung. He hoped he looked angry and not like he was blinking back tears. He refused to ever let any of the Dursleys see him cry. He stepped back and gripped the counter. Speaking more softly, he said, "If I could make things better, I would."
Aunt Petunia didn't look at him, but her whole body was stiff. Harry stared, surprised his outburst might have actually affected her. He had expected only to be screamed at, maybe hit again; he had never expected to strike a nerve.
The sound of crunching tires in the driveway broke the moment and Harry slumped back against the counter in defeat. He numbly turned on the stove burners. Aunt Petunia smoothed out her dress and went to greet her husband.
The china shook in its cabinet as the front door slammed. Harry's grip on the stirring spoon tightened.
"WHERE IS HE?"
Vernon burst into the kitchen so quickly Harry didn't have time to think about a defense. His uncle's clothes were rumpled. His jacket was gone and one side of his shirt was un-tucked. He stumbled and cursed, then locked his glazed eyes onto his nephew.
Harry backed into the counter. His mouth opened and closed in attempt to protest his case, but of course, there was nothing to say.
"MY JOB!" Vernon roared. He grabbed a pan off the burner and hurled it at Harry's feet. Noodles, vegetables and sauce sprayed across the floor. "You made me lose MY JOB!"
Remembering his thoughts on the subject from that morning, for a moment, Harry was convinced he hadsomehow caused Vernon to lose his job.
Vernon grabbed a pot of mashed potatoes and this time aimed it at Harry's head, his motives switching from general destruction to taking his frustration out on his nephew in particular. Harry jerked to the side just in time, sputtering a protest. "But, I didn't..."
"LIAR!" Vernon grabbed the front of Harry's shirt and threw him to the floor, right into the spilt food. Harry's hands slipped around in the mess as he tried to scoot back and get to his feet.
"I didn't do anything, I swear!" he choked. His supporting hand jerked out from under him when Vernon yanked him forward by his ankles. He flipped over and clawed at the kitchen floor, trying to kick out, but his ankles were held fast.
Vernon let go and Harry didn't pause to see why. He lurched to his feet and started forward, but hands grabbed the back of his shirt and swung him to the side. Losing his balance, Harry's head hit the edge of the counter and he crumpled to his knees, dazed.
"I didn't do it!" he gasped. "I didn't! I swear!"
"Vernon! Wait," Aunt Petunia cried out uncertainly. Harry's heart leapt hopefully but Vernon ignored her.
Vernon grabbed a handful of Harry's dark hair and dragged him into the center of the kitchen. As Harry's legs scrambled to find purchase, something jabbed into his thigh.
With a flash of clarity, he remembered his wand. Without pausing for a moment to consider stealth, Harry's hand jammed into his pocket and pulled out his only weapon.
"Stup-"
The word was interrupted by a yelp as Vernon yanked Harry's head back painfully. The wand tugged in his hand and Harry held on as tight as he could, but Vernon wrenched it away and threw it toward the kitchen door where Aunt Petunia was backed against the wall, her hands cupped over her mouth in alarm. Harry twisted his head violently, trying to loosen his uncle's grip.
He needed his wand.
Vernon let go of his hair and started to walk around him for a new angle of attack. Harry dove in Aunt Petunia's direction. Unable to get up off his stomach with time so urgent, he reached out along the floor toward his wand. His fingers just brushed the wood when Vernon stomped brutally on his hand.
Harry cried out. His eyes clenched shut and for a moment he was unable to think of anything but the searing pain. Vernon pulled him back to the center of the kitchen and his wand was left lying hopelessly out of reach at Aunt Petunia's feet.
-
Back at Hogwarts, wizards milled about repairing damages as the sun fell beyond the horizon. The front hall had been hit the hardest, of course, but other areas also sported damages from the Death Eaters who had made their way in from other entrances. The wards needed the most attention. They had to be repaired but, more importantly, had to be changed and strengthened so that Voldemort no longer held the key to the castle.
Though everyone was tired, spirits were high. They had won. The children were safe. Their side had suffered no casualties and the injured parties had been patched up and were making swift recoveries at their homes. They had even caught a few Death Eaters who were now being questioned at the ministry. Perhaps most exciting was the gossip about the Boy Who Lived, who seemed to have a mysterious power that could possibly be used to end this war.
Severus Snape stalked through the main hall, robes billowing behind him. He ignored the cheerful greeting of Professor Flitwick. He was exhausted and his whole body ached something fierce. Voldemort had been distracted by whatever had happened with Potter, but had still doled out punishment for the embarrassing defeat.
For once, at least, he hadn't spent the whole meeting fearful he would be found out as a traitor. Having been unable to get warning to Hogwarts in time, Snape had been prepared for a horrifying catastrophe. The relief that filled him when Dumbledore's ambush was revealed was indescribable. He didn't know how he could have handled the weight on his conscience if a student had been killed.
He briefed Dumbledore grumpily in one of the wrecked halls, thankful the headmaster didn't yet know what the strange incident between Potter and Voldemort meant. Snape was eager for a bath and a meal and, for now, that took precedent over curiosity.
"If that will be all..." he said hopefully.
Dumbledore smiled paternally. "Yes, yes. Go join our recuperating ranks. But tomorrow, I hope you will be able to run a small errand for me. Poppy requests Minerva not travel magically in the next week, so I wonder if you might pick up Harry from his relatives' home."
Snape stared at him. "Potter is not with the other students? You sent him home?"
"Yes. I apologize for the inconvenience," Dumbledore replied, misinterpreting the disgruntled look on Snape's face. A knock on the door sounded and an Auror entered. Dumbledore cast Snape a final smile and patted his shoulder as he passed. "Tomorrow, Severus. Harry can wait. Tonight, just rest." Dumbledore left with the Auror and Severus stared after them for a moment.
"Shit," Snape muttered and started back toward the castle's entrance.
-
Flinging his arms over his face didn't do much to block Uncle Veron's blows. Blood was pouring from Harry's nose and the right lens of his glasses was completely shattered. He kept waiting for Vernon to run out of energy and go pass out somewhere, but the man's anger only seemed to grow.
A sickening flash of pain flared from his knee and Harry howled in pain. He tried to jerk his leg out from under his uncle's heavy foot and the enormous man stumbled forward with a grunt, landing heavily against the counter.
Every movement was difficult now, but Harry knew he had to try for his wand. He looked over through his broken glasses and stilled. Aunt Petunia stood in the doorway, face pale, holding his wand.
She stared at him, her eyes filled with tears. Her eyes flickered to her husband who was righting himself, raving. The heavy man moved toward a whisky bottle sitting on the counter, tucked back against the wall.
The delicate hand holding his wand jerked toward him but then pulled back, reconsidering. Harry looked at his aunt desperately. She took a hesitant step forward and started to hold out the wand, but when Vernon turned around, she stepped back and clutched the piece of wood to her chest.
"Aunt Petunia," Harry whispered, terrified. "Please. Help me."
His aunt ducked her head and made no more move toward him.
Vernon looked from his nephew to the wand in his wife's hand.
"You drive the stake through the heart," he muttered to himself, eyes bloodshot and crazed. "That's how you've always got to do it!"
Harry's head whipped toward his uncle at those words. His eyes widened when Uncle Vernon turned back around holding one of the sharp knives from the wooden block on the counter. Harry tried to claw his way backward, not even feeling the pain in his knee through his terror.
Aunt Petunia reeled back. "VERNON, NO!"
But it was too late.
Harry tried to twist away, but Vernon grabbed his shoulder and pinned him to the floor. Harry heard his aunt begin to scream as Vernon took clumsy aim and plunged the knife deep into his nephew's stomach.