Yet Another Snape Meets the Dursleys Story: by rabbit
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Still belongs to JKRowling. Still. Thanks to Moonbeam, who made a suggestion that required having the whole chapter re-written... And thanks to Jinx, who, subsequently, made a suggestion that required having the whole ...chapter.... re-written ...
Chapter 24 : The Enemies
Summary: Snape wakes up.
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"Get in out of the rain, you bloody great...git?" Dudley's voice cracked as he realized belatedly that the figures standing on the doorstep were too tall to be anyone he knew.
It was the Phantom of the Opera. With a friend. Two friends.
"Dudley! Get out!" Harry's hoarse shout from the kitchen door was barely audible over another rumble of thunder. "It's me they're after!"
All the Phantoms had wands.
No! Dudley fell back, and thumped into the wall, and wailed as they came for him.
Two of the killers pushed past, wet cloaks sliming over him. "Oh, ghah!" Dudley edged toward the door, only to find himself facing the third Phantom, whose wand was pointed at his chest like a loaded gun. This is just like Scream. I'm going to die –
He looked to see if Harry could help. His cousin was facing off the others with Mum's best butcher knife. Where was his wand? Didn't it take magic to fight magic?
One of the two facing Harry reached out a massive hand, and then pulled back hastily when Harry sliced at it. "Bloody hell, Draco," he said, turning around to look at the one near Dudley. "You didn't say he'd have a knife!"
"Malfoy?" Harry exclaimed, and then said something that Dudley couldn't hear because of the thunder. It looked rude, though, if lip-reading meant anything.
The one menacing Dudley... Dirk or Melvin or whatever his name was ... seemed to be in charge. "There's two of you!" he shouted at the others. "Get the knife away from him!"
"I'll do it," One of them said, raising his wand. The other one grabbed his arm.
"Not that way!"
"Don't be so stupid," Melvin yelled impatiently. "Do you want to bring the Aurors down on our necks? You don't need magic to thump Potter. You're bigger than he is! Just do it!"
Huh? They don't want to use magic? Dudley thought that all wizards used magic all the time, unless they were forced not to do it. Well, except for student wizards like Harry, who usually couldn't use magic during the summers without getting expelled.
Harry sliced at the one nearest him and actually hit, opening a long slash of bright red across the knuckles of one ham-sized fist. The man howled with pain and shock, surprisingly shrill. Harry looked almost as startled as his victim, but he recovered with a fierce grin. "I'll cut you down to size!" he promised, giving the knife an elaborate wave. "Finite Enchantmentia!"
Sparks of bright blue magic crackled off the end of the blade, earthing at the base of the dark robes. Suddenly, all three of the invaders were two feet shorter, stumbling as if they'd fallen off of magical stilts. The one next to Dudley was flailing for balance.
Happy Christmas! Dudley grabbed the man's – the boy's – wand hand and shoved it into the wall, while swingin a nice right cross. The wand hit the doorjamb and cracked, and the mask slipped under the blow, revealing a blond boy no older than Dudley was himself with a pale thin face and startled gray eyes; the sort of boy who wanted beating up. Dudley grinned as the boy squirmed free and backed away, whimpering. It was wonderful. He hadn't felt this good since he and Piers had reduced a snotty first-year to a lump of weeping jelly on the first day of last term. He cracked his knuckles and advanced, growling, "No one thumps on my cousin but me!"
*****
Flash of lightning.
Flash of silver, striking at him.
Malfoy's cane! Fangs are poisoned -- Snape forced his shoulder up against the blow, hoping teeth would snag in heavy wool.
Strange ringing crack! and a sense of impact. No bright pain, nor creeping numbness. Good.
But his face felt stiff, and it was hard to breathe. Hex --? Desperately he shook his head, fighting the effects, and he could move, he could breathe, but he choked and coughed as -- ice – crumbled into his mouth. It was cold and good on his tongue and woke him somewhat. Danger. Malfoy.
He spat out the ice, got control of his tongue, focused as much as he could on the bright metal being raised to strike again. Screamed, knowing Lucius was ready for it, "Expelliarmus!"
Marionette spin and a high shrill cry. The figure was gone, and the gleaming danger with it. Too easy.
My head hurts. But it was his shoulder that had been hit. Lightning flash and thunder reminded him of the danger.
Must be ready. How?
"Accio wand." The thrumming wood clapped into his palm, like iron hitting a lodestone. He grasped it firmly and felt better, in some control of the situation.
Which is -- ?
Malfoy. Snape wrenched himself up, nearly falling off the ...platform...table...bed... confused by the clattering that fell around him like a disorientation spell. Something slithered, shifted, underfoot. He stumbled aside. Lightning flashed, reflecting off shards of brightness on the floor -- mirror? Another seven years?
Lightning again, illuminating the shards. Not glass. Ice. And a strange carpet, whose patterns meant nothing.
Where in Hogwarts am I?
-- and where is Lucius?
He spun, aiming into shadows, slipped on ice and fell. Thunder prevented him from hearing his tormentor's laughter and he caught his breath, waiting for the spells to hit.
Nothing.
Thunder. Lightning.
The thin gray stuff between his knee and hand glittered, and he stared at it until he recognized the glitter as frost forming between weft and woof of soft cloth. Chilling charms wrong.
Why am I in my nightshirt?
And no slippers.
Well, I was sleeping – I think.
Thunder, loud and long.
Quiet. Thank you.
Another unpleasant noise. Shrill. Angry.
Shouting. Who's shouting?
He pushed himself up, finally saw the crumpled heap of a body against the far wall, where his spell had thrown the attacker. Serves you right.
A long shriek, that sounded familiar. It broke in the middle with a gasp, like a hinge in the cry. A child's voice. A child being hurt -- no --
Harry Potter's voice, oddly thick but fierce: "You're in for it now, Malfoy!"
Potter!
Snape was up and across the room before he knew he'd moved. The lightning made shadows dance, made him stagger to keep his balance. He thwacked off a door and kept going, clutching his wand as if it were going to hold him upright. I'm trying, Lily – Careening down the corridor, banging his shin on a misplaced trunk and not even stopping to swear...
The stairs led down.
He caught the banister before he could fall, wrenching his shoulder painfully in the need to hang on without losing hold of his wand.
What --
He looked down.
The steady light coming from off to one side only lent more confusion to the melee in the dark, narrow space. Figures. Moving. Lightning through the open door at the far end of the hall showed more. Potter, pale as milk, braced in a doorway, knife flashing in his grip as he held off two Death Eaters, one dripping blood. A bulky figure -- has Longbottom put on that much weight -- silhouetted against the light, with his foot on a third killer's cloak, collecting it with both hands and starting to reel in the smaller –
Boy.
Boys!
Not Lucius. Snape realized, finally seeing the size and shape of the boy trying to scrabble out of that ridiculous cloak before he could be reached. It didn't work; in a trice he was down, crushed to the floor with the bigger boy kneeling on his wrist to make him drop his wand. He tried to squirm away -- couldn't -- the big boy hauled him upright by the collar and light fell on the pinched, panicked face.
Suddenly it all made sense. Snape swayed in relief, clutching the banister. Not Lucius. Draco. Draco and Vincent and Gregory.
And Potter.
And... Dursley?
Snape advanced down one stair, finding his voice to thunder, "Stop that!"
Pity the real thunder drowned his words.
Goyle picked up a spindle-legged table and swung it at Potter, knocking the knife out of his hand. Crabbe lunged, catching Potter's pyjama shirt with a shout of triumph. Goyle lumbered forward, raising the table like a club. They had to be stopped.
The incantation is...
"Sonorus!" Snape tapped his wand to his throat and roared in a voice so loud that bits of paint and plaster sprinkled down from the ceiling, "ENOUGH!"
He was a moment too late. Dursley's fist was already in motion, and it smashed into Draco Malfoy's aristocratic nose with enough force to send him sprawling. Snape winced when he saw the rush of bright red blood on Malfoy's face. Crabbe and Goyle, better at freezing, had stopped their attack short of Potter. Good. He tapped his throat again to dismiss the earsplitting spell. No need for it now.
Four faces were staring up at him. Two wore white masks.
Idiots.
This is just like their stupid Dementor trick. Can't they do something new?
My head hurts.
The stairs were shuddering, about to move. Snape made his way down them hastily, stepping off before they swung away, and then braced against the wall when the corridor floor took up the vibration. He glared at the children, waiting for them to arrange themselves appropriately. Crabbe and Goyle dropped Potter and the table and backed up against the far wall with gratifying promptitude. The Dursley boy edged over to pick up Potter. Only Malfoy didn't have the sense to know he was in trouble, and stayed writhing on the floor, his face masked in blood.
Masks.
The floor kept changing angles. Snape staggered over to Crabbe and Goyle and snatched the disguises from their faces. The curves of the masks melted into handkerchiefs in his hands and a rush of anger cleared some of the fog from his head. They've got hold of the actual spell!
Snape glared at the pair of them, but they just looked back with stolid resignation, no more dismayed than if they had been caught sneaking food from the kitchens. Crabbe was coddling one arm. Snape pulled the injured limb forward for inspection, rucking up the boy's sleeve to show a shallow gash which he richly deserved. Snape dropped that arm and pulled forward the other, shoving back that sleeve to find –
-- nothing.
He checked Goyle's arms for damage as well, found nothing worse than scored knuckles.
Not the actual masks, then. Unless Malfoy...
Snape stalked over to look down at Malfoy, who was rocking miserably, clutching both hands around a fold of his overlong robe that he'd pressed up to catch the stream of blood from his nose. Snape bent down to grab the boy's shoulder and haul him upright. Dizziness washed over him. Only years of practice kept his glare in place as he waited for it to pass.
Malfoy began to babble, nervously. "Id's nod our vault! We juzt cabe do vizzid Podder and dey addagged uz!"
It wasn't even a very good lie. Snape arched a skeptical eyebrow, and the boy swallowed and stopped making noise.
Where was his mask?
Ah. Snape spotted a white handkerchief on the floor. It could stay there. He certainly wasn't going to bend down again to pick it up.
Malfoy's hands were covered with blood. Check for... check for damage. Snape stripped off the sodden robe roughly, ignoring Malfoy's mewling. Nothing on either arm. Just a boys' raid, then, a show of bluster.
Playing at being murderers.
He got distracted by the swollen, darkening bruise on Malfoy's nose. Broken. It made the crook in his own nose ache to look at it. Or was that the storm? His nose always hurt in storms.
Malfoy's wand was broken too, even though he still clutched it stupidly. That can't be fixed. The nose might.
Crabbe and Goyle were here somewhere. Snape summoned them with a peremptory gesture, and they came, stumbling over their foolishly long cloaks. They put the cloaks into his demanding hand. It took a moment to remember why he'd wanted them.
"Take him... take Malfoy to the hospital wing," Snape snarled in a gap between thunderclaps, propelling Malfoy into their grasps. Do not attempt to mend his nose yourselves! Their answers were drowned in thunder, but they nodded obediently. "Go," Snape pushed the three of them at the open door. "Now!"
They went.
Snape closed the door behind them and leaned his face against the cool wood. Wretchedlittleinbredmorons. One of these days they're going to do something I can't ignore or explain away. "Twenty points," he told the door. "Each. And detention." We'll see how you feel about polishing bedpans.
And once he'd dealt with Malfoy and his minions, he'd have to deal with Potter.
Again.
My head hurts.
This was all Potter's fault. Somehow. It always was. Snape had never had to break up half so many fights before James Potter's arrogant scion had waltzed into the school. Merlin's blood! He's worse than his father! Always grandstanding, and he's never met a risk he wouldn't take – sneaking around all the time, full of secrets, that'll get you killed. "Idiot boy!" he ranted for the two thousandth time to his empty fireplace. "Opening the door to a lot of Death Eaters! Your mother died saving your life! The least you could do is stop affording them every opportunity to finish you OFF!"
My head really hurts. Shouting at Potter always gave him a headache, and this one was promising to be spectacular. Snape gripped the crook of his nose and pushed away from the door, turning to go and search out headache powders, clothes and coffee.
He found Harry Potter staring at him with dismayed green eyes.