August 4th, 1985
Harry wasn't crying.
He had been crying when the evil people had been hurting him, even though he was a big boy and didn't cry like a baby anymore, not very often. He hadn't realized what they were going to do, at first. He hadn't known that magic could hurt like that.
But that had been earlier. He was still hurting, long shivers of pain clenching up and down his body, but he didn't think he had any more tears left. All he could do anymore was whimper and call for Mum and Dad. They weren't there. Why weren't they there?
It was late when the door opened. Harry whimpered a little, even though he didn't think it would do much good. They were just going to hurt him again.
"Shh, it's me." Harry perked up. It was the man from before, the nice man who had said sorry.
"Is Mum here now?" he asked hopefully. The man shook his head, his mouth twisting downwards. He pulled two small, stoppered bottles from his robes.
"Here, drink this," he said, handing Harry one of them. Harry drank it, screwing his nose up at the taste of dirty socks, and immediately felt the pain and tremors start to ease. "Shit, you're too trusting. You didn't even know what was in that bottle, I could have poisoned you or – or hurt you."
"You wouldn't do that, though," Harry said. The man blinked at him. He looked surprised. "You're nice."
"I am not nice," the man muttered, sounding like he didn't mean for Harry to hear him. "Look, you can't just – just trust people like this. There are a lot of people, bad people, who want you dead. Please tell me you have even a modicum of self-preservation."
"Bad people like your friends?"
"They are not my friends," the man spat. He ran a hand through his hair.
"Why's your hair so shiny?" Harry asked.
"It's not shiny, it's greasy," the man said. "And it's genetics. Bad luck."
"Oh," Harry said. "You shouldn't have bad luck. You're nice."
"That's the second time you've said that. I'm beginning to think that Fellows hit you on the head harder than she thought."
"Well, it's true. You're nice. You gave me that potion, and I'm not hurt anymore." The man scowled.
"You shouldn't have been hurt in the first place," he said.
"Is this one of those things that's not your choice?" Harry said. "Like cabbage?"
"Yes, this is like cabbage," the man said. He didn't look happy, but his scowl wasn't quite so scowl-y, so Harry thought he had had a little success. "I am – I am trying to help you, you know." The man's eyes widened. "Don't tell anyone I said that."
"Okay," Harry agreed. The man nodded and handed Harry the other potion. Harry drank it, grinning when it tasted much nicer than the other one. "What did that one do?"
"It's a sleeping potion," the man said. "I have no intention of having you wake me up with any foolish nightmares." Harry nodded.
"You're nice," he said again, as seriously as he could manage when he was quickly falling asleep.
"Don't be an idiot," the man said. "If I was nice, you wouldn't be here."
August 5th, 1985
Harry didn't know what time he woke up. The room he was in didn't have any windows. The door opened, and he whimpered when he saw that it was the woman and one of the men who had been mean before. He was relieved, however, to see the nice man come in behind them. Maybe it wouldn't hurt as bad with the nice man there.
"Look at 'im, curled up all scared," the woman said gleefully. "So this is the Chosen One. 'E don't seem like all that if 'e's scared of a little Cruciatus. Why don't you show 'im, Yarrow?"
"With pleasure," the mean man, Yarrow, said. He pointed his wand at Harry, and Harry looked at the nice man, trying to do his best puppy dog eyes. Uncle Padfoot always said that no one could resist Harry's puppy dog eyes. To his surprise, the nice man's wand was also out and pointed at him, and the man was muttering something under his breath.
"Please-" Harry said.
"Crucio," said Yarrow.
It was different from the day before. At first the pain was the same, just as horrible, but then it seemed to recede a little. It was like Harry was feeling through a very thick blanket. He was still jerking around uncontrollably, still screaming, but it didn't… it didn't seem like it was happening to him. Harry looked up at the nice man and saw that his jaw was clenched very hard and he was very pale.
If Harry hadn't been screaming, he would have grinned. The nice man was nice, no matter what he seemed to think. He was protecting Harry.
The mean people tried to hurt him for a long time, but the nice man kept protecting him the whole time. Finally the two mean people left the room and Harry and the nice man were left alone. Harry looked up at the nice man with a smile, trying to ignore the tremors that ran through him. Even though they didn't really hurt, they were still annoying.
"Here," the man said, handing Harry the same two potions as before. "They won't come back tonight. I'm sending them out to – out. I don't trust them alone with you, and I have a meeting."
"Is it with your invis'ble friend?" Harry asked. The man shook his head.
"No, it's with someone else. I'm hoping," the man paused, looking upset for some reason, "I'm hoping that he'll be able to assist me."
"What do you need 'sisting for?"
"I have two days before my Master returns. If all goes well, you will not be here when He comes."
"And your meeting will help?"
"Yes," the man said. "Now, take your potions. No more talking." Harry took the dirty socks potion and the better tasting potion and settled down to sleep.
"You're nice," he said. Maybe if he said it enough, the nice man would start to believe it. The nice man snorted, but he didn't deny it in words, which Harry counted as an improvement. The door locked behind the man, and Harry let himself fall all the way asleep. No one would be able to hurt him, not with the nice man looking out for him.
That night, Harry had a really weird dream. He was in a long, dark hallway. At the end of the hallway he could see a door that was cracked open, warm firelight spilling out and voices murmuring within. Harry crept forward, straining to hear. When he came to the end of the hallway, he slipped into the room. He gasped in delight. The nice man was there, pacing in front of the fire. There was another man there, who looked a little familiar, but Harry couldn't remember where he had seen him before. He was really old, with a long, white beard and sky blue robes.
"The boy is, thus far, physically unharmed," the nice man said, his voice quick and low. "He has been tortured, of course, but I have attempted to mitigate the damage."
"Sit down, my boy. You'll wear yourself out," said the old man.
"Headmaster, I cannot stay long. I sent Fellows, Porter, and Yarrow out on a raid, but I don't trust them not to return and do worse in my absence." Still, the nice man sat. "I need your help. I have a plan, but-"
"Are you certain that is wise?" the old man said. The nice man looked dumbstruck.
"Har – Potter is the Chosen One. I have heard the prophecy just as you have, even if I didn't hear it all. It is imperative that we stage a rescue as quickly as possible. In two days' time-"
"In two days' time, Voldemort will return." The nice man flinched. "You have already told me this, Severus. The question is, what should we do in that time?" Harry grinned. He finally knew the nice man's name.
"You should find a way to rescue him, of course!" Severus said. "Headmaster, if the Dark Lord kills the boy, the war will be lost."
"Perhaps," Headmaster said. "It is not wise to put too much stock in prophecies, my boy. It may be better to allow Voldemort to confront Harry. If he truly has the power to vanquish the Dark Lord…"
"He is a child. You can't honestly believe-"
"I believe that, if allowed to attempt to circumvent the prophecy, Voldemort may, in fact, bring about its conclusion." The old man glanced over at Severus, whose face was twisted with anger. "Do not pretend to be surprised, my boy. You know better than most the risks and sacrifices that this war asks of us."
"Yes, I do," Severus said. "Is it really so surprising, then, that when I have a chance to save someone, to do something fucking good, I try to do it?"
"Severus…" The old man looked so deeply sad that Harry wanted to give him a hug, even if he was talking about letting Severus's Master hurt Harry.
"No, Headmaster. I won't – I can't just let Harry die. I had hoped that you would help me, make it look like an Order raid, but I can see that it was too much to expect you to make my job easier."
"Severus, try to understand-"
"Oh, I understand. I understand that you're treating a child like you treat your spies." Severus stood. "Don't worry, Headmaster. My cover will stay intact. Expect the boy back within the next two days. I will likely follow shortly thereafter. The Dark Lord is hardly forgiving of failure, after all, and I'm about to fail Him quite terribly." Severus swept out of the room, tense and angry. The old man stared into the flames, letting out a deep, bone-weary sigh.
"Good luck, my boy," he whispered, as though he didn't believe that anything Severus did could result in good things happening.