Harry has become different, more so than ever.
Marcus Flint growled as he stalked the halls of Hogwarts. He needed a shower and sleep and he was going to get it. Shucking the black robes that draped his large frame, he slid them inside the never-ending bag on his waist viciously. Damn Voldemort and his fucking orgy revels.
As he got closer to the Slytherin quarters, he heard something that was familiar but unidentifiable at the moment. It came from the boy's restroom just feet from the Potions classroom, the sound even louder. It was the sound of retching, he identified, as he opened the door on silent hinges. One of the stalls was closed and a small foot poked out along with the trailing end of robes. The red and gold tie flung into one of the sinks clued him into what house but a lot of the Gryffindor students were fairly small, much smaller than most Slytherins.
When he opened the door, he didn't expect to recognize the dark head over the toilet in dry heaves. The watery eyes of the boy-who-lived gazed back at him sadly before he was violently ill again, chocking on it as he tried to stop vomiting. On impulse Marcus stood over him, holding back his hair as he got sick again and again until there was nothing left to bring back up. Harry wiped his mouth on his sleeve to try and clean his face and maybe get the bile taste out of his mouth.
"What was that about, Potter?" Marcus demanded softly . . . for him which translated to near snarling the question in a Snape-esque tone.
Harry was too tired and drained to care that one of his enemies and a Slytherin stood over him in a boy's lavatory. All that he truly cared for was that he was not alone anymore, that there was a human within his small world of pain and disgust. And, hopefully, that the visions had stopped running through his mind like a movie reel.
Marcus was surprised when the small teen latched onto his waist like a drowning man, holding on as tight as he could while he sobbed into the much larger teen's chest. Marcus stood still, his next impulse to crush the little fool pushed down as he stared hard at the boy. At nineteen, Marcus was repeating his seventh year for the third time since he was much better inside the castle than out in the task force. The delicately small fifteen year old holding onto him like a limpet should have been running away from the giant of a teen. Instead, he was near trying to squeeze him in half even if it wasn't working all that well.
"Oh Merlin, it hurts," he moaned into Marcus' chest as his body shook harshly and twitched as if he had been under the Cruciatus. In fact . . . a lot of the symptoms were that of the Cruciatus curse. It was . . . puzzling. He lifted the boy's face to his own and saw more of the problematic symptoms. If it were not for the fact that he had been at the revel, he would have thought Potter had been there under Voldemort's wand.
"Potter, were you hit with a Cruciatus?"
Harry shook his head. "N-not directly," he moaned as his teeth chattered. Marcus stared at him. How can you not be directly hit with a Cruciatus? It was not possible. You were either hit or you weren't.
"How is that possible, Potter? Answer me," he bit out.
Harry shook his head even as he threatened to shake apart. This was who Voldemort, the Dark Lord, was afraid of? This child that was so weak and frail? But . . . he showed something Marcus had never seen before. "I-I c-can't tell you. I'm s-sorry."
Marcus growled. "Damn it, Potter! Why not?"
Harry blinked large green eyes up at him, his glasses gone for now – probably on the floor – and gave Marcus a soul searing stare. "I c-could die."
The large teen nearly jerked back at that. It wasn't an Oath, Potter would be dead for just mentioning his probable death, but whatever it was would most likely send even the hardiest and most vicious Slytherins running when answered. It just had that kind of feeling to the look. Deciding he couldn't be more of a stupid arse, Marcus swung Potter into his arms and set off for the Hospital wing and hoped a few of his questions could be answered on the way.
"Why were you near Slytherin?"
Harry blinked blearily at the teen. "Detention for a failed potions."
Marcus nodded. That was plausible, even likely, but not the truth. However, since the Gryffindor was able to come up with the lie in his current condition, he let it slide. For now. "How is it possible to not be hit directly with the Cruciatus?"
It he could gain that kind of intelligence, he could probably save his neck at a later date. Divert the curse to someone else and all that. When Harry remained stubbornly silent, Marcus growled. "Potter! I need to know."
"I c-can't! I just can't tell you. Please stop. Please, please, don't ask again," Harry pleaded into Marcus' shirt as he hid his face. "I really can't tell you."
Marcus cursed in a vile manner, his arms curling around the teen almost harshly. Harry whimpered but didn't protest. Even when it became hard for him to breathe, alerting Marcus with the soft wheezing of air. He loosened his grip enough that it wouldn't seem like he gave a bloody damn about the boy, he didn't want gratitude. Hell, he didn't even care to be liked.
Adrian Pucey and Blaise Zambini met them on their way, the two looking on with wary surprised looks . . . for a Slytherin. Only their widened eyes gave away their astonishment. Deciding to follow in mutual silence, the pair tagged along like swift silent shadows. No one really heard them, only the soft swish of cloth occasionally and the even softer step of their shoes on the stone floor. Harry was near gone as he hung in a haze that would cause worry in the three if it hadn't been for their inbred dislike of the boy. Still, it was problematic that Potter was almost catatonic. It would not do well to be caught out for something they did not do.
Grabbing the door for them, Adrian waited until the rest had entered before closing the door softly and casting privacy charms to alert the trio to any intruders or late wounded Hogwarts students.
"Madame Promphrey," Blaise called out in a voice like silky thunder. Almost as tall as Marcus, Blaise Zambini was far from finished growing, the tall fifth year shadow dark with small ebony curls for hair. His eyes were as dark as his hair, the glowing black a different shade than Snape and lot less viciously raging. But it was not just these traits that set him apart, it was his toned, broad shoulders and massive legs that brought to mind a runner who lifted weights to balance his body, not to mention his darkly sharp face that rang of Italian decent.
No answer came, the infirmary silent in an unusual way. Apparently the school nurse had been called away. Adrian was checking all the rooms and the office to make sure no one was there just in case as Marcus set Harry on one of the beds and pulled the curtain while Blaise set about diagnosing the smallest of them with his wand. Harry was too exhausted to really battle with them and sat there clutching Marcus' shirt in a desperate grip. Blaise actually let out a silent gasp when the deep scan results printed itself out. He made copies of it for Marcus and Adrian as he went to one of the many cabinets to find a nerve soothing potion and a pain potion.
"Is there anything we should avoid?"
Harry looked up at the blurry figure and nodded. "Dreamless Sleep."
"Any reason why?" Adrian asked in a soft voice that had grabbed many a girl and tugged them in. Harry tilted his head to look at him with a mild frown of confusion.
"Just how many of you are there?" he mused in confusion. "And I don't take it because I'll be stuck in . . . well, unpleasant stuff." He yawned as he suddenly felt bone deep weariness sweep over him in a wave. He laid with his head on Marcus' chest with a sleepy pout. "Merlin, I'm tired . . ."
"Not surprising," murmured Blaise as he finished getting a few more potions to administer to Potter. Stalking back to the small group, he slipped around the curtain and handed Harry the first of several potions. The small teen blinked and sniffed each potion before sucking them down, only one set to the side. It was a mild sedative potion but when coupled with a pain potion, it made one so drowsy as to be unable to wake easily. Harry couldn't have something like that happen.
"Why not that one, Potter?" Adrian grunted. It almost sounded like he was angry but Harry was able to hear certain inflections and knew for a fact that he wasn't.
He yawned before answering. "Th-that one is a mild sleep sedative and it's hard to wake up." He scrubbed his eyes with a sleepy yawning squeak. Marcus shifted uncomfortably as the small teen all but cuddled into his chest. Blaise and Adrian smirked at the large boy as he held Harry to his chest so the boy wouldn't fall.
"Are you seriously going to sleep with three Slytherins and near sworn enemies in the room."
Harry flapped a hand at them. "I hurt too much to care. And," he paused to yawn once again, "if you wanted to hurt me you wouldn't have helped me."
Adrian smirked at the Slytherin logic coming from the Gryffindor Golden Boy. Blaise snorted but allowed that Potter actually knew what he was talking about. Marcus just tried to dislodge those tiny fingers without much success. Harry gurgled a soft laugh as he pried his hands off, the nerves still slightly twitching and making it hard to force any of his muscles to move. Blaise noticed with a small frown.
Harry's breathing evened out softly and alerting the three Slytherin teens to the now venerable Gryffindor. Blaise waited until Marcus had laid the boy down carefully as if handling glass before bringing the other two over. His face was frozen and determined. Adrian and Marcus shared a look of slight confusion and mild worry.
"Yeah, what'cha want?" Marcus snarled almost kindly. Actually, Adrian was sure that he had never heard or seen Marcus do anything other than snarl, unless it was silently glower at the object of his frustration.
"Yeah, Blaise. What's up?" He leaned his hip on one of the beds as he looked at the list Blaise suddenly thrust into his face. With a shrug he read it, his eyes widening and his jaw dropping to his knees in pure astonishment. "What the fuck is this, Blaise?"
Marcus growled as he scanned the list, some of the things on there done to him and several other pure blood wizard children to make them stronger, faster, scarier. "Zambini . . . answers. Now!"
The dark Slytherin looked at the tiny Potter boy, the list, and then his House mates. "This is his list of injuries since he was born. I did a Full-History scan."
Adrian whistled in shock. "Well bloody damn."
Marcus seemed to second him as the giant teen ground his teeth. It was like looking at one of their Full-History scans . . . only much worse. They had never been starved to such an extent, or ruthlessly beaten to the point of death more times than they had fingers before turning seven. Not to mention the other things that seemed to be piling up from age eleven to fifteen. It was as if Potter had been through a Hell Boot Camp.
"Why would Dumbledore do this to his Golden Boy?" snapped Adrian in a very oddly protective way.
Blaise shrugged. "I doubt the old fool actually knows of the extensive abuse with his second chance motto. He looks on with rose colored glasses."
Marcus was too furious to open his mouth but something struck him. It was as if Potter was at every revel held since the Dark Lord had returned, the Cruciatus the main sufferance. Since that curse was a favorite of Voldemort, it would be understandable . . . if he had been there. There were several other discrepancies, mostly in second and third year, that didn't quite add up. It was as if the kid had been in a war during the school years and no one knew about it.
Adrian shared a look with his House mates. "This is disgusting, even to me. I thought he lived with muggles and not pure blood extremists."
Blaise blinked at him slowly. Adrian sighed and folded the list up before shoving it in his pocket. Tonight had been a long night, the need for a shower almost over-powering after the revel. Marcus seemed to second him. It was as the three were leaving that the screaming began. Blaise had his wand out and pointed before his mind caught up with his body. Marcus and Adrian were set in solid stances more suited for hand-to-hand combat. It was a second before they realized it was Potter who was screaming in such agony.
When they moved the curtains back, it was as if Potter was suffering under the Cruciatus and his scar was a vivid red that gave way to a small stream of blood running back into his hair. Marcus cursed as he held Harry down, Adrian helping Blaise find pain potions as their hearts tried to beat out of their chests. They had seen torture before, done it on occasion, but never had it affected them so much.
"Potter? POTTER! Wake up! Get your lazy ARSE UP!" Marcus bit out into his ear. Harry seemed to hear him and struggled to wake up, the screaming tapering off into soft whines and pained whimpers.
"NOOOoooo! No more! Please . . . please, I don't want to see anymore," the tiny teen sobbed out as he clung once again to Marcus. Blaise had the vial of pain potion ready to tip into the boy's mouth but hesitated.
"What do you see, Potter?" he asked in a whiskey tone meant to sooth.
The boy sniffled and rubbed his face in Marcus' chest like a kitten would. "Death . . . pain . . . torture. V-Voldemort taking his wand to a small child," he whispered heart-brokenly. The three grimaced. They hadn't been there for that part of the revel since it had started so early, but were not going to complain about missing the torture and subsequent rape of a seven year old girl. "Her screams . . . and then, his own f-followers tortured for killing her too q-quick. The curse . . . it burns and it hurts so much. He was laughing as he forced them to rape each other and the muggle f-family."
Tears streamed down a pale face from behind closed eyes. It was as if Harry was radiating with pain, a deep emotional and mental pain. Adrian and Blaise shared a look as Marcus gave a grunting sigh. But one thing kept bugging them. How did Potter know?
"How do you know this? How do you see it?" Blaise again murmured in a thick soothing tone. Potter jerked and cried as he held his defining scar with one hand. He didn't answer but the Slytherins were wide eyed and frozen in shock. Did Potter of all people have a connection to the Dark Lord because of a scar? If he did . . . the Slytherins shared a look with each other, their dark eyes confirming to each other. This was not a simple rescue for the sake of it anymore. This was a whole other ball game.
Blaise stepped forward, pushing the pain potion into Potter's mouth and stroking his throat to force him to swallow. When the potion started working, Potter sighed sleepily and snuggled into his human teddy bear as he slept. Adrian grinned widely to show how badly he wanted to start laughing at seeing Marcus Flint, nineteen year old, third time through seventh year, and all around bastard of Slytherin being loved on by an unconscious Harry Potter. Blaise hmmmed at the scene before taking a quick picture – without the flash for he had no death wish – and then moving off back down the infirmary. Adrian followed at a docile pace with a much smaller grin now as they waited for Marcus to pry himself loose. The largest of the three met them moments later a little disheveled and scowling mutinously.
Adrian took down his wards with a flick and the three vanished into the shadows of the school as they headed back to their dorms.