Harry lay on park bench on his back, his arm flopped across his face as a shield against the sunlight. His headache was nearing Voldemort-scar-level intensity. He knew he probably deserved it from getting so shit-faced the night before, but he just wanted to lay down and wallow in self pity for an hour or two or three.
He should go back to the Dursleys'. He knew that the wards had gone off and people were probably hunting for him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. All he wanted to do was live a bit, have some fun like a normal kid. The Dursleys didn't care that he disappeared. They usually had him locked in his room when he wasn't locked out of the house anyway.
His escapades during the summer had included biweekly midnight trips to the park up the road to drink himself into oblivion. And, more fun, frequent vacationing to the abandoned shed behind the Miller's to bang the muggle kid Thomas from up the road. Harry's potions grade might be worsening, but at least his deep throating skills were improving.
His escape to London to go clubbing probably wasn't his brightest idea of the summer. His aching body was definitely regretting it. It wasn't like he was some pure virgin either. More and more he had been playing the role of reckless sex addict. But hell, his body hurt this time, and his skin looked like it had danced on Vernon's belt buckle for crying out loud. Why did the night have to end up going so badly?
"Enjoying the day in the park, huh? Well, you look like you could use some company."
Harry squinted up. Some old guy in a suit was standing over him. Harry forced himself into a sitting position, groaning at his headache. "Um, yeah…" I'm not in the mood to chat so get lost, old geezer.
"Want to spend some time with me this afternoon? I could use the companionship. How much for an hour?"
Was he….? Harry's jaw dropped open. The man wanted to pay for him? Suddenly it clicked. He was still wearing that fishnet top poorly obscured under a leather jacket. The man must think he was some sort of prostitute or something. Harry was caught so off guard that he didn't know what to say.
"This transaction will not be happening, I can assure you. Or should I call the police?"
A familiar voice spoke from directly over Harry's shoulder. Harry was so startled at the proximity that he fell forward, narrowly missing head-diving into the old man's arms.
Harry whirled around. Snape was standing there, behind the bench that Harry had been on, arms on hips and the fiercest scowl on his face. Where did he step out from? Surely he hadn't just magically appeared?
"Uh, um…" the strange old man mumbled something incoherent under his breath and quickly hurried away, leaving Harry alone with a very angry Snape.
Harry was tempted to run after the man and beg to go with him, even for free, but his feet seemed stuck to the ground. A sticking charm, or was this fear?
"At last I have found the Not-So-Golden-Boy," sneered Snape. He stepped over to Harry and laid a hand on his shoulder. Harry was being steered through the park and down a dark side street. He really wanted to try to make a break for it but Snape's hands was clenching his shoulder too tightly. His fingers dug into the space above Harry's collarbone like a leech. He was in so much trouble.
As if reading his thoughts, which Harry wouldn't put past the git to somehow be capable of, Snape hissed, "You are in so much trouble."
Snape stopped, and Harry lifted his head up to realize they were in some sort of dark alleyway with no one around. No escaping now.
Suddenly everything blurred, and the familiar feeling of apparition hit Harry. As soon as it begun it had stopped, and Harry knew he would be lying face-down on the ground if Snape's vice-like grip wasn't still latched onto his shoulder.
They were standing on a slab of stone in front of a door belonging to a place that looked like a haunted house from a horror book. The door magically began to open, creaking open with a sound like the voices of a thousand tortured souls.
"Say hello to your new dwelling place, Mr. Potter. This is Snape Manor."
Overcome with something akin to hysteria, Harry really did try to wrench himself out of Snape's grip. He knew it was illogical. It wasn't like he could just run back to London when he had no idea where the hell he was, but his feet seemed to have different plans. He managed to turn around and lift up his foot to take a step when Snape shoved him backwards and through the door.
Harry lost his balance. He landed on his back, sliding a bit on the polished wooden floors. An outraged Snape stood over him. He tried to scramble to his feet but Snape was faster. He grabbed Harry by the shoulder and hoisted him to a standing position like a rag doll. Before he could resist, Snape was once again dragging him forward. They were going up a staircase. Then Snape opened a door and once again Harry was pushed forward.
Harry, luckily, was able to catch his balance this time.
He was standing in a bedroom with an antique looking huge four-corner canopy bed on the opposite wall. What got his attention right away wasn't the bed but what was on top of the bed. Was that his trunk? And Hedwig? But how had it gotten here? And how did Snape have it? What in the world was happening?
Harry was shaking. "You can't keep me here!" Harry said, his voice coming out in a hysterical screech. "I-I need to go back to the Dursleys. They will be wondering where I am."
Snape held out a long piece of paper, looking bored. Harry took it in trembling hands, his eyes sinking to the bottom of the page. There, on a line, was Vernon's ugly signature.
"You've been signed away to me, Potter. I suggest you get used to the idea as quickly as possible."
"You mean you are kidnapping me?" Harry tried to look over the paper to see if it was legit, but he was shaking so bad somehow the words were jumbled together before his eyes.
"Call it what you like, though I will have you know that the Headmaster has put me up to it and your old guardians have consented. No one wants you, not even me, but alas one cannot always get what they want."
"This-this is forged!" Harry ripped the paper in half then began to crumble it in his fists. He was beginning to really panic now. He was lightheaded and swaying on his feet, and he felt like no matter how much he gasped the room was lacking in oxygen. He wouldn't put it past Snape to have poisoned the air or something.
"That was a copy. It was made for your benefit, with Professor Dumbledore's signature as well, though I see you have no need of it." sneered Snape, looking down at Harry with scorn.
"This is impossible! This can't be happening!"
"Reality is hard to handle at times. Running from it, I can assure you, only makes it worse. You are a prime example of this. If you hadn't ran away so much this summer, maybe this wouldn't be necessary. Too bad you cannot run away any longer, Potter."
Snape exited the room and shut the door behind him. Harry ran to the door and tried to open it, but it held fast.