Disturbances

Chapter 2

July 31, 1996

Harry couldn't sleep. And though it was a relief to say it wasn't the nightmares this time, the cause wasn't much better. He had awoken that morning to a burning ache in his body.

'Happy Birthday to me,' Harry mumbled to himself. He spent half the day imagining his bones slowly splintering off into thousands of shards digging against his skin, then immediately tried to shake the image, fearing it might be a correct assessment.

His usual chores in the garden did little to distract him from the pain, but at least they didn't exacerbate it any further. It was a constant ache, never once changing in intensity and by that evening, Harry was beginning to feel slightly nervous. At first he tried to explain it away as some sort of weird growing pains, but those wouldn't last a whole day. At least he didn't think so. As he was lying in bed, trying to ignore the hurt, he wondered if he'd been cursed. Perhaps Voldemort had figured out a way past the wards. He found that highly unlikely though. Vernon was on a work trip this week, but Petunia and Dudley remained in the house. And if anything had happened, no doubt the Order would have shown up on his doorstep by now.

He should probably send a message to Dumbledore. But what if he woke up tomorrow and it was gone? Then he'd feel really stupid. And with his luck, Snape would find out about the message and have even more reason to believe he was an arrogant snot wasting valuable time with complaints about a few growing pains.

Thinking about Snape was a welcome distraction, though he realized he'd been doing it a lot lately. The man confused him. It didn't take long into the summer holidays for him to recognize that Snape had probably alerted the Order as to where Harry and his friends had run off to at the end of term. He didn't want to accept it, he wanted to blame Snape. He wanted to hate Snape as he always had. The man tormented him on a daily basis. Yet then he turned around and saved him at every opportunity. Harry couldn't understand it. The memory in the pensieve explained some of it. He would probably dislike Dudley's son. Or Malfoy's. Especially if they were a carbon copy of their fathers. But he wouldn't go so far as to humiliate and degrade them.

Thinking about the pensieve incident made his stomach turn. He wanted his father to have been a better person. And Sirius. Then he wondered if he had grown up with them, instead of the Dursleys, would he be a bully too? He had to believe his father changed, realized his error. Otherwise, Harry knew he wouldn't be able to think of him fondly ever again. But Remus had said they were young and foolish. People make mistakes. Harry knew that all too well. He had been such an idiot last year. He didn't listen to anyone. He didn't want to believe his visions were tricks. He acted without considering the options, and now Sirius was dead and his friends had been hurt. He knew it wasn't entirely his fault, everyone made their own choices, but his played a big part.

Harry shifted around in bed, trying to get comfortable. Maybe he should apologize to Snape? As much as he disliked the man, he had a sense of respect for him. The idea of spying on Voldemort was a terrifying prospect Harry couldn't even begin to imagine. And Dumbledore wouldn't trust someone unless he had a good reason. As much as Harry didn't want to admit it, Snape's opinion of him hurt. It bothered him that the man thought so little of him. He probably imagined Harry laughing over the memory he had seen. Harry wanted him to know that he hadn't told anyone. That he very much wasn't laughing. That he understood.

Harry sat up. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well be productive. He grabbed some parchment and ink and began to write. He wished he could see Snape's face when he received a letter from Harry. He'd probably want to throw it in the fire. But Harry knew he would have to read it, in case it was important Order information. Or he was in trouble. Though Harry contacting Snape first in an emergency was highly laughable. Snape was probably near the bottom of his list for those he'd ask for help.

Harry sighed, feeling more serious as he started to write. He hoped Snape would recognize his sincerity, though he mostly doubted it. Harry felt a bit anxious at the thought. When had Snape's opinion begun to matter to him? Maybe it was after he saw his memories and considered the fact that there was more to Snape then Harry's hatred had let him see. Not that Harry liked the guy or anything that drastic. Years of caustic remarks during potions were hard to erase, among other run-ins. But Harry was determined to make the right choices this year. Snape was an important member of the Order and despite everything, he was on Harry's side. Harry needed to stop acting like a child.

He kept the letter short, afraid Snape might not have the patience to read much of what Harry had to say. He sealed it carefully and took Hedwig out of her cage. He had kept her close by for most of the summer, in case of an emergency, but he figured he might as well send his letter now. The Order was supposedly checking up on him every other day anyway. And he needed Snape to read his apology. His anxiety over the matter increased while he was writing.

He opened his window, sending Hedwig on her way with a whispered thanks, then settled back into bed. The ache continued and Harry wished he had thought to take some dreamless sleep potion with him before leaving Hogwarts. He was sure Madame Pomfrey would have provided at least one bottle after what happened at the Ministry. Harry's mind drifted and he remembered Vernon would be back the following day. He had rather enjoyed the slightly more relaxing week without him. Hopefully he had a successful trip, otherwise Harry would bare the brunt of the consequences. He didn't look forward to days without food or the possibility of being locked in his room. Harry sighed, twisting the blanket between his fingers. One month down, one to go. Harry hoped it would go by fast.

"Severus, how nice of you to join us!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together, a smile lighting up his face. Snape rolled his eyes and sat down at the table next to the headmaster. He picked up a mug of coffee, downing half, before speaking.

"Albus, you know I like to spend my holidays brewing without the interruption of incompetent students who can't take two steps without causing some sort of disorder." He finished off the rest of his coffee and grabbed the Daily Prophet.

"I understand Severus. Though we will always be glad of your company." Snape scowled as Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. He hoped he would die before his eyes did anything similar to that blasted sparkling.

Dumbledore's mouth drew down and the lines on his face tightened as his thoughts shifted. "I am glad for the quiet of the last month, however I admit to a feeling of foreboding."

Snape nodded, tossing the newspaper back down. "The Dark Lord has only summoned me once this summer. I do not fit into his plans to further infiltrate the Ministry, and with Potter at his relatives, there's not much he can do. I am more worried about Draco."

Dumbledore looked away. "Draco will do anything Tom asks. We both know he believes fully in the cause, what with Lucius' influence."

"Yes, Albus, but he's still just a boy. If I could somehow convince him to let me help-"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "You know, as well as I, that Draco is a stubborn and prideful individual. He will want to do this on his own. You can talk to him, but don't push him too far. However, you might contact Lucius. Draco would confide in him above anyone else."

Snape frowned, knowing Dumbledore was right. The Dark Lord would undoubtedly assign his youngest and newest recruit an impossible task, just for the pleasure of punishing him when he failed. "We can guess that whatever the task, it will most likely affect Hogwarts in some way." Dumbledore nodded his assent. "We will keep a close eye on him Severus. For now, that is all we can do."

An owl flew towards Snape, interrupting the conversation as a letter knocked the toast off his plate. He glared at the bird, then immediately recognized the snowy owl as Potter's. He looked down at the letter, expecting to see Albus' name on the front, figuring the bird had made a mistake. He frowned in confusion at the untidy scrawl of 'Professor Snape'.

"Young Harry has sent you a letter! That's very kind of him Severus. Perhaps he has a question about potions." Dumbledore looked like Christmas had come early and Snape was tempted to hold the letter up to his face and rip it to shreds.

"Potter has yet to turn in any sort of satisfactory summer assignment in his five years. I highly doubt he would show any initiative now. I do not believe him capable. This will be a rant, blaming me for the mutt and his own incompetency at clearing his mind." The urge to burn the letter became greater the longer Snape stared at it. He had already wrinkled it in his grasp.

"Now Severus," Dumbledore looked grim, "I have told you time and again to give Harry a chance. He must trust you and you've done very little to earn that trust."

"The boy is a fool Albus. He's too caught up in himself, strutting around and getting into constant trouble, not thinking once about his own safety or the safety of others for that matter! I've saved him time and again, more than enough to earn his trust I would think. But has he acknowledged that fact even once? No. He is too busy soaking up the praise from his admiring fans." The scraping of Snape's chair echoed across the hall as he abruptly stood. "If you'll excuse me Albus, I have more work to do."

"Of course, Severus." Dumbledore watched Snape stalk away, feeling weary. He did note, however, that Snape kept the letter firmly grasped in his hand.

Snape threw down the ladle he was using to stir a potion. It clanked loudly on the table and fell to the floor.

"Blasted Potter!" Snape glared at the botched potion. He couldn't concentrate. The letter sat unopened on his desk. He sighed loudly and went to pick it up. He wanted to toss it, unread, into the fireplace. The satisfaction of seeing the parchment burn would do wonders for his now awful mood. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. As much as he highly doubted it, the boy might need help. Why on earth he would contact Severus for said help was beyond his comprehension.

He ripped open the letter, scowling at the messy writing. At least he could write a scathing reply to cheer himself up afterwards.

Dear Professor,

I would like to apologize for my actions this past year. It was thoughtless and disrespectful of me to look into your pensieve. I know you think I'm like my father and that I enjoyed what I saw, but I didn't.
I'm sorry I didn't try harder with Remedial Potions either. I thought I could help somehow, if I knew more. Obviously I was wrong and people were hurt because of it.
I'm sorry if this disturbed your holidays.

Sincerely,

Harry

Snape tapped his foot on the ground. He was conflicted. He wanted very badly to accuse the boy of lies and send back a reply reprimanding him for his actions, but every time he reached for a quill, he stopped himself. He could feel the distasteful beginnings of guilt niggling at the back of his mind. He didn't like the possibility of misjudgment.

Snape growled. The boy was wise enough to keep the letter short and to the point as well, which somehow only served to anger him more. He paced back and forth in front of his desk, annoyed at the brat for causing him to feel so flustered. Snape did not fluster. Ever. Now he was questioning his attitude towards Potter and that was unacceptable. The boy was just like his father, always had been and always would be. But his mind betrayed him, flashing back to the brief glimpses of memories he'd seen during the disastrous Occlumency lessons.

Snape stopped pacing and sat heavily in his chair, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He had only seen flashes of the boy's memories of his relatives. A dog chasing him up a tree, something about hiding in a cupboard, and the possibility of someone swinging a pan at him. He had purposely allowed the visions to remain blurry, not examining them closely enough to see what was happening. He allowed his annoyance with the brat to guide his actions, pushing his brief curiosity away in favor of his belief of a ridiculously spoiled child.

The letter was still in his hand, taunting him. Snape had no intention of replying, but he decided he would speak to the boy at the start of term and assess the sincerity behind his apology in person. It was also an excellent opportunity to take away points from Gryffindor because the brat had indeed disturbed his holidays. Snape smirked at the thought, feeling slightly better. He stood and moved towards the ruined potion. He had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment, such as creating potions for the Dark Lord that would do the least damage, but maintain his place in the inner circle. Snape tossed the letter aside. Potter could wait.

Harry was in shock. At least he assumed that's what it was as he sat on the cold tile of the kitchen floor. He wondered briefly if he should move or hide or something, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to do anything except stare at his uncle's red, sweaty face.

He had awoken that morning to the disappointing continuance of pain. However, it was slightly duller, so he figured it would probably disappear all together in a day or two. The morning had progressed normally, with Petunia handing him a list of chores and Dudley ordering him around for more sandwiches and making sure to accidentally shove him into the wall several times. But then Vernon returned home.

Harry was in the kitchen cleaning the sink when he heard the door slam open and the heavy footsteps of his Uncle stomping into the entryway. His heart dropped. He glanced at the pantry, wondering if he had time to shove some food into his mouth before Vernon locked him in his room.

"Petunia!" Vernon roared, as hurried footsteps came down the stairs.

"Vernon darling, what is it? What's wrong?"

Harry jumped at the sound of Vernon throwing his suitcase to the floor. "Where's the boy?" Vernon growled. Harry froze.

"He's in the kitchen. What happened dear?"

Harry heard Vernon storming through the house towards him. His breathing sped up and he suddenly felt very cold as a memory washed over him. It wasn't his though, it was Snape as a little boy, cowering in front of his father. Harry didn't have time to move as Vernon barged into the room, a look of insane fury in his eyes.

"You," he pointed a shaking finger at Harry, "This is your fault." Harry backed up against the counter as Vernon came closer.

"I-I didn't do anything Uncle Vernon, I-" Harry stuttered.

"Shut up freak!" Vernon bellowed, eyes bulging and spittle flying. "We let you into our home and raise you as one of our own. And this is how you repay us?" Harry could smell the alcohol on his breath, and he tried to think of something that would calm him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't do anything, I swear!" Harry stared horrified as his Uncle continued to take heaving breaths in front of him. Then suddenly Harry was on the floor, a ringing in his ears and a sharp pain in his temple. His uncle had punched him. Harry sat, holding his hand up to his face. Vernon had always slapped him around a bit, but he'd never hit him. He'd been rough, but never violent.

Petunia stepped into the kitchen, mirroring Harry's shocked look. "Vernon." She reached to touch his arm, but he swung around.

"Get out Petunia." Harry saw fear in her eyes as she hesitated, then left, not once meeting Harry's gaze.

Vernon turned back to Harry. "I lost my job boy. Are you happy?" Harry shook his head quickly, scooting backwards on the floor. "And it's all your fault, with your freak...magic!"

Harry's back hit the refrigerator, blocking his retreat. He glanced around for something to defend himself, but saw nothing. All the knives and pans were on the opposite side of the kitchen, blocked by Vernon's bulky mass. Harry thought of his wand upstairs, he could make a run for it. The brief thought of another inquiry trial for underage magic made him pause, but his fear took precedence. Harry stood slowly, using the fridge as support and keeping his eyes on Vernon. His uncle was much to close for comfort, but he didn't have any other choice. He made his decision and turned, darting towards the dining room.

He had only taken two steps when he felt a hand grab the back of his shirt, pulling him sharply. He fell hard onto his back, head bouncing on the ground. He didn't have time to react when Vernon's foot connected with his stomach, taking his breath away. Harry curled in on himself, trying to suck in air. Vernon leaned down, grabbing his bicep and roughly jerking Harry to his feet. Harry swayed, the pain in his head and stomach increasing at the abrupt movement.

"You need to learn boy," Vernon spit into his face. "You need to learn what a freak you are."