My Own, Chapter 7:
Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling therefore do not own the characters etc. etc.
3rd Person POV:
Potions Classroom:
Harry turned around to Severus.
"Professor, could I please use a unicorn hair?" He asked.
With a nod, Severus went to the storage room. As Severus rummaged around, he didn't complain about doing a favour for Harry – his feelings were, for once, neutral. But perhaps this was because he was too tired to even allow his body to spare the idea of such energetic distaste – anger and hate were rather draining. He climbed the ladder elegantly and found the vial of unicorn hair. Upon coming back down, his descent was less graceful and he attempted to lightly grab a shelf to balance himself but instead, grabbed a book. With a quick muttering of some spell, he was stabilized on the ladder, but he wasn't quick enough to catch the book as it fell. The thud it made was familiar to Severus, and without even looking at it, he knew what it was; the quick skin contact with the rough cover was hard to deny. Reaching the ground, he gently kicked the book under the shelves, deciding to get it later after he handed Potter the unicorn hair. He wasn't in much of a mood for reliving at the moment.
With all ingredients, Harry set off to work as Severus sleepily watched him from his desk. Two stirs right, boil for three minutes and 56 seconds then stir thrice anticlockwise – all was going well, until Harry had accidently added the unicorn's hair before the duck's guts. Smoke bellowed from the cauldron, quickly consuming the room. Severus came rushing over, the movement seeming miraculous given his state.
"What have you done now, Potter?" He asked, though not as harsh as usual. Harry swore and kicked a chair.
"I screwed it up, that's what." He snapped.
What happened next was the beginning, in so many ways, for both Harry and Severus individually as well as together. Rather then exploding at Harry, proving how stupid, arrogant and selfish he is, a typical teenager who can't manage to do anything, Severus just calmly looked into the cauldron and glanced at the instructions before quietly speaking.
"You haven't 'screwed it up'; it'll just take a bit more work to set it right." He explained, taking over the workspace, adding various ingredients. Harry watched, shocked, as Severus helped him. Snape looked at him from the corner of his eye.
"Chop us some wartroot and crush the graphite." Snape ordered, his voice no longer holding the crisp, harsh edge. Harry quickly obeyed, chopping and crushing to perfection while Snape levitated other ingredients from the store room. Eventually, the potion began to turn back to the expected yellow colour and Snape stood back, letting Harry take over without another word. Exhausted beyond belief, Snape retired to his desk.
Once the potion stabilized, Harry walked over to Severus. Severus, who was slumped in the chair, sat upright as Harry approached.
"Thanks for helping Professor; I fear I would have had to do it again otherwise." Harry said sincerely, his eyes feeling dry and tired.
"I feared that too – I'd have to stay here longer!" Severus said, half-joking as Harry returned to his potion and bottled it. Holding out the flask as Snape stood up, Harry was relieved to have finished the second last potion. About to hand it over to Snape, Harry looked at it skeptically before quickly retracting the flask, trying to readjust the cork. He'd hate to hand the potion over in any state less then perfect after all of the effort he put into it.
Snape accepted it and as Harry left the room, he heard Snape do something he never thought him capable of – he chuckled. But I guess that can be expected from a man who has not slept decently in weeks.
With the eventual sleep, dreams came too, and Severus had one of the most detailed, sweet dreams since the separation from Lily. It was an unconventional dream in the sense that it also incorporated some of Snape's memories, some of the happy moments he relived through the Pensieve. For a short time, the hole in his heart was healed and forgotten.
It was a cold winter's day, the snow falling heavily, the windows fogging up as the energy of the castle was too much for the passive, freezing weather outside. Severus was sitting in the Great Hall as lunch was being served. All of the students were animatedly talking to each other, some in rushed, loud tones, others in hushed whispers. Nonetheless, everybody in the Hall was alight with excitement. Severus had forgotten the golden roasted potatoes, the sweet cranberry sauce. In fact, he forgot just about everything as he gazed, stared, watched Lily on the other side of the hall. She was talking excitedly to her friends, but it wasn't this which captured Severus' attention for the hundredth time this lunch, but the way she laughed – carefree, musical yet unique. Head leaning on one hand, he longingly gazed until Lily swiftly looked at him – as was her routine- catching Severus staring at her. She winked playfully at him and gave him a smile to which he responded with a rare smile of his own. She gave him a little wave, the ring settled nicely on the fourth finger of her left hand, only making Severus feel happier and elated.
The dream held resemblance for the many sweet things which occurred between Severus and Lily, and his dreams that night were all happy. Yet, when he woke up, he felt something missing - it was her. He supposed he would always feel this way, although the intensity sometimes surprised him. He despised the fact that his life was so controlled, but the hold on him was so deep, so wide, so strong, so intense, that he was forever lost to the cause. Although he hadn't reached the conclusion himself yet, the anger and hate had truly become almost lovers of the past dark decade. It was as though the anger and hate transformed Snape's heart, bathing it, showering it in such cold, bitter indifference that he felt unnerved, stressed, and uncomfortable if he ever left his dark comfortable zone – his dark abyss.
Each time he felt himself ebb towards anything representing life – like self-forgiveness- he recoiled, causing more grief to himself as if he would no longer be Severus if he was no longer miserable. And for each time he snapped back into his familiar, brooding ways, he felt as though he was accepted, himself at ease again – admittedly the recognition of these thoughts would warrant him a permanent fixture at St. Mungo's, but at least in this world which has given him so little, he can understand himself.
So, considering the events in the last few weeks, one could understand his wild mood swings, even if it were not apparent to anybody else. Harry, for example, couldn't understand how Snape was the same person in the day as night for Snape was constantly storming the hallways, a vision of black, unlike his calm self the previous night. It astounded Harry, although admittedly it didn't take much to confuse him on the last day of term; Harry was more detached then ever.
The energetic atmosphere which had been intensifying as the holidays came closer, as a result of the flowing teenage hormones, only made the lethargic and wearied feel even worse. When Harry and Severus entered the Potion's room, they had both entered on at least one point of similarity: both were determined to finish the last potion. Both were exhausted, and both were looking forward to the holidays, each in their own way imagining one night of uninterrupted sleep. Severus' pride began to slacken, his thoughts softened by his dreams.
Harry opened his book and began to organize himself, setting out his cauldron and utensils in the moonlight. Severus peeked over his shoulder to see the potion, then without any further consultation with the textbook, he silently gathered the ingredients. He placed them on the table and watched Harry meticulously prepare them with precision mirroring those of…his parents. Harry was about to put the sliced wartroot into the blue potion, but Snape interrupted.
"Although the book recommends that, I would suggest crushing and drying the wartroot to achieve the texture…" He suggested, giving an example by taking a sample of the wartroot, placing it into the mortar and pestle, and with the hands of a skilled Potions' master, crushing it to liquid before heating it, leaving a fine dust. Harry nodded in response, eagerly prepared to finish the job.
On the train back to Kings' Cross Station, Harry, in between talks with Hermione and Ron, was miserably thinking of what he had to look forward to. Ron was going back to the Burrow to play Quidditch with the twins and Charlie, who was sure to return from his international expeditions with stories about dragons, their unusual characteristics and even wilder mating techniques. Hermione was set to return to her parents, spend a few days doing Muggle things before setting off with her family for a holiday to Australia. But Harry was destined for hell with the Dursleys – being there is sufferable enough, but there was something about his return this time that made him sure it would be worse than ever – it would be Petunia's 40th birthday. Gloomily, Harry looked out of the window as the trees sped by, a flash of green and brown. He couldn't help but notice the pattern that each holiday is worse than the last.
When the students filed off the Hogwarts Express, the Trio met briefly to say goodbye, their families beside them, except Harry's as the Dursleys distanced themselves, if fooling no one else but themselves that they're normal. Hermione moved away from her trunk and gave Harry a big hug.
"I'll send you owls, but don't worry if you can't reply. I don't want you getting into any trouble on my behalf." Hermione said, releasing Harry and glancing at Ron.
"Harry, you should come and stay at the Burrow a few days before school begins, so you can have a bit of a holiday!" Ron said, all three chuckling, Ron and Hermione feeling bad for Harry.
"Er, Hermione, you're welcome to come and stay too." Ron said, half turned towards Hermione, an awkward look on his face.
"Sounds like a plan!" Fred piped up has Hermione breathed "I'd love to."
Mrs Weasly joined the group, ushering them all to depart.
"I'll talk to Dumbledore to tell him that you'll be staying with us for the last few days Harry dear. And you too Hermione." Molly said as she walked over to give Hermione, then Harry, a hug.
"Thank you, I appreciate it." Harry replied, but before Molly could respond, a demanding voice rose from the direction of the Dursleys.
"Harry, hurry up!" Vernon whispered venomously.
"Don't want to stand around these freaks for too long." He whispered as Harry came up to him, Vernon not having the courage to talk any louder. Begrudgingly, Harry towed his trunk and Hedwig's cage, attempting to keep up with the fast pace of the Dursleys'. He tried to keep his head down, trying not to think of people's reaction as the Chosen One hastily followed his distant, rude, Muggle family. He wondered what the Wizarding World would think if they ever discovered Harry's original bedroom- beneath the staircase.
As the ordinary car pulled up in the ordinary drive way, he stared at the little, ordinary house with contempt. He was hurriedly rushed in, the Dursleys not wanting to appear abnormal. Without a word, he went straight to his bedroom upstairs, putting his clothes in his drawers and emptying the contents of his trunk, sure to have his wand tucked away in case of emergency. After a few hours a crude knock sounded at his bedroom door, signalling dinner. In silence, he marched down to consume what little food could be spared for him, a dark contrast to the abundance of food at home – Hogwarts.
Most of Harry's days were spent like this – a silent progression between the bedroom and dining room with a few brief periods watching cartoons on TV and with only several words ever directed at him. This silenced solitude, despite boring him half to death, allowed Harry to recover from his intense past few weeks at school, majority of his time in his room spent sleeping as he attempted to compensate the lost sleep thanks to Snape. His wound began to heal and his strength gradually returned. He also studied a little, although he grew tired and lethargic at a decreasing rate. The holidays crept slowly by for the Chosen One.
As Harry exited his hibernation period, his strength and courage slowly returning, he was personally addressed by his hosting family.
"Now, Harry, I am sure you're aware that it is your Aunt Petunia's birthday in two days, and that we will be hosting the best celebration that this neighbourhood has seen." Vernon said, his eyebrows expanding and contracting according to his varied tone, his arms heavily crossed on his chest as he leaned against the kitchen bench after having cornered Harry in the kitchen. Petunia was sitting down with Dudley, watching a Muggle gardening show, although obviously not paying attention as her face twitched slightly, her head half turned in the direction of the kitchen.
"The next two days will be spent in preparation and as apart of…the family and as a grateful resident you are expected to pull your weight around this place. Your laziness these holidays has not passed unnoticed, and we were generous in not asking anything of you, so we expect full co-operation!" He droned, his hands waving about to help emphasize his words. He obviously forgot the daily duties Harry did. "You got that, boy?"
"Yes, sir. Help when asked, talk when asked, and disappear in between." He replied obediently, no sign of rebelliousness or sarcasm evident – even Snape would be impressed. Harry had learnt his lesson many years ago. Vernon relaxed his arms and looked at his wife from the kitchen, a pleased look on his face.
"Well, good. You can go back to your room now." He dismissed, already leaving the kitchen without glancing back to see whether his orders were carried out. Everybody knew they were. Harry slowly walked back to his room, savouring the exercise of which he was so deprived. He decided to have a shower, feeling a need for the warmth and heat. As he stripped off his clothes, he tenderly examined his wounds: The gash was in the process of becoming a pink scar like flesh, although it was a little bloody, the skin still tender and raw. Madam Pomfrey had carefully poked his ribs back in, but the skin was deeply torn; she warned it would take a lot of time. His torso was covered in yellowish bruises, a sure sign of recovery. The heat of the shower not only made his body glow bright pink, but further highlighted his scar, softening the skin and giving it an eerie, red glow.
After dressing and then drying his hair with a rough ruffle– only making it messier and stick up in multiple directions- he went back to his bedroom to lie down on his bed and read, deciding to ignore Petunia's single call for dinner in favour of sleep. He figured he'd need all of his strength – particularly his patience for the next couple of days.
The following two days were spent scrubbing, cleaning, pruning, furnishing and perfecting the house although it seemed majority of this was done by Harry, and without complaint. He was determined not to give his family any cause of complaint, the determination similar to that against Snape. By the morning of the party, the house was pristine clean and manicured, all completed by the Muggle method. Harry was tempted to charm the house, to clean it magically to save himself the hours of physical labour, but decided against it. Despite being illegal under the law of the Ministry of Magic, the Dursleys would have a fit. While he shifted sponge from one hand to another, he wondered what it'd be like to have a magical family – they would have charmed the house to perfection in minutes, taking their brooms for games of Quidditch in their magically-enlarged backyard in their extra spare time.
But, come to think of it, he didn't mind the physical labour so much. It gave him something to do, and he enjoyed the feeling of achievement.
When Harry crept into the kitchen in his pyjamas, having been woken by Dudley's pounding fist and fake farts, he was confronted by both Petunia and Vernon, who were both dressed in their finest clothes. Petunia stood by her husband, her arms folded. Her dress, although feminine, was plain and bland in its neutral colour, the only exciting sight being the string of cultured pearls around her neck. Vernon's attire was no different to his usual: still a work shirt with a jumper and tie, however, this time he had a sparkling new watch, and a suit neat suit jacket.
"Unfortunately, the neighbours are aware that you have returned from your mental school and so you will have to attend the party for short intervals. Now I don't want to hear anything about you-know-what and I forbid you to talk or show it in any way." Vernon said, before being cut off by Petunia's shrill voice.
"Your conversation should be limited: Talk about the weather, talk about the house."
"If you are asked about school, talk of the strict, effective discipline."
"And the large difference between your grades and Dudley's."
"And how grateful you are to be here." Vernon added. "You got it?"
Harry nodded gloomily in response, deciding he would make a few random appearances before locking himself in his room, preferring not to talk at all.
"And Harry?" Petunia said as Harry was leaving the kitchen. He politely stopped and turned to face his aunt. "As your uncle Vernon will be preoccupied entertaining and hosting guests, I am the guest of honour and Diddikins mingling with relatives and neighbours, that leaves you to serve food and drinks and ensure all is going well."
Harry groaned aloud. His cooking skills were very limited. Petunia raised her eyebrows expectantly as Vernon questioned harshly: "What is it, boy?"
"Well, you see, I'm not so good at cooking." He admitted, unafraid to stare him in the eye. It was better to admit it now, rather then when it was too late. Petunia uncharacteristically rolled her eyes.
"I will help, daft boy. Despite it being my birthday, I'll still cook the meals, I just need you to serve." She explained. It seemed pretty reasonable.
"Sure then, glad to help." Harry said. Vernon was ecstatic.
"Good, good. Now, go up and dress in your best, most normal set of clothes – the guests arrive at 10am." He said, his words inspiring Petunia to begin to move about. Without another word, Harry went to his room and changed, sure to carry his wand. He carefully grabbed Hedwig's cage.
"Sorry Hedwig – it won't be for long." Harry murmured to Hedwig who seemed slightly restless as he put the cage into his closet, placing more food in the cage before closing the door. It was a precaution Vernon ordered Harry to take, in case any wonderers decided to peek inside the Mad Boy's Room.
10 minutes before the first scheduled arrival, Harry ran downstairs. Petunia, Vernon and Dudley were all standing in predetermined positions.
"Now what are we going to do when they arrive?" Mr Dursley asked, his reciting of plans normal.
"I will encourage them to enter, give a quick tour of the house, then start the entertainment." Petunia recited.
"I will be polite and ask each how they do." Dudley answered with an air of importance. Petunia smiled proudly at him. Everyone then turned to look at Harry expectantly, and Harry felt quite excluded – his attire was rather informal in comparison.
"I will remain silent, serve drinks and food and disappear frequently." Vernon took a step forward, grabbing Harry by his collar.
"Be sure not to mess up like last time." He threatened, letting go then returning to his position by the door. Harry shivered at the thought of what happened last time. As Harry moved into a backroom, Vernon poised himself, Petunia straightened her dress and Dudley finished picking his nose. Thus at 10, the first guest arrived and hence begun Petunia's 40th Birthday Party – the worst party Harry had ever been to.
Obediently, Harry served drinks and food to the guest, trying to keep quite. Conversation with neighbours of the Dursleys was among his lowest priorities. There was only one topic they wanted to talk about – his mental school.
"So, what is it like?"
"Cousin Dudley told me that you're insane and that you think you can make things move without touching them. He said that you get locked up at school."
"I heard that the kids become criminals once released from that school of yours."
"So nice of the Dursleys to take care of such a mentally incapable boy – it's a true burden which takes true charity."
"Discipline at that school should be tougher as it should in all schools. I remember when I was at school we copped the cane - and you never saw any of us go loopy!"
For a few moments, Harry would escape to his room, locking the door an allowing Hedwig to fly about the room until he had to re-enter the party. Every time he remerged in the party rooms, he was surprised by the number of people – he hadn't even thought of the Dursleys as being popular – indeed the idea seems absurd. The Dursleys, naturally, took every possible chance to belittle Harry. He took their snide references with forced calmness, each harsh remark he happened to hear only enhancing his end-of-year plan: to transfigure the Dursleys back to their true, pig forms, completing the task Hagrid had set out to do all those years ago.
Harry was suddenly bought back to the current situation as the house full of people seemed to diminish as people exited the doors in neat lines. He should have utilized the time to retreat to his bedroom, but curious, he followed the progression into the front yard. After all, they do say that curiosity killed the cat.
The neighbours gave the Dursleys a wide berth and Harry began to wonder whether Vernon had had a heart attack when he forced his way to the front to see Petunia sitting proudly in a luxury car. He assumed that the gossip spread among the neighbours like wild-fire hence the large crowd. The car was slick and smooth, the cleanliness reflecting the image of the crowd, allowing Harry to see the reaction of the neighbours without turning around. He was embarrassed at his uncle's unabashed parading of his long-accumulated wealth. Looks of awe, jealousy and disbelief pampered Vernon and Petunia's ego and emphasized the car's exclusiveness. The neighbouring families were all middle-classed citizens of Little Whinging who carefully nurtured their money, only ever dreaming of splurging it for a luxury car, making Petunia's gift the most valuable thing in town.
Vernon grabbed Harry who was nearby and told him to bring out the cake while Dudley bought out a table. He cleared his throat to draw the attention away from his pompous purchase (everyone had forgotten Petunia was still in the car and still grinning) and began to talk.
"To my wonderful wife, a present from me to you to celebrate your 40th birthday!" He said loudly, to the polite applause of their neighbours.
Harry was walking slowly through the crowd which began to reshuffle and disperse a little, the initial interest gone. Petunia started the car to make the exchange official as Harry sat the cake down on the table Dudley had bought out. Dudley tried to move around the precariously positioned table to stand next to his father but tripped in front of Harry. Harry instinctively caught Dudley and despite the struggle with the heavy weight, managed to prevent Dudley's fall. Embarrassed by the scene, the second Dudley stabilized, he pushed Harry as hard as he could away from him – it look as though Harry had tripped.
The second of Dudley's violent aggression had a trailing series of slow, unfolding, unfortunate events. As Harry stepped back his arms were waving about in an attempt to stop the fall and knocked the cake into Vernon's face and torso as he had moved to be by Dudley. But before anybody could realize what had happened, Harry, his fall still unbroken and fast due to the sheer force of Dudley's hateful push, slammed into the car, his back colliding with the once-smooth metal, creating a large dint. Yet, as things were thought to get no worse, in an immeasurably short amount of time, Harry's arm, at the force of the impact, had flung and collided with a loud 'WHAM!" into Petunia's face as she tried to get out of the car, the action to quick to respond to. The blow rendered her unconscious and she fell back into the car. The neighbours looked in horror at scene, a few snickering, repeating the old saying "Pride comes before the fall."
When the crowd's attention shifted from a winded Harry and unconscious Petunia to a shocked Dudley and cake-painted Vernon, Vernon's angry, red cheeks could be seen glowing through the multiple layers of the cake, causing the neighbours to dispatch quickly, and Harry's stomach to roll with fear. Voldemort had nothing on the anger of Vernon Dursley.
Meanwhile…
As Severus packed his belongings, he made a quick trip to the Potions classroom next door. He grabbed a few ingredients needed for the Wolfsbane Potion he was ordered to provide Lupin, and as he walked out the door, he remembered the fallen book from the previous day. Shifting the phials to one arm, he bent down to pick up the book, careful as he held it: if it were held the wrong way, the spine would fall off.
Severus chuckled as he walked back to his rooms, recalling how his textbook became so damaged. After finally admitting his method of crushing rather then slicing was more effective, Lily needed a way to crush her ingredients. Despite Severus' patient teaching to crush with the blade of the knife, Lily couldn't master it, complaining that the blade was not large enough, and that she was scared of accidently cutting herself.
While in the middle of brewing Sleepless Slumber, Severus laughed as a frustrated Lily attempted to crush the cuttle stone with her hands. Lily simply glared at him then took his textbook to smash the stone, the gooey blue substance smearing all over the cover.
"Merlin Lily, what are you doing!" Severus exclaimed, bewildered. Lily just looked at him with mocking innocence.
"Crushing Sevvie, like you told me to!" She answered, giggling at his expression. He just frowned and rolled his eyes at her but had not the power or will to mean it.
"You can use my book if you prefer, Sev." She offered as she slammed his book against the stone again, blue goo squirting onto her robes.
"I prefer the more professional method." He replied, crushing his with a certain precision.
"It's much better this way." Lily taunted.
"I don't believe you." He replied indignantly. Lily grabbed the knife from his hands, set it aside then pulled his hands away from his station, placing her textbook in his hands.
"Do it."
"No."
"Sev…"
"Oh, you're a cruel witch Lily Evans. I don't want to destroy the book!" He excused. Lily squinted her eyes, determined to have him bend to her will. She knew he couldn't resist her. With a sigh, he banged the book against the stone, the blue goo exploding everywhere, hitting Severus on the cheek, Lily on the hair and on the back of the robes of neighbouring tables.
"Unfortunately, I believe I'm still right. This method is useless – majority of the juice is on us or the floor, not perfectly gathered on the chopping board." Severus remarked satisfactorily, moving the book aside in favour of the knife, placing another stone on the board.
"It was more fun though." Lily pointed out, wiping the goo from his cheek before giving him a chaste kiss which was generally unnoticed as students were too enthralled in finding uses for the blue goo to care about what was happening, with the exception of Slughorn who quickly looked away, finding the students sticking goo on each other's robes with sticking charms more amusing.
Severus' fingers traced the stains left by the cottle stones as well as the many other stones as Lily persisted to use his book. He gently placed the book in his suitcase full of Potion-making utensils and black robes, looking desirably at his rather unworn pyjamas 0 he can't remember the last time he used his dark green flannels.
With one last look at his rooms, Severus apparated to Spinner's End. Despite being early evening, Severus left the bags at the exact spot where he had appeared and went straight upstairs to his bedroom, his pyjamas in hand. Immediately after changing, he got into bed, allowing, finally, sleep to fully consume him.
Hey Everyone,
I am so sorry that it's taken so long to update - time had truly escaped me, as I am sure it has run by you all. Can you believe we are already half way through the new year?
Well, as a sort of make-up for taking so long, I tried to make this chapter double in length (i.e. two chapters). Once I got the rough idea, it was easy to write, only taking a couple of weeks, however editing is always the slowest. I've only been able to edit it once, and as my computer is about to be taken away, I decided that I wanted to post it now rather then later. I'll fix up and repatch everything, as I know it's quite a disjointed chatper, while I also edit the previous chapters for this story. Nonetheless, I hope you've enjoyed it.
Thank you so much to so, so many of you who continue to send your constant support - there is no feeling better in the world then knowing somebody appreciates and enjoys your work - having said that, please feel free to review!
Hope you're all having a wonderful night/day,
Love, Angela
(Missteque).