Disclaimer: Wish Harry and his friends were mine, but they're not. Guess I'll just have to cry over that later, after I'm done writing.
Warnings: This story contains themes of cutting, depression, and other not-nice things, so read with caution.
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Where Do I Go From Here?
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Chap. 4 Hogwarts at Last
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Harry slept well that night for the first time since returning to his relatives' home. When he woke the next morning, he actually felt rested and it seemed to brighten his spirits somewhat. He had inadvertently left the window open all night, so it was to the sound of the birds singing that pulled him from his slumber, and he took a minute or two to fully stretch out his limbs, thankful that he was no longer forced to sleep in the too-small cupboard.
As he went to change into his usual set of work clothes, he was surprised to find the sleeve of his pajamas dotted with dried spots of blood. It took but a moment to remember the events of the night before and he quickly looked around his floor for the latest strip of cloth he had been using as a bandage. He found it cast aside next to his bed, almost hidden in the shadows beneath. Snatching it up, he wrapped it around his hand and secured it in place just as his aunt pounded on the door.
"Up, Boy! Now!"
With a weary sigh, Harry set about getting himself ready for the day before hurrying down to start cooking breakfast. As luck would have it, Dudley had only stayed long enough to grab a couple plates full of food to carry into his room to eat, and his aunt seemed distracted that morning, so Harry was able to wolf down a couple pieces of bacon while her back was turned, burning his tongue slightly on the hot meat, but enjoying it just the same. As Vernon finally appeared, wearing a brown suit and striped tie and carrying the morning paper under his thick arm, Petunia was quick to complain about the odd smell that she had been catching a whiff of all morning.
"I've smelled it for days now, Vernon! Every time I walk through the downstairs, I catch a scent of it. I'm telling you, I think a mouse had died somewhere close-by!"
Vernon grumpily set his paper down and sniffed loudly, his mustache twitching back and forth as he bobbed his head to the left and then the right, trying to humor his wife in her complaint. Not smelling a thing, and not caring that his nose was not as sensitive as his wife's, he was quick to placate her before grabbing his newspaper back up.
"I'm sure it's nothing dear, but if it worries you so much, set the boy to find it and dispose of the creature for you."
Harry, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation, hurriedly swallowed the mouthful of bacon he had snatched and turned his head in the direction of the table where his aunt and uncle were sitting, just in time to see them both shoot a nasty glare in his direction. And as expected, his aunt cleared her throat and added another chore to his constantly growing list.
"Did you hear that, Boy? You will find that dead mouse and get rid of it! I don't care if you have to clean out every cupboard in this kitchen, you understand?"
Harry gave a rapid affirmative nod of his head, but when he saw Vernon peer at him with narrowed eyes from over the top edge of the raised newspaper, he was quick to stammer out his reply.
"Y-yes, Aunt Petunia."
She nodded her head once as if reconfirming his obedience and then turned back to Vernon. Within moments, she was engrossed in another one-sided conversation; one that consisted mostly of her complaining about their neighbors cat and how it kept coming into the yard to lay in Petunia's flower garden. Harry, meanwhile, wondered if he would be able to steal any more food while completing this new particular chore...this might just work to his advantage. Harry grinned at the possibility.
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Harry was frowning and gritting his teeth in frustration. This was definitely not working out as he had hoped. He had spent the entire morning in the kitchen, cleaning out every cupboard, cleaning off every shelf, checking behind each appliance, and still, he was unable to locate the source of the smell. And to make matters worse, his aunt spent the entire time standing over his shoulder, dictating his every move and complaining that he wasn't moving fast enough. Harry was convinced that it had to be an act of God that was allowing him to reign in his temper before he said something that would get him in more trouble, and more trouble was something he surely could do without.
He had just finished putting the last pot into the cupboard next to the stove when his aunt made the brilliant assessment that…
"You're looking in all the wrong places, Boy, or you'd have found it by now. Go search a different room."
His aunt watched him as he left the room, sneering at him as he looked over his shoulder at her before propelling himself out of the kitchen and into the foyer on his quest to locate the source of the smell. Harry sniffed the air and was surprised when he was able to catch the smallest hint of a foul smell in the air. Following his nose, he ended up sitting on his knees, staring at his cupboard door. With a look of dread, he opened the small white door that hid his old bedroom from public sight, suddenly remembering what the most likely culprit probably would be.
Harry reached in, stretching his upper body into the small, confined space, the remembered thoughts of his previous days within it preventing him from summoning the willpower to allow any more of his body to be in the cupboard at any one time. Swallowing hard, he reached below the old cot, yanked some old clothes out of the way, and pulled forth the opened can of Vienna sausages that he had opened several days ago but had been unable to finish. The can reeked of the spoiled meat, and Harry had to fight his urge to gag. Looking into the small, half-empty can, he could see a few spots where a white, fluffy looking mold had started growing near the can's rim, and he backed out of the small space as quickly as possible, eager to dispose of the thing as soon as possible.
As he backed up from the opening and straightened out his back, he could feel himself bump into something warm and firm, and he suddenly had the feeling that he would not like what he was about to see when he turned around. With a fearful expression, his shoulders raised in anticipation of a beating, he slowly shifted himself around until he was facing the opposite direction. Still staring at the floor, he could see a foot tapping in rapid rhythm, the end of the house shoe making a slapping noise upon the floor every time it hit. Harry raised his gaze little by little, first taking in the hands clenched in fists, then the arms which perched those fists on a set of hips, and then, lastly, to his aunt's face, which was twisted into a look of such fury and loathing that Harry had to instantly look away. Harry held his breath, waiting for the tirade to start.
"You miserable, thieving little bastard!"
A harsh slap to his face made his eyes fly open in shock, and he stumbled backward, scrambling onto his back when he lost balance, the open can lying forgotten where it fell from his grasp. Before he was able to recover his balance, Petunia had grabbed hold of the front of his baggy shirt, tightening her grip until Harry was straining to take in even a single breath. His fingers flew up to his collar in an attempt to free himself, but it was useless due to the injury to his hand and the weakness that had been plaguing him for days now.
She maintained her grip and slapped him again when he continued to struggle. Harry's hands grew still as he accepted his fate and he was slid to the side, across the floor, when his aunt pushed him from in front of the cupboard entrance with the fist-full of shirt she had a grip of. Keeping one hand on her nephew, she searched with her free hand through the few of Harry's meager belongings that were still in his cupboard. Harry craned his neck to watch, praying silently that she would not find his stash of food.
As she yanked the corner of the cot away, he knew luck was not on his side. For a moment, it had seemed as if time stood still as his aunt stared in shock at the items she found, then it was if time had sped up all at once. Before Harry even had a chance to bring his arms over his head to protect himself, blows started to reign down upon him. And although she never hit him with a closed fist as Vernon liked to do, her open handed slaps still stung like fire upon his face. As she hit him, she vented her rage so loudly that it drew the attention of Dudley, who had been playing his video games in his room.
It wasn't until he caught the sound of Dudley's sniggering over Petunia's harsh words that Harry even realized his cousin was in the room with them. And when Dudley yelled out, "Kill 'im, Mum!", it seemed to bring her back into a state of rationalization and she pulled her hand back, clutching it once again into a fist in an effort to fight the urge to hit the boy some more. When she next spoke, it was in a menacing whisper that made Harry's heart seem to freeze in his chest.
"Just you wait until Vernon gets home."
And without further ado, he was cast back into the partially emptied cupboard, without so much as a blanket to soften his fall. As he leaned against the wall opposite the door, rubbing his hands over the sore parts of his neck that had been rubbed raw by the shirt, he listened as Petunia dragged the old cot away, most likely to place it into the basement. When he finally felt like his breathing had returned to normal, he brought his fingertips up to his cheeks in an attempt to measure the amount of damage he incurred. His cheeks had taken the brunt of the force, and they were painfully swollen and hot to the touch, making him wince at the first contact.
He was unable just then to stop the tears that gathered in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks, leaving behind a stinging path of wetness that glistened in the low amount of light that entered Harry's prison from beneath the closed door. Lowering himself to the floor, he placed his hot cheek against the coolness of the linoleum as he curled himself up to wait for Uncle Vernon to get home.
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Harry wasn't sure how he had survived his uncle's beating that night, but he was positive that his magic had something to do with it. Even as he watched Vernon's fist fall, he could feel the slight tingle in his magical core that always precipitated a bit of spell casting. And although it usually only happened when he was using his wand during lessons at Hogwarts, he was sure that there was no other explanation for the way the hits seemed to hurt less and less with each blow, until Uncle Vernon finally stopped from sheer exhaustion. Of course, Dudley immediately stepped forward to volunteer his services, but his aunt and uncle mercifully chose to throw him back into his cupboard instead.
And there he spent most of his time for the following weeks, nursing his sore spots and contemplating how miserable his life was. He was allowed out to do his chores, of course, but afterward, he was always sent back into the cramped space. It was during his third night in the cupboard, after a day with only a couple pieces of bread to eat, along with a small, boiled potato from the dinner roast, that Harry was finally successful at a wandless Alohomora,and was thereafter able to escape from the cupboard at night, after he was sure everyone else had fallen asleep, often using this opportunity to raid the trash for food scraps.
At first, he had been disgusted with the idea, but as his hunger assailed him, he was forced to reconsider this option, especially now that his aunt made a checklist of all the food in the house in an attempt to prevent Harry from being able to steal anything else. So far, none of the Dursley's had noticed that Harry's cupboard was never locked in the morning, and Harry remained hopeful that it would stay that way.
It was on one of his nightly visits to the kitchen trash can that he found something that caught his attention more than the bits of meat still left on one of the bones from the pork-chops that had earlier been served for supper. As he reached in to grab at the bone, he noticed a glint of light shining off of something else in the trash. Upon closer inspection, Harry could make out something metallic under the remnants of the dinner and wadded up napkins.
He carefully pulled the item out and held it in the shaft of light that shone in through the nearby window. Harry was pleased to discover the new Swiss Army knife that Dudley had received for his birthday earlier in the summer. A few of the gadgets attached to it were broken, like the corkscrew and the tiny pair of scissors, but the knife blade and screwdriver were still functional, as well as the toothpick attachment, but Harry didn't think much on that since he wasn't putting that thing anywhere close to his mouth if there was even the slightest chance that Dudley had actually used it for its intended purpose. He scrubbed the dirtied blade and handle off on his pants leg, folded the blade back into its place and slid it into his pocket before continuing his search for food.
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It wasn't until a few nights later that Harry actually used the pocket knife he had found. After sticking it into his pocket that first night, he had kept it hidden at all times, afraid that if he were found with it, not only would they accuse him of stealing again, but they would find out about his nightly forages in the trash can and he would lose the source of food he depended on to supplement his meager meals from his relatives.
The past few days had been especially hard on him. Staying scrunched up in the small space was making his joints hurt constantly, and the continual silence and loneliness was really beginning to get to him. He lost count of the hours he spent curled up and lost in thought each night. So, it was on one of those nights that he found himself pulling out the knife and staring at its open blade in the sliver of light from under the cupboard door. Tracing his finger along its sharp edge, he suddenly found himself applying more and more pressure until, with a gasp, he broke through the skin and the knife dropped from his fumbling fingers.
He brought the bleeding digit to his mouth, sucking away the blood, letting the copper taste of it permeate his senses. It only bled for a moment or two, but it did its job just the same. Harry allowed himself to focus on this new cut, letting all the other things that had been plaguing him recede into the farther recesses of his mind until he felt numbed to it all. With a sigh, he leaned against the back wall of his confines and eventually fell asleep, his last thought being about the oddity of the situation…How physical pain, which was something he had always tried to escape from before, was now the tool he used to escape the even bigger emotional pain that he felt constantly attacking him from all sides.
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Harry's remaining time with his relatives that summer was spent in the cupboard, secluded and withdrawn, his only relief found by the blade of a knife. Even the anticipation of returning to Hogwarts was unable to rouse the usual amount of joy he would typically feel at this time each summer. So, it was with a heavy heart, and even heavier thoughts, that Harry collected his truck and other belongings, and dragged them out to the Dursley's car, where he spent almost 15 minutes trying to hoist the cumbersome thing into the trunk. Finally, Vernon lost his patience and angrily forced it into its place, cuffing Harry on the back of the head with one of his beefy hands in irritation before the boy had a chance to duck out of the way.
Now on their way to the train station, Harry pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up and over his head, hiding as much of his face as he could within its dark folds of fabric, despite the insurmountable heat of the day, praying that he would be able to board the train without anyone recognizing him. After a long, uncomfortably silent car ride, they arrived at their destination, Uncle Vernon pulling up to the curb only long enough to toss Harry's large trunk to the ground before hurrying away, casting neither a look, nor uttering a word as he departed, his wheels squealing against the pavement in his haste.
Harry remained for a moment where he was left standing next to his trunk, but as Vernon's car disappeared in the distance, he turned around and dragged it into the building, swiveling his head from one side to the other looking for a trolley to set his trunk and Hedwig's empty cage upon. He finally spotted what he was looking for and was soon approaching platform 9 ¾.
Harry paused just outside of the barrier, checking to be sure he was well hidden in his long sleeves and hood before passing through, not slowing down his pace until he was safely ensconced within one of the empty compartments. Luckily, it was still early in the day and only a few other students had been on the platform when he passed through. Pulling out his wand, he cast a locking charm on his door and closed the blinds on his windows, affectively hiding himself from anyone's view. Then, he rummaged through the contents of his trunk, pulling old textbooks out at random. After he was satisfied that he had taken out every book that might contain what he was looking for, he began searching through the pages of them for some kind of spell that he could use to hide his true appearance from his friends.
Harry paid no attention to the time as he concentrated fully on the task before him, and it wasn't until the knob to his compartment rattled in noisy irritation that he pulled back the blinds on the window and saw that the platform was swarming with students and their families. Harry ignored the voices he could hear complaining on the other side of his door and he heaved a sigh of relief when they eventually left.
He peeked out of the window again, and this time he could see Hermione and Ron standing near the back of the platform, scanning over the crowds of people there, presumably in search for him. He felt miserable for hiding himself like he was and making them worry, but he knew that if they ever found out the truth, they would be even more worried and they might tell others about his horrible summer, and the last thing he wanted was for the whole wizarding world to know that their 'chosen one' wasn't even able to stand up to a couple of pitiful muggles.
Harry wiped the gathering pools of moisture from his eyes and settled his attention back to the book in his lap where there was an entire three chapters devoted to glamour charms. He gripped his wand and spent the rest of the train trip working on a suitable spell that would hide his thinness and the bruises that mottled his pale skin, only stopping for a few moments whenever someone would rattle the knob to his compartment. Whenever it happened, he couldn't help but to hold his breath until the person finally left, and afterwards he would always double his efforts, more determined with each passing hour to accomplish his task before the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station.
With only twenty minutes left before the train reached the station, Harry was able to cast the spell he had discovered in his Charms book that would alter his appearance, and he checked his body over twice with a conjured mirror just to be sure he didn't miss any spots. Satisfied that he was as prepared as he could be, he relaxed on the soft, padded bench seat he was sitting on, suddenly exhausted by the day's events.
So, it was with relative ease that he fell asleep, not even batting an eye as the train slowed to a stop. In fact, it wasn't until the students had all departed and the train gave a sudden lurch that Harry was jolted awake. He blearily looked around in confusion for a few moments before reality sunk in, and in an instant he was hastily tossing his school books back into his trunk, grabbing its handle and dragging the heavy thing behind him as he scrambled out.
The train had just started pulling itself up the tracks as Harry made it to the closest door. He pushed his trunk out, watching as it tumbled to a stop before following suit, jumping from the bottom-most step and falling to his hands and knees as he hit the ground, scraping the palms of his hands and making a small tear in the knee of his pants. He rose from the ground panting and sweaty, looking around to be sure no one had seen his blunder. When he discovered that he was alone, he was slightly relieved, but then he panicked, peering about in the darkness for one of the carriages that would take him the rest of the way to the castle.
Luckily, he spotted a lone carriage standing near the edge of the road, almost hidden in the shadows cast by the overhead trees. Nearing it, he was pleased to find it empty, as if it were waiting just for him, and he was quick to load his trunk upon it as if worried it would leave without him. As soon as the carriage's small black door clicked shut, the thestral started trotting towards Hogwarts, and Harry watched out the window as the view of the large castle came into view, its windows glowing with the light of the many lit candles within. He was half-way there before he realized he had forgotten to change his clothes, so he yanked off his baggy sweatshirt and slipped his school robe over his head just as the carriage slowed to a stop.
He clambered out with his trunk and watched as the carriage once again disappeared into the darkness of the night. He was still standing there, clutching the handle of his trunk, when he heard a noise that instantly put him on edge. He heard someone issue a purposeful cough, and then a silky, smooth baritone voice began speaking in a scornfully, mocking way.
"If you are quite done star gazing, Mr. Potter, perhaps you would see fit to grace the rest of the castle with your astounding presence. I'm sure they are just as eager as I to catch another glimpse of the famous Boy-Who-Lived."
Harry's face blushed red in both embarrassment and anger, but after his difficult summer, he was weary about talking back to his Potions professor, even if he had never stopped to think twice about it in the past. The last thing he wanted right now was to risk the wrath of yet another adult who clearly hated him, so he bit his bottom lip and stared at the ground, mentally cursing himself for the way his hands started shaking as his professor walked closer to him from where he had previously been standing, leaned against the castle's stone wall.
Harry could hear the crunch of stones under feet as his professor neared where he was standing, coming to a stop only a foot away. He saw when the man's shiny, dragon-hide boots came to a stop so close to his own, and the shaking that had started in his hands quickly spread to his arms, forcing him to shove his hands into his pockets in an attempt to hide this show of weakness. Suddenly, that same deep voice spoke again, and Harry couldn't help the small flinch that occurred.
"Do at least have the respect to look at me when I'm talking to you, Potter."
Harry gulped and slowly raised his gaze until he was looking at Professor Snape head-on, but he was surprised to see that the man was not looking at him in loathing, but rather, he had a contemplative look to him, as if he were trying to figure out a riddle that was perplexing him. The two stood there in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before it was all broken by Snape's sudden movement.
"Come, Potter."
The man swung his body around to walk back towards the castle, making a gesture with his hand indicating he wanted Harry to follow, but the movement was so swift, Harry practically jumped out of his skin, throwing his arm up a fraction of the way in an effort to shield himself from an attack before he realized what he was doing. Snape had stopped in his tracks when that happened, narrowing his eyes on the boy in thought, and then continued on his way as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.
Harry was relieved that Snape seemed to be ignoring his odd behavior, and he hurried after the man in order to catch up, his trunk leaving grooves in the gravel path as he drug it noisily along. After only a few steps further, Snape turned with an exaggerated sigh and an extended wand. Harry instinctively grabbed out his own wand and had just started to raise it when he heard Snape speak again in an exasperated way.
"Honestly, Potter, have you forgotten that you can perform magic?"
Snape gave a little flick of the wrist and a spell shot out from his wand, shooting past where Harry stood, and enveloping his trunk in a pale white glow, maintaining its link with Snape's wand by a long cord-like tendril of magic which allowed the man to guide the trunk's path as it floated into the air. Harry released the breath he had been holding as he once again followed after his Potion's professor, the trunk now floating silently beside them.
As they entered the Main Hall, Snape set the trunk down with the rest of the students' belongings, where house elves were already hard at work popping in and out as they transported each person's possessions to the right room in the castle. Snape gestured once more for Harry to follow after him, and Harry was glad he was able to withstand the urge to flinch again. He didn't think he could stand being embarrassed in front of this man even one more time tonight.
Snape stopped just in front of the large doors that opened to the Great Hall, Harry almost bumping into the back of him due to the sudden stop.
"Detention. Tomorrow at eight. On account of your tardiness."
Harry had started to open his mouth to complain but quickly shut it again. Unfortunately not quick enough, for Snape had apparently seen the gesture, and he raised an eyebrow slightly at him. But when Harry stood silently for a few moments in quiet submission, the man gave a small, affirmative nod of his head before silently walking away, leaving Harry in shock over the fact that he wasn't being dragged in front of the Headmaster in an attempt to get him expelled.
Harry stood alone in front of the large, heavy wooden doors to the Great Hall for several minutes trying to work up the nerve to enter through, knowing the staring and the whispers would start as soon as he appeared. He had almost made up his mind to call it a night and head up to his dorm room before he remembered that he did not know the new password, and when his stomach rumbled loudly in complaint, it cemented the decision in his mind. So, squaring back his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he pushed one of the heavy, oak doors open and slipped inside.
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A/N: Well, what do you think of Snape? Did I make him snarky enough? And do you think he knows Harry's secret yet? Send a review and let your opinion be known!
By the way, I have drawn a picture to go along with the last chapter, and am currently working on additional illustrations for this story, but my scanner is refusing to work for me, so it may be some time before I will be able to post them where my readers may see them as well.
Now, I would like to send out a big Thank You to the following individuals, all of whom have taken the time to consistantly post a review after every chapter, and are thereby encouraging me in my writing efforts: Cowabunga, mizz-shy-gurl, and Murgy31
Now, for everyone else, PLEASE send me a review! It really makes the 10 hours or so that I spend writing each chapter seem worth it all the more if you could just drop a line to let me know that my time is being well spent. Thanks to you all!