"…an? Young man!"
Harry opened his eyes and startled when he saw two eyes directly in his line of vision.
"You took quite a hit there." Suddenly Harry remembers what happened. The girl!
"Where's the girl?" He asked.
A bright smiling face suddenly came to his vision. Before he knew it the girl's arms were extended around him in a hug. He stiffened at the touch. Even without his injuries he wasn't exactly accustomed to the whole hugging thing, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley excluded.
"What happened?", he forced himself to continue.
He was relieved that he had saved the girl, but the pain in his leg was next to unbearable.
"Well, your dive stopped two feet short. Your leg didn't make it through safely, I'm afraid. The car ran right over it, right above your ankle. The pain shouldn't be too bad yet, am I correct?"
Harry nodded, then gulped, laying his head back down. His leg was more numb then anything, and he was slightly terrified at what he'd be facing the next day. He wouldn't be able to get anything done. After checking his watch, his breath caught when he saw that it was already four thirty.
"Is it broken?" he asked, signaling his leg.
"It's the strangest thing actually. At first look we could have sworn that that there was no doubt it was broken, but now I'm not so sure. A bloody near miracle, that is...", the officer replied, shaking his head.
"The ambulance should be hear soon. They'll patch you right up.", he continued.
No. Harry couldn't go to the hospital. The Dursleys would murder him. Not only that, so will the headmaster, if he gets hold of it. He had to get out of there. But how? Everyone was surrounding him. A lady, the girl's mother most likely, was crying and thanking him repeatedly. He gave her a weak smile and started forming a plan in his head. Would he be able to run with his leg? He forced his leg to move. Damn that hurt, he thought. The house was two blocks away.
The lady and her daughter didn't look like they were about to budge. The officer looks like he needs to be somewhere else. The pedestrians were slowly starting to leave. Ok. So he was on the sidewalk where he dropped the bags. If he timed it right, he would run across the street right before the light turned green. It just changed to red. Should he run? This guy looks like he ate more then anything, maybe he could make it. Before he could change his mind, Harry ran, grabbing the bags of food he had bought before the incident. The officer seemed too surprised to move at first, and that was all the time Harry needed. The light changed and he ran into someone's backyard.
After waiting for like ten minutes, he made his way back to the street and stuck to corners till he made it to the front door. Opening it, he fell to the ground. After what seemed like ages, he looked down to see blood staining the floor. He was so dead, and he had done nothing. After getting off as much of the stain as he could, he limped up the stairs, grabbed some bandages, and went into the room. After cleaning himself up he didn't look nearly as bad.
Looking at the chores list, he said, "How the hell am I supposed to finish this now?" He was dead. So so dead.
If people came looking for him, if they saw the blood stain, if they saw he didn't finish his chores. He was dead. He decided to rush through everything and improve on it if he had time. He started by repainting the fence and decided to do the second coat after he'd done most of the other chores. He was so screwed. Nowhere to go. Nothing to be done about it.
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"Severus," Dumbledore said, damned twinkle in his eye. Snape looked up sharply as he heard his name.
He sighed inwardly and wearily replied, "Albus?"
"Would you check on Mr. Potter for me today? There has been strange talk of a boy that somewhat fit's the description of young Harry."
Before the protests could come, Dumbledore continued.
"Everyone else is off doing things for the Order."
As Severus opened his mouth to respond, Dumbledore went on, "I know, but your potions can wait, and no, the Weasley twins cannot go. I need someone for the rest of the week also. No, you do not have to look over him everyday. But today… you do."
Snape huffed. Dumbledore had eliminated nearly every possible excuse in just a few seconds. Snape stalked off without replying. He knew that Dumbledore knew he would do it. He left, grumbling about spoilt teens and manipulative old men. Snape, now rather familiar with Privet Drive, walked straight down to Number Four, currently residing Harry Potter. Better known as the Savior of the Wizarding World, or the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die. This time, he went straight to the back, predicting that the teen would be there. He was right. He took his place by the overly large bush some distance away.
A look at the boy's face brought back the memory of that strange bruise. This time, it was a welt. Something he knew about all too well. He could see it clearly enough. The boy was limping too…badly… and it seemed like he was in great pain. He could have simply been in a fight but… no….
Would someone really dare to abuse the Boy-Who-Lived?
Snape smirked at the thought of someone like Molly Weasley or Poppy Pomfrey in his position; going into over-protective mode would cause them to already be there, interrogating the boy and feeling murderous. They would probably kill first and ask questions later. Little did he know that the son of his enemy had thought the exact same thing.
It really can't be, though. Not Potter. But the signs. There has to be some other explanation. I'm just being paranoid, he thought. Where were the boy's guardians anyway? Hmph. Just left him while they went out, surely. Well… that eliminates some of the things the boy has in common with his idiot father. James was always the spoilt brat, at school and at home. His son only seems to be spoilt at school and… not spoilt at home… Wouldn't want to jump to conclusions.
The boy also looked thinner, if that was possible. And he was pale. He also seemed deep into his thoughts. Then Snape saw the paper in Potter's hands. He moved slightly closer and saw that it was a list of chores, a rather long list of chores. Of course, Potter was rushing through them, probably eager to go mess around. From the looks of it, however, the boy would be lucky to finish before nightfall.
He used an invisibility charm on himself and got comfortable under a tree. He saw Potter looking around, as though looking for something… or someone… He ignored this though as Potter went back to work. A little while later, Snape dozed off. When he awoke, Snape silently thanked his ability to keep quiet either asleep or awake because Potter was still out there. From the looks of it, he had worked right through the time Snape was asleep; he looked dead tired as he re-painted the fence.
Harry shocked Snape by repeating the chore, and doing it properly at that. Then Snape realized that it was getting late, and Potter still hadn't eaten anything.
He probably went in when I was sleeping, Snape thought.
Thinking his job was done for the day, he portkeyed back to headquarters.
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After finishing the fence, Harry decided to go wash the windows, just a quick pass this time; later on, he'd clean them properly.
It was then that Harry felt something. Something like a wave of magic.
He looked around, trying to find the source of it, but he saw nothing, so he went back to work. After doing the outside chores, he went inside and did all the household chores quickly. When he came back out, a quick look at the fence told him it was time for the second coat. When he'd finished, he re-did about half of the chores before the Dursleys came back.
Vernon said nothing about the results, which meant there was nothing to say about them. Harry was beyond glad for that. Getting beaten up again so soon was not on his list of things to do, unlike everything else. After eating, Harry went to sleep, too exhausted for anything else, but glad that he had been there to save the girl.
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For weeks the abuse continued, though it seemed like years in Harry's eyes. His uncle's treatment towards him was as bad as ever, and with each passing day, Harry seemed more resigned to his fate, if only slightly. Harry woke late one morning and realized that the Dursleys must have gone out again. He turned to his window to see Pig patiently tapping through the bars. When he finally got the letter from the owl, he wasn't surprised to see that it was from Ron. He waved off the owl and opened it.
Hey Harry!
What's up? Hope the Dursleys are treating you well. Mione's staying with me for the rest of the summer, by the way, while her parents are in America. She says hi. We're trying to convince Headmaster Dumbledore to send you here for at least the last two weeks. Did you get your O.W.L. results yet? Mione's nervous as anything. I don't know why. We all know she's going to do well. She's still working on that SPEW thing too. It's really annoying. My dad is trying to get the three of us tickets to a Chudley Cannons game, so looking forward to that! Well, my mum's calling me…. see you soon, mate!
Ron
Harry did nothing after reading the letter. He was set in a flashback to one of his recent nightmares, the one in which his godfather had came for revenge. He put it down and turned away, deciding not to reply. I can't risk the few people I care about by keeping them close. They're better off without me anyways, thought Harry. Then he actually smirked. Maybe the extra time will finally get those two together! Plus, he didn't want to be a third wheel.
He took his time making his way downstairs. Much more relaxed at the fact that the Dursley's weren't home. For once, he felt rather full, but the pain he was feeling ruined it. Lying on the table was the same note and a list of chores twice as long as last time. Hmph. Of course Uncle Vernon would make sure I can't finish my chores, he thought. A knot formed in his stomach at the thought. He hated to admit it, but he was nervous. He'd rather live through the summer and resolved that he would keep the beatings to a minimum.
Harry felt anxious about finishing the chores and jumped when the floor creaked on his way to the backyard. He started to work quickly but accurately. It was several hours later when the Dursleys got home, and Harry was only half way through list even though he had worked relentlessly. I swear they mess up everything just to give me more work to do, he thought. He was still working when Vernon came out. Vernon grabbed Harry by his hair and dragged him inside.
"I told you to have them finished!" He yelled at the boy.
Harry snapped back, "You give me too many damn chores! You want me to not finish them, so you can use me as your fricken human punching bag!"
Harry instantly regretted his words. Things could only get worse now. Vernon turned a dark shade of purple.
"DO NOT address me with that tone, boy! And it's "sir" to you!" He backhanded Harry on the same side as always. "Got it?"
Resigned, Harry murmured, "yes, sir."
Vernon slammed open the cupboard door, now filled with cleaning supplies and cobwebs, and was about to kick Harry into it, when something on the telly caught his attention. You could see his face turning an even darker shade of red as he turned to his despised nephew.
"How. do. you. explain. THAT? What the ruddy hell were you doing out of the house boy!"
He was pointing to a picture of Harry on the ground, that they were broadcasting on the news. You could only tell it was him from his scar. The grip on Harry's hair became tight to the point where Vernon was ripping it from the boy's scalp.
"Do you know how much trouble you've caused us?", he yelled.
Stuffing Harry into the cupboard, he yelled angrily for his wife and stomped at the stairs, debris falling onto Harry all the while. When silence finally fell, the only question on Harry's mind was… why would they broadcast this now? It had happened weeks ago.
He listened carefully in attempt of hearing the telly. "award for saving...had attempted…search….no one….is boy before. Fleeing… authorities… records. Nothing has been…" The volume was too low to really hear, but from what he picked up they were looking for him.
That wasn't good. He hadn't done anything! Why not just leave him be? With a sigh Harry closed his eyes.
He was left there, cramped, until the next morning.
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