Chapter 4: Harry's Return
Harry awoke in agony. A burning ache encompassed the entirety of his back while the sharp stabbing in his side made sure he was fully cognizant that at least a couple of his ribs were broken. He tried to take a deep breath and almost passed out from the pain.
Harry groaned and attempted to rise from the small, thin mattress he slept on in his 'room', the cupboard under the stairs at number 4 Privet Drive. One of his eyes was swollen shut and blood had dripped down from a cut on his forehead, drying in his eyelashes and obscuring his vision. Even though he knew he would need time to adjust to his 8-year-old, malnourished body again he knew that something was wrong with his left arm as it dangled uselessly at his side.
He tried to remember this incident from his original life but found that the details were unclear. He realised that this must have been one of the occasions where Dumbledore had healed him before wiping his memory and knew that if he were to escape he needed to do it soon before his future Headmaster made an appearance.
Wincing, Harry put on his glasses and shuffled closer to the door. He pushed, relieved to find that Uncle Vernon hadn't locked it after throwing him carelessly into the cupboard the night before. A faint glow in the hallway suggested the early morning sun was beginning to peer over the rooftops of Privet Drive and he knew that his Aunt and Uncle would be waking soon. He dragged himself into the hallway and using his one good arm, he slowly began to pull himself upright with the help of the radiator, not noticing the blood dripping from the wound that had reopened on his forehead and staining the cream carpet that his Aunt was so fastidious about keeping clean.
Finally upright, Harry paused to cough quietly into his hand. The pain in his side flared and he reached out to steady himself, leaving part of a bloody handprint on the floral wallpaper that lined the hall. He gathered his strength and limped slowly towards the front door. A grunt from upstairs and the sound of a bed creaking pushed Harry to more speed, and ignoring the torturous feeling throughout his body, he reached his destination. Silently Harry turned the key and, easing the door open, he staggered out into the brisk morning air. Heavy, ponderous footsteps began to echo through the floorboards, indicating that his Uncle had awoken and Harry pulled the door quietly shut.
He knew he needed to get help as soon as possible – his head was spinning and he felt as though he would pass out at any moment. Knowing he had no intention of ever returning to this place that had been more of a prison than a home he glanced back once more, just in time to see the shadow of a figure pass the window of his Aunt and Uncle's bedroom. He turned on the spot, the motion causing waves of agony throughout his body once more, and apparated away.
Harry hadn't ever really like apparition – the feeling of being forced through a very tight rubber tube was never particularly comfortable but when injured as badly as he was it was almost unbearable. Stumbling as his ankle gave way under his weight he hobbled forward, not recognising the location he had arrived in. It was a dingy street lined with dilapidated brick houses. A tall chimney belonging to a factory or a mill was just visible in the distance and a row of broken streetlights did little to help the early morning sun as it struggled to provide some illumination to the road. Harry staggered again, this time falling and thumping against a door that had paint peeling from it and appeared worn with age. He shuddered, briefly closing the eye that was not swollen shut as he tried to gather than strength to apparate again to a more familiar locale. There was a sudden sensation of weightlessness and then pain rocketed through his body as it made contact with the hard floor beneath him. Harry screamed at the impact and just caught a glimpse of a tall figure standing over him before he passed out.
The owner of the house was a tall, thin man whose very demeanour actively discouraged visitors to his home. Fortunately for Harry, he was also a Wizard. He had woken a couple of hours previously and had been finishing a few tasks before preparing to head to work, so he was awfully surprised to hear a thump on his front door.
Shock and outraged filled his very being as, upon opening the door, a small child collapsed into the hallway. The child screamed as he hit the ground before immediately passing out. It was clear he had been beaten to within an inch of his life and so the broken, emaciated body of the young boy was carefully gathered into comforting arms and delicately moved into the house.
The man moved swiftly. Based on a cursory examination as he climbed the stairs he knew time was of the essence. Despite this, he gently and tenderly lay the boy on his bed and picking up his wand from the bedside table, began to cast spells over the limp figure, attempting to determine the extent of the injuries. He was sickened that someone would do this to a child and unwanted memories of his own childhood floated to the forefront of his mind unbidden. He swore out loud and promised himself that this boy would not suffer any further. He would do whatever he could to protect the tiny, ruined figure he'd taken into his home.
Sensing the life force in front of him begin to wane he moved immediately into the adjoining bathroom where he selected a number of potions that would help fortify the child. Walking faster now he went back into the bedroom and cautiously lifted the boy's head, cradling it in his lap and slowly trickling the potion into his mouth. He massaged the boy's throat, encouraging him to swallow and murmuring words of comfort in a low voice. The boy began to respond and his eye fluttered open.
"I need help. Perhaps Dumbledore…" whispered the man but the boy's hand shot out and grabbed him, an action that would have certainly caused him pain - confirmed a moment later by a groan.
"Not… Dumbledore…" he begged, clearly struggling to speak. "He knows…"
"What does he know?" the man asked.
"About the beatings…" the boy shuddered.
The man sat back, still lightly supporting the boy's head. How did he know Dumbledore? "What's your name?"
"Harry Potter," said the boy, finally passing out again as the potions began to take hold.
Severus Snape carefully stood, allowing Harry's head to rest softly back on the pillow, and felt a burning rage inside. Lily Evan's son lay devastated on the bed and Dumbledore knew it was happening. He thought back to his previous vow of protection and knew that, even for the spawn of James Potter, he would not allow this to continue.
After checking him over once more and ensuring that Harry was responding well to the potions. Snape turned and left the room.
Snape poured himself a large shot of Firewhiskey and sat heavily in his armchair, involuntarily recalling the beatings his own father had inflicted upon him as a child. He swirled the amber liquid in the glass and watched the flames flickering in the fireplace then, knocking back the drink in a single swallow, he stood, took a small pinch of powder from the jar on the mantle and knelt to make a floo call.
Madam Pomfrey was checking her stock of potions when she heard a voice calling from her office. Poking her head through the door she was surprised to see the face of Severus Snape peering back at her from the fireplace.
"Good morning Severus – how can I help you?" she asked politely.
"Poppy, I need your help and you must keep this a secret – no-one can know, not even the Headmaster." Snape's tone of voice did more to rouse her concern that his words. "There was a knock at my door this morning. When I opened it a small boy collapsed into my hallway. It's clear he's been severely beaten and I'm afraid he's close to death."
Madam Pomfrey's instincts as a healer kicked in immediately. "Give me 2 minutes Severus then I'm coming through." She withdrew from her office and proceeded directly to the potions cabinet where she extracted a range of potions to cover as many eventualities as possible – not knowing what she would find when she reached the child. A minute and a half later she was climbing out of the fireplace in the home of Severus Snape.
Snape showed her to his room and she couldn't help the sob that escaped her lips when she saw the small, frail, battered body of a boy that, from his size, appeared to be no older than six years old. "Who did this to him?" she growled angrily.
"I'm not sure Poppy," sighed Snape. "He woke for a few moments – just long enough to beg me not to call the Headmaster and to tell me his name."
"Well? Who is he?"
"Harry Potter"
This time Madam Pomfrey was unable to stop the cry of despair as she looked down at the boy-who-lived. She took a moment to gather herself then began to unpack her bag. "I'll need you to start brewing Severus," she stated calmly. "Strengthening solutions, pain-relief potions, and dreamless sleep, please. I have some with me but I fear I don't have enough." Snape nodded and exited the room, heading for his personal potions lab while Poppy began the long and painful process of attempting to reconstruct the body of the saviour of the Wizarding world.