Chapter Five – Just in Time!
A gruelling five hours later and Harry finally finds himself nearing the end of his extensive chore list. He is on his way to finish tidying Dudley's bedroom when the sound of a car door slamming resounds through the hallway. Harry freezes, taking a deep shaky breath, knowing that at some point Aunt Petunia must have contacted his uncle about his 'laziness' that morning. That, and something bad must have happened at work which Harry is going to be blamed for. Harry can tell instantly that his uncle isn't happy when he steps through the front door; his face is bright red with anger, fists clenching around his briefcase, and knuckles white from blood loss. His breathing is ragged, eyes narrowed to slits as sweat drips from his forehead. He was not in a good mood at all.
The front door had been opened with such force, that the handle slammed into the adjacent wall chipping away chunks of plaster, more work for harry to complete later. Cautiously continuing his ascent up the stairs, Harry calls his mandatory greeting to his uncle.
"Welcome home, Uncle Vernon." Harry instantly regrets opening his mouth when the man rounds on him, moving faster than anyone his size should physically be able to, his face set in a deep frown. Harry stiffens and backs away from the approaching man who is sneering down his large nose.
"Where do you think you are going, boy?"
Harry's face pales, when he hears an almost serpentine hiss to his uncle's words, the underlying threat evident in his tone, as is the manic glint in his eyes. Terror runs like ice through Harry's veins. He knows he is in for one hell of an evening, wishing for his father to come and get him as soon as possible. Taking a deep breath, Harry squares his shoulders.
"I was just on my way to finish tidying Dudley's bedroom, Uncle Vernon."
The man's sneer twists into a dark glare, grabbing Harry's arm, he drags the young boy back down the stairs and into the hallway. Harry bites his cheek to keep his cries inaudible as he is forced to stand directly in front of the burly man. His limbs shake as he attempts to suppress his terror.
"So, you think you can slack off, do you? Think you are too good to do a few simple chores around the house, eh?" The snarl on Vernon's face has Harry shaking like a leaf, his face paling further, small fingers knotting themselves in his oversized t-shirt. Dropping his gaze to the floor, Harry bites his lip for a moment as he contemplates how to lessen his punishment.
"No… No, I was… I was just…"
Harry snaps his mouth shut, knowing that he had made a mistake when trying to justify himself. But he just couldn't seem to stop the words from falling from his lips; trying to get his uncle to see that he hadn't been slacking off. His voice shakes, tears building up at the back of his eyes. He flinches back when his uncle's briefcase hits the floor with an ominous thud.
"Don't you dare talk back to me you ungrateful freak! We didn't want you in the first place, but we gave you a roof over your head, food and clothes, and you think you don't need to do anything to earn your keep?"
Harry locks his muscles, too afraid to make any movements lest he unleashes his uncle's wrath, but it is for naught as he feels his head connecting violently with the wall. His uncle had backhanded him across the face so hard that Harry is flung into the wall with brutal force. Biting his lip to prevent any sound from escaping, Harry stands gingerly to his feet, swaying a little as his head throbs and his vision blurs.
Another sharp slap sends Harry back to the floor, wrist bending behind his back at an uncomfortable angle when he tries to prevent his collapse. Biting his lip harder, Harry draws blood. Small black spots enter his vision as his glasses fall from his face, the shattered lenses cutting his cheeks and nose as they break under the pressure. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Harry pushes himself to his feet, legs shaking with the effort it takes to hold his small frame up. He knows he would be in more danger if he were to remain on the floor longer than he had to.
"We went through a severe budget cut, today boy! I know it was you and your freakishness that caused it, and I will not stand for it! The markets have crashed overnight!" Vernon stands over Harry's unstable form, grabbing his stick-like arms as he shakes the boy violently before dragging him across the hallway. Unlatching the cupboard door, Vernon throws Harry in and locks the door.
The room feels incredibly small. Much smaller than Harry remembers it being. His school trunk digs painfully into his tender and bruising side. Harry flinches when his uncle's fist slams against the door, the grate closing to seal off the remaining light. Alone in the darkness, Harry hugs his knees to his chest, his head throbbing with a potential concussion, blood drips down his face from the cuts on his cheeks and nose from his shattered glasses. His right hand curls under his left, protecting the painful joint, pressing his fingers gently into the skin, Harry fears it is fractured again. Trying to shift into a more comfortable position, Harry whimpers at the ache piercing his shoulder and sighs, dislocation. His father was not going to be happy.
Ignoring the painful protesting of his limbs, Harry glances from the locked door to his school trunk. If he were careful enough and quiet enough then he should be able to unlatch the suitcase and hopefully find the nutrient potions and some of the healing potions Severus had gifted to him before the man allowed him to board the Hogwarts Express. It hadn't been much, but Harry had appreciated the gesture all the same. He knew, at that moment, that Severus cared for his wellbeing, and not just because he was the soon-to-be-son of the Dark Lord. He knew that Severus was reluctant to hand him over to the Dursleys because he didn't want Harry to be hurt by them.
Unclasping the buckles, Harry stuffs his hand into the case, eyes squinting as his hands grapple with the various objects they come in contact with. Pushing aside uniform, textbooks, parchment, and quills, Harry smiles when his hand grips a cool fabric bag, one which clinks together as he moves it. Pushing open the trunk's lid as far as the cramped space would allow, Harry pulls the bag ignoring the aches and shooting pains travelling through his body at the sudden jerk. It takes a few tries to wedge the potions out of the case, but Harry grins when he manages to free them. Freezing in his celebration when he hears someone stamping past his cupboard, Harry breathes a sigh of relief when they simply walk past him.
Opening the bag, harry was fascinated when Professor Snape had told him about the extending charm, cooling charm, and feather-light charms protecting the potions inside. Pulling out various potions, harry reads the labels Severus had written on for him, sorting through the ones he needed and replacing the extras back into the bag. Picking up the nutrients potion, Harry downs that one quickly followed by a pain relief potion and skelegrow, placing the empty vials in the bag.
Harry isn't sure just how much time has passed when he hears the latch on the outside of the cupboard clicking unlocked. He cowers as the door is thrown open, smashing against the wall as blinding light invades his room, forcing his eyes shut. He doesn't even attempt to resist as his uncle manhandles him out of the cupboard, his injuries protesting minutely as the potions fight to heal them still. He doesn't make a noise when his uncle slams him against the wall, nor when he is being dragged up the stairs to Dudley's second bedroom.
Biting the inside of his cheek to prevent a cry of pain when he is thrown to the floor, Harry feels his eyes burning when he lands on his previously dislocated shoulder. Looking up into the blurry face of his uncle, Harry tries to pull himself away, his breathing rapid. Due to his throbbing head and his weakening state from the lack of food (despite the nutrient potions) Harry doesn't move fast enough to prevent a heavy, boot-clad foot from connecting with his ribs. Pain explodes through his abdomen as the foot repeatedly assaults his small frame, leaving bruises, if not internal bleeding, and broken bones.
It isn't long before Harry feels his ribs giving under the pressure, snapping and cracking, though luckily, he knows none of them have punctured his lungs yet. His uncle's foot stomping down on his fractured wrist stops all attempts Harry makes to protect himself, or retreat from his abuser. Pain flares exponentially as the assault continues; kick after kick, punching after punch. Harry fights to stay conscious, his head becoming fuzzy as his hearing rings.
Harry tries to assure himself that everything is going to be alright; that he is going to be okay, but the pain which sears his limbs distorts these thoughts, clouding his mind with doubt and fear. Kicks continue to rain down on his broken body, again and again, vicious words warping into white-wash background noise as the feeling of consciousness continues to fade away.
Then they stop.
Confusion is the only thing preventing Harry from allowing himself to let the darkness overtake his senses. His uncle had never stopped his punishments so suddenly. Cautiously, slowly moving his head, Harry glances through blurry vision at the figure towering over him watching the man's movements with mounting horror.
Whimpering, Harry watches paralyzed with fear as Vernon lifts a brown leather belt above his head, a vindictive smile shaping his features as he stares down at his nephew, a manic glint that Harry had never seen before shines deep in his gaze. Harry was scared for his life. Vernon's cackles along with the derogatory words he spits are the only sounds that fill the room. The belt whistles through the air as it sails unrestrained toward Harry's broken form. He releases the first scream of his punishment when the hard material slashes his thinly covered body.
"Stupid bloody freak thinks he can do whatever he pleases, does he? Almost destroys my career and then what? I come home to find that he still hasn't finished a few simple chores! Does he think he is too good to work for the food we give him? Pathetic, worthless, good-for-nothing, waste of space. We should have killed you when we had the chance!"
Each new insult is accompanied by another slash.
Harry, now curled in on himself, feels steady streams of blood trailing down his battered back. His face was a mess of blood, snot, and tears. However, as quickly as the assault begins, it is over. Chancing another glance at Vernon, Harry freezes, dread sliding through him like ice. Vernon was a statue, arm raised above his head prepared to deliver another blow, eyes widened in horror even as his face pales in renewed anger. His eyes fixating on the rickety desk.
"What the hell is this trash? You think you can bring more of your freakishness into MY house, boy?! I will not stand for this!"
Harry cries with renewed force when Vernon stomps across the floor, belt dropping to the floor when his uncle picks up his photo album. Ignoring the pain screaming at him to stop, harry tries to drag himself across the room to stop the man who tears through the pictures with gleeful laughter. Minutes pass and all Harry can do is watch as Vernon rips, tears and shreds every single picture he can get his meaty hands on. The only images of his biological parents; the only present he had ever received. Destroyed before his eyes.
Scattering the remains of the album and its contents on the floor, Vernon advances on his semi-conscious nephew; a terrifying sneer darkening his features when he stops to tower over the child. Grabbing a fistful of Harry's shirt, Vernon pulls him up, eyes glaring with unadulterated rage.
"You listen to me, boy, you will never be leaving this room again. I will have no more of your freakish behaviour ruining my perfectly normal family, do you hear me?"
With one final backhand, Vernon drops Harry alongside the tattered pictures, leaving the boy bleeding, broken, and alone. Locking each lock on the door, Vernon huffs before he stomps his way back down the stairs.
Harry finally lets the darkness overcome his senses.
A newly reborn Voldemort sits behind his desk in his personal study; the rebirthing ritual performed just the week prior. However, instead of the recognisable 'snake-face', he had been during the end of the wizarding war, the Dark Lord had been reborn as a 32-year-old Tom Marvolo Riddle, now going by the name of Marvolo Slytherin to his close followers until he can have it legally changed with the Gringott's Goblins.
His face once again holds the sharp, distinct features of the Slytherin line, his hair falling in graceful curls framing his pale face. His eyes, which were well known for their deep crimson colour, are now a rich brown, with red flecks dancing in their depths. His tall, lean body is dressed in black acromantula silk robes, held over his shoulders by a pure silver clasp adorned with two intertwining snakes.
He couldn't have gotten to where he is now, more alive than he had been in the past ten years if it hadn't been for his two most trusted and loyal Death Eaters; Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy. The only two he would ever consider his friends. The two who had been entrusted with essential roles during the preparation of the ancient rebirth ritual.
Severus, due to his stature as the youngest Potions Master in the Wizarding World had been tasked with extracting the Elixir of Life from the Philosopher's Stone and creating various potions which would allow Marvolo's soul to inhabit the newly formed body. As a reward for his dedication, efficiency, and achievement, Voldemort had given Severus permission to experiment with the artefact to find its uses in the arts of potions. His gratefulness had been shown through the wide smile and gleaming eyes he had directed toward Marvolo.
Lucius, being known for his brilliance in both Ancient Runes and Spell Crafting had been asked to write the runic symbols which would be required on the body and surrounding area in which the ritual was to take place to enable a quick and painless transition. He had been eager to attempt the spells during the ritual as he focused on each intricate wand movement, excited for the return of his Lord.
Despite this monumental, yet silent victory of the Dark Sect, the mood befalling the Dark Lord and his two right-hand men is a sombre one, for this night is the night in which Voldemort would rescue his Son and Heir from the clutches of his summer dwelling. The only reason he had been able to hold off while his soul settled within his new body was his knowledge that Harry had been armed with dozens of healing potions courtesy of one Severus Snape.
Tonight, the Dark Lord would be reunited with Harry Potter who had already made such a significant impact on his life and those around him. He will take the supposed Saviour of the Wizarding World, the Boy-Who-Lived from a place of torture and suffering. All because Albus Dumbledore cared more for his war, and his status among his fellow wizards than the welfare of the children entrusted to his care.
Not Marvolo though. He had seen the hidden ambitions and cunning. Had seen the bright spark of life Harry still held, despite all he had lived through. He remembered the strong, confident, snarky young child who had looked at him sans fear. Harry had met the eyes of his parents' murderer without flinching and Marvolo had felt proud of the child. He had watched as Harry shrank into himself, his self-confidence diminishing at the mere thought of being sent back to that hellhole, his bright eyes shining with unshed tears.
That had been the tipping point for Voldemort. The Dark Lord who was known for his cold, heartless personality; his ruthless dedication to his cause, was sickened to hear of Harry's home life, almost a mirror of his own. He had found a kindred spirit in Harry; a small, helpless boy who was so desperate for acceptance; a kind, loving family, that he had been willing to do almost anything to get it.
His heart had clenched painfully at the damage already inflicted on such a gifted child; a small fraction by his own had he was reluctant to admit. Yet, most of the heartache had been done, whether intentionally or not, but the self-proclaimed Leader of the Light, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Yes, that had indeed been the beginning. Lord Voldemort had begun to feel again, emotions he thought long dead had resurfaced. The progress rapidly increasing with each Horcrux he had reabsorbed in order for the ritual to work. He had begun to see the error in his previous actions, the extent of his insanity for the past two decades.
He would continue his war; with his goal of changing the wizarding world, of course, but this time he was going to destroy Dumbledore from the inside. Crushing the one thing the old man treasured more than anything else. His reputation.
He was going to appeal for the rights of all magical creatures who have been unfairly subjected to prejudice and discrimination implemented by the Light Sect; give assistance to all those who were shrouded in poverty. To integrate Muggleborns and Muggle-raised children into the wizarding world at an earlier age, to give them an education, and teach them of wizarding traditions and culture so that they may truly live within the Magical world.
For no matter what any wizard may think, whatever rumours had been spread about Lord Voldemort and his followers. The darkest wizards known in wizarding history hated all forms of abuse, be it magical creatures or children, whether it be an abuse of power or not. All people, creature or not, Dark or Light, young or old were supposed to be cherished, loved, and cared for as all had something to contribute to the strengthening of the country, all had something to offer and if current affairs continued then magical Britain would cease to exist.
It had been one of the things he had hated most about the Light Sect; They hadn't seemed to care about the poor Muggleborn students who had been abandoned by their parents; left to fend for themselves. Nor for the ones subjected to years of abuse, some not even returning to school after the summer holidays. They didn't care that Muggleborn and Muggle-raised children didn't learn anything about magic until their Hogwarts letters arrived setting them years behind their peers. Left them floundering to find their place in a world they never even knew existed.
Now, Lord Voldemort sits in the company of Severus and Lucius, mentally going over the plans they had constructed one final time. Lucius was to keep watch over the Muggles with Severus on standby to administer any healing potions if Harry needed them upon their arrival. Something the Dark Lord thought likely. The Dark Lord would check the house for his son; his worry spiking at the thought of what state the child would be in once they arrived.
Narcissa Malfoy was also on alert, setting up her Healer's equipment in a room Marvolo had ordered his House Elves to set up for his son once they arrived back home; knowing that Harry would need a full health checkup to determine the extent of the damage. As she is the most qualified Healer, having her Mastery in Healing, and trusted follower, she would be the one to administer any treatment Harry would need in hopes of reversing the damage done at his relatives' hands.
Furthermore, young Draco had agreed or rather demanded his father allow him to take up residence in Riddle Manor, eagerly awaiting the arrival of his friend. He had been set up in one of the guest bedrooms, close enough to Harry that if he wished to have company his own age Draco was there in case, he should become bored and need his friend.
The Dark Lord startles out of his thoughts when a thin, yet comforting hand drops to his shoulder. Jolting upright, hand slapping against the desk, Voldemort glances to his side to meet the concerned gaze of Severus Snape. His own eyes shining with anxiety and anticipation.
"My Lord, it is time."
Voldemort twists his wrist allowing his wand to drop from its holster and into his hand. Casting a quick Tempus charm, bright red letters tell him that it is 8 pm, indeed time to head off and collect his son. Excitement thrums through his veins, and he pushes himself from his seat, sending a small nod and smile of thanks to his potions master before motioning Lucius and Severus to follow him out of the study. He was not going to waste another second.
Upon arrival, Marvolo looks around the typical muggle area, sneering at the plain, boring, plebian street laid out before him. Each house is an almost perfect mirror of the one before, no colour, no individuality is being portrayed in the slightest throughout the area. Gardens are all rectangular and filled with small colourful flowers; each car parked neatly in the driveway and all houses seemed to be of the same non-descript brickwork and layout.
How could anyone stand to live in such a drab place?
Stepping out into the open street cautiously, keeping an eye out for any Muggles walking about in the late evening, Severus leads the way towards Harry's relatives' house, number 4 which is just as plain, if not more so, than the house before and after it. No one was about, the streets deserted as if fate was aiding them by keeping their activities secret. They were at no risk of being seen in their robes as they stroll purposefully toward their destination.
Stopping just short of the house's front garden, Lucius steps forward, lifting his wand into the air, he proceeds to cast a multitude of complex detection charms, trying to sense any wards which would prevent them from entering the home.
"It is as we suspected, My Lord. There are no wards that would deny us entry. The blood wards which Dumbledore used only work if the subject sees the residence as home. Otherwise, they would have prevented anyone with ill intent toward Harry from entering. Seen as neither occurs here then we should be safe to cross without incident." Lucius whispers, trying not to disturb the peace surrounding them. Bowing his head to his Lord, Lucius turns back to the ward's border, waving his wand he smirks.
"The wards are also incredibly weak, My Lord. Wandless and non-verbal magics of any kind will not be detected, nor will they be able to track or trace any magical signature of spells cast."
Inclining his head, Voldemort motions for Lucius and Severus to proceed him down the driveway, making their way to the front door. It was a good thing the wards would not be able to detect and therefore report any spells they may cast, as it means that they ran no risk of Dumbledore or the Ministry checking up on Harry. Performing a non-verbal and wandless Alohomora, Severus walks into the house ensuring that his footsteps are silent.
The three make their way down the hallway, hands at the ready, peering around the pristine house before a muffled sound catches their attention, drawing them toward the living room. The Dark Lord takes stock of the plain picture frames lining the walls, noticing that each one houses pictures varying of the same three people; a large whale of a man; a tall thin, horse-like woman, and a child much like his father. Though he isn't surprised at the lack of presence Harry has in these mementos.
Casting another cursory glance around the downstairs area visible, Voldemort is sickened to find not a single thing out of place, the carpets had been freshly vacuumed, the windows polished to shine, and all artefacts had been dusted to perfection. Even the walls looked as if they had been wiped down earlier that day. It is why he felt his heart stuttering in his chest when something crunches under his foot. Drawing a step backward, Marvolo glances down at the floor, eyes narrowing. There on the floor was a pair of bent, black wired glasses frames, small shards of glass scattered across the ground.
Anger rises in the Dark Lord. He turns his attention towards the partially opened door leading to the rest of the family, forgoing the kitchen as it would only increase his ire. Taking a deep breath and shaking his head at what Harry has been forced to go through, Voldemort heads towards the noise of a television set, calming a fraction when he sees complimenting rage in Lucius's and Severus's gaze.
Marvolo's annoyance escalates when he pushes open the living room door, his eyes narrowing at the three sitting on the sofa and armchair, looking as if they were relaxing after a well-balanced meal. Which his son had been forced to prepare no doubt. Shooting a wandless, non-verbal Bombarda at the television, Voldemort smirks, a spark of satisfaction spreading when the device blows up. His smirk widens when the Muggles jump, screaming in shock.
Anticipating the unease he has no doubt instilled in the muggles, Voldemort strolls into the living room knowing that he had their undivided attention as he stands in front of the soldering contraption, wand held loosely in his hand. The Dark Lord's lips stretch across his face, savouring the wide-eyed expressions on the muggles' faces, he relishes in their fear. He watches silently as their eyes flicker from his imposing figure to Lucius and Severus when he motions them into the room as well.
Their terror heightens when they see the two men flanking their Lord, both pointing their wands at the trio with deep frowns on their faces. The horse-like woman, Harry's maternal aunt is pale, recognition lighting her eyes as they flicker between the two men and their master rapidly. She wraps her arms around her whimpering son as best as she can.
While the larger man slowly turns an impressive shade of purple at the sight of these strangers, these freaks in his house. He glares at the wizards, fists clenching. Though his expression only serves to amuse the dark wizards who let smirks of defiance be shared between them. Leaping to his feet, the man, Harry's uncle, waddles over to the Dark Lord.
"What the hell do you think you are doing? I will have no more of your kind in my house! Get out!" Spittle flies from the man's mouth, disgusting the Dark Lord as he sneers down at Vernon, eyes flashing red momentarily in his anger, throwing the whale off guard as his chubby face pales, a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead.
"Now, now Mister Dursley, that is no way to treat your superiors, were you never taught any manners?" Lucius Drawls, blond hair framing his face, glowing in the moonlight when he turns to face the muggle. He holds his head high, exerting his usual Malfoy arrogance which leads Snape to inwardly roll his eyes, the blond reminding him all too much of the prize peacocks he loved to breed. Severus sneers across at the family, his expression black as thunder making them reel back.
Mister Dursley splutters, his face scrunching in anger. He momentarily forgets his fear in favour of starting another tirade. Before he can voice anything, a small hand on his arm prevents him. Petunia Dursley shakes her head, glancing nervously at the imposing figures standing in her living room. She focuses more on the red eyes of the Dark Lord; her sister had told her stories of the evil threatening to tear apart both worlds before her death.
"Vernon, leave it. You don't know who these people are; what they are capable of and what they will do to us!"
Vernon's face turns a darker shade of purple.
"I don't care who these freaks think they are; I will not have their kind in my house. It is bad enough that we were forced to keep one of them!"
At his words, Petunia shrinks back, edging away from her husband. Terrified at the unadulterated rage flashing in the eyes of the three men at the mention of Harry, Petunia concludes that, for whatever reason, her nephew is important to these people.
"Vernon!"
Lord Voldemort smirks at the woman's fear. Raising an eyebrow at her in warning; naturally, she would have figured out who they were, even if she were a muggle. He was sure that Lily, despite her estrangement would have warned her sister of the outbreak of the wizarding war. He turns his full attention to Petunia who is shaking with such force he is surprised she hasn't fallen.
"Now then, I believe introductions are in order. I am the Dark Lord, Voldemort as you seem to already know." He waits for Petunia to nod her head before continuing, "And I recently came across some rather… sensitive information. Information which informs me that you have been abusing a young wizard entrusted to your care. I would like to know why this child has been mistreated and where he is."
Eyes flashing red once more, Lord Voldemort watches as Petunia glances at his followers before swallowing audibly facing him again. She stumbles backward, wrapping her arms back around her son, sealing her lips shut.
"But we were told you were dead." The disbelief in her voice is evident, the confidence she held in Dumbledore, the man who had informed her of the end of the wizarding war wavering as the seconds' tick by.
"Ah, but as you can see Mrs. Dursley, I am very much alive," He mutters, glaring down at her, hands gesturing to his newly formed body, a smirk upturning when her eyes trail his form. "Now tell me where Harry is!"
Voice growing in volume, Voldemort watches eyes alight as Harry's cousin, Dudley, jumps off the sofa, diving behind it in hopes that the furniture would be enough to deter them from harming him. However, despite the threat looming over their heads, neither Vernon nor Petunia speak up accomplishing nothing more than raising the Dark Lord's temper. As if sensing this, Severus steps forward, bowing his head to Marvolo before gesturing towards the muggles.
"If I may, my Lord?"
The Dark Lord nods, looking on with intrigue as Severus turns towards the family, anticipation swirls in his chest at seeing his closest follower in action after so many years. He watches, attentive, as Severus's eyes narrow to slits on the horse-like woman, an unnatural glint in his onyx eyes. The Dark Lord's eyebrow raises in excitement, shivers travelling down his spine at the intensity of such a look.
"I suggest," Severus begins slowly slipping his wand into the holster on his arm, "you give the Dark Lord the information he wants, he is not a patient man, 'Tunia," Severus sneers Petunia's childhood nickname with as much venom as he could muster, eyes flashing with dark promises if she further refused his request. Satisfaction soothes him when her eyes widen in horrified recognition, hands coming to prevent a cry of denial.
"You! You're… You're one of them! How could you… Lily… she trusted you… you went Dark!"
Snape smirks at Petunia's surprise. His arms fold over his chest, and his sneer deepens drawing her stutters to a halt. He had been Dark his entire life, he could admit that, but he wouldn't stand for this woman to call him a traitor to Lily, who had been his best friend. He wasn't the one to turn his back on Lily just because she had magic; he hadn't been the one to ostracize Lily from any and all family gatherings. He hadn't been the one neglecting and abusing Lily's child entrusted to his care.
"A Death Eater? Yes, I am and we want to know where Mister Potter is. You know what we are capable of Petunia and I. Will. Not. Hesitate."
His voice growls, his own anger increasing at her refusal. Petunia watches his hand in trepidation, she could remember Lily excitedly explaining how she was finally being taught how to do wandless magic, and her fear increases. According to her sister, it was a hard feat to manage and by the lack of wands she can see being wielded, all three men standing before her had mastered it.
Petunia stares fearfully at Severus, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she watches helplessly as his fingers flex toward her son. She knows she needs to tell them what they want to hear if just to spare herself but her throat constricts as terror floods her veins at the thought of what these men would do to her family if they knew the true extent of damage inflicted on Harry. She startles when Dudley lets out a piercing scream. She watches, eyes wide, mouth floundering as her child withers on the floor in immense pain, tears streaming down his face.
Feeling more terrified than she had her entire life, Petunia focuses back on the Death Eaters. Shivers encase her when she sees her sister's childhood friend smiling vindictively as he twists his hand cutting off whatever spell he had cast. Vernon, who had been cowed into silence by the fear of adult wizards in his living room and his wife knowing just who these men were explodes. He storms forward, face red with rage, but before he can utter a word, Lucius pins him to his armchair with a sticking charm. An added silencing spell has him ranting wordlessly.
Petunia brings a trembling hand to her mouth, thumb brushing her tears away as she looks down at Dudley whose muscles were still twitching from the aftermath of the curse.
"What did you do?"
Severus lowers his hand a fraction, looking at the woman he knew throughout his childhood with disgust evident, sneering he shrugs his shoulders.
"Nothing much. Just a small torturing charm."
Gulping, Petunia hears the veiled threat to his words; the promise of more to come if she keeps her silence for much longer. Shame-faced, she looks down at her hands, clenching the material of her dress, her voice barely above a whisper.
"He's upstairs, the boy is upstairs – just don't hurt my Dudley."
"Why should we not? You seem perfectly happy with condoning all forms of child abuse, why is your son any different? From what I have witnessed viewing young Harry's memories, your son is less innocent than Harry was and therefore is more deserving of the actions you took against your own nephew!"
Lucius's smirk widens at the horrified looks on the Dursleys' faces, clearly, they had not expected them to have already known the extent of their treatment against their young nephew. In response to his Lord's words, Severus turns towards Marvolo and bows his head out of respect. Voldemort smiles at the dour man, pleased with the results thus far.
"Thank you, Severus you have done well. Both of you stay here and watch the Muggles, I will go and find Harry," Turning on his heels, Voldemort pauses in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder as he smiles maliciously, "Feel free to have some fun as well."
Grinning at the muggles, all three, looking horrified at the implications as the Dark Lord sweeps out of the living room, robes billowing out behind him as he walks up the narrow staircase. His worry for Harry increases with each step. Reaching the top of the stairs, Voldemort gasps in disgust upon spying a door that could lead to nowhere but his son's room. His magic flares violently alerting the people downstairs of his displeasure. Petunia flinches in response.
One of the doors at the end of the hall is shut tight, five locking devices keeping whomever inside from leaving, he doesn't even have to ponder on who was being kept behind such a heavily guarded door. Looking down his anger only increases, raw power blows outwards when he spots a cat flap installed at the foot of the door, indicating food being slipped in like a prisoner's cell.
Edging his way towards the bolted door, Voldemort attempts to reign his magic back so as to not startle or scare the small boy, if he is still conscious, as he performs multiple Alohomora's on the locks. Pushing open the door carefully, his eyes widen at the sight laid out before him. His anger returning full force.
Harry Potter is lying in the middle of the floor unconscious, just as he had feared. His t-shirt, which Voldemort could tell was several sizes too big, lay in tatters over a severely bloodied torso. Bruises of every shape, size, and stage of healing litter the small frame. His right wrist is being held protectively against his chest, while his other seems to be holding his ribs; his face, which is covered in cuts and small trails of blood, no doubt from the shattered glasses he had found earlier, is scrunched up in pain. A lump forming at the back of his crown indicates a possible concussion. Overall, his son is in an extremely bad condition, and it was all the old coot's fault, if he hadn't forced this young, innocent child back here, if he had just listened to Harry, then this wouldn't have happened.
After surveying the room for a moment longer, Voldemort rushes in, kneeling directly next to the unconscious eleven-year-old, brushing a cautious hand through the matted hair. He draws the hair away from Harry's pale, sweat-covered forehead and places a soft kiss on the child's forehead. Resting there for a second, Voldemort breathes deeply.
"I am so sorry my Little Snakelet."
Harry's eyelids flicker, shifting closer to the warm comforting form he can sense surrounding him as he mumbles softly.
"Father…"
"I am here, Snakelet. Father is here for you now; we are going to get you out of here and make you all better. You are never going to have to see these filthy Muggles again if you do not wish to. I am here, my son. You are safe, you are going to be okay."
Quickly taking off his outer robes, Marvolo carefully wraps it around Harry; being mindful of the multitude of whip lacerations scattered across Harry's chest and back. Picking the child up, Marvolo watches for any signs of discomfort from his son, as his eyes scan the shredded piece of paper around the room and the bloodied leather belt. Taking a shuddering breath, Voldemort smiles when Harry cuddles closer to his chest a sigh of contentment escaping. Securing his grip on Harry, the Dark Lord proceeds to gather and shrink all of the boy's possessions, placing them into his pockets for safekeeping.
Once he is certain there was nothing left in the room Harry would wish to keep, Voldemort turns on his heels and backs out of the prison cell, descending the stairs, he smirks when tell-tale whimpers reach his ears. At least those muggles were getting what they deserved.
"Severus, I need you to administer those emergency potions, NOW!"
The barked order draws everyone's attention to the Dark Lord as he storms through the living room, heading straight for the sofa. He sends his most deadly glare towards the muggles who are still twitching, whimpering, and crying on the floor, most likely due to bouts of the Cruiatus. He places Harry down gently, opening the robes to showcase the extent of the damage done to the child, earning collective gasps from his followers.
Severus rushes over, his face slipping into his usual Slytherin mask. Rolling up his sleeves, he drags a hand slowly over the prone form cast the few diagnostic spells he knew on Harry, trying to catch the most severe injuries and ailments. His eyes widen, expression crumbling into a grimace.
"He has a fractured right wrist, two broken ribs, one completely shattered and three more fractured, a mild concussion which is going to give him some difficulty when he wakes up. His left ankle also seems to be fractured, his left shoulder has been dislocated and will need to be forced back into place. His back, chest, upper arms, and thighs are covered in… what appears to be… whip marks made by a… belt… He also has small slivers of glass stuck in the cuts on his face."
Looking away from the small child, Severus closes his eyes tightly willing to prevent his tears from falling as they sting the back of his eyes. Shaking his head, Severus raises his occlumency shields in order to properly heal Harry. He can detect signs of healing potions attempting to heal some of the more severe injuries and is relieved to know that he had helped Harry in some way. He just dreaded to think what state Harry would be in now if it hadn't been for the extra potions.
The Dark Lord watches Severus in sympathy, he knows that Severus also suffered through this form of abuse from his father, and therefore knew exactly what Harry was going through. He watches silently as Severus begins to administer multiple potions to his son, spelling them directly into the boy's stomach, his face unnaturally pale.
Blood replenishing potions followed by skele-grow partnered with pain relief potions, infection prevention salves, and cleansing agents were all being given to Harry, healing the more life-threatening injuries before anything else. Severus follows these up with as many healing spells as he is capable of casting wandlessly, trying to seal the slashes on Harry's back as best as he can until they can bring the child to Narcissa.
Throughout the healing process, Marvolo refuses to release Harry's hand, brushing the pad of his thumb over the boy's knuckles, all the while whispering reassuring words in his ear despite his uncertainty as to whether Harry could hear him or not. He never once moves his gaze from the pale paler of his son, not even when a reassuring hand is placed on his shoulder, no doubt from Lucius. Though the kind gesture wakes him from his numb stupor.
"Lucius?" His voice is quiet, deep and holds a subtle hiss that causes shivers to run down the spines of everyone in the room. "Show these filthy Muggles what happens when someone harms the Son of the Dark Lord!"
His voice cracks, hoarse from the overloading emotions running rampant through his mind, still holding exponential power as he ignores the surprised gasps from around the room. Lucius bows his head with a malicious smirk pulling the corner of his lips as he turns towards the muggles.
"With Pleasure, My Lord." He mutters, turning his full attention to the cowering muggles, the female shooting terrified looks between her nephew and the Dark Lord.
"Son?"
"Yes, the Dark Lord's son and heir. Our Lord took quite the liking to young mister Potter at the end of his academic year and upon finding out about his atrocious homelife, both from your nephew's words and memories decided it was in Harry's best interest if he were to take him in as his own. However, due to extenuating circumstances, he was unable to collect Mister Potter directly and was forced to leave him in your care until he was able to come for him. But you. You despicable excuse of humans, even for muggles, have hurt the son of our master, our Lord, our friend and we do not take kindly to anyone laying a finger on our Dark Prince."
Lucius's hand shoots out, sending a powerful Crucio towards the three muggles, smirking at the sight of them whimpering and twisting on the floor like the low-life, insignificant creatures they were. The silencing spells he had erected prior to his speech working to their full effect, making sure that no one would hear anything and report it to the muggle police.
"You see, Our Lord became rather fond of Harry almost as soon as he came into contact with him and when this disconcerting news came to light, he immediately offered the chance of adoption to Harry who happily accepted. Our Lord wanted to make sure that he would never be subjected to your deplorable treatment ever again."
This time a bone-shattering curse flies toward the Dursleys with deadly precision. Vernon hisses, clutching his right knee as Petunia cries out in pain and cradles her left forearm to her chest, neither parent shifts nor pays attention when their son screams, hands flying to his ribs. Each one sniffles as tears stream down their cheeks from the pain.
"I am disgusted at how you dared to treat a magically blessed child. I could very well take this up with the Ministry of Magic. Did you know that the neglect and abuse of a magical child is one of the worse crimes you can commit in the eyes of our laws? Resulting in a lifetime stay in Azkaban." Finally, Lucius flicks a Sectumsempra at the withering creatures, aiming so that they were each sporting a bright red slash down their chest and arms as they shake, both in fright and from the aftereffects of Lucius's torture.
Severus, having finished administering as much healing as he is capable on Harry, places a supportive hand on Marvolo's shoulder, surprised warmth filling his chest when his master quickly brings his free hand up to grip his in return. Gripping on for support and in thanks for the work the potions master had accomplished for his little boy.