539Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Works are not mine. The characters and settings are owned by J. K. Rowling and her respected publishing companies e.g. Bloomsbury.
The Darkness Is Born...
Somebody told me that I always have to bow
If that was true I would have fallen apart by now
The more you think, the less you act their ways
So can you hear this, the fake sound of progress
The Fake Sound Of Progress - Lostprophets
1st November 1981 – 1:12AM
Dumbledore was sitting in his office, elbows on the desk and chin on his clasped hands; pensively staring into the fire. He had awoken in the ruins of the building that had once been Potter Cottage, (luckily Robert and Harry were safe); Aurors had arrived at the scene and had questioned him thoroughly.
Dumbledore happily enough gave them his statement. He had gone to the cottage after his wards were triggered by a dark presence, he then went into the twins bedroom and discovered Voldemort clutching little Harry to his chest. And before Dumbledore could act, Voldemort had drawn his wand on the child and cast the killing curse; there was a bright flash of light and he was knocked unconscious.
The situation was...surprising to say at the least, and the actual results even more so. Dumbledore honestly did not think that Voldemort would jump in front of the curse for the child, but he could not let anyone else know that. So Voldemort was dead (in the public eyes at least), defeated by a 14 month old-child; Harry Potter – the boy-who-lived. Harry Potter: the prophecy child, the only boy to face the Dark Lord and live to tell the tale, the scar on his forehead marking him as his equal, and now he must support the Light firmly.
Of course having such a child in the wizarding world where he could be corrupted by greed, power and fame just couldn't be possible, no he had to be removed from the public – to his Muggle relatives. Dumbledore would just overlook the fact that these were the worse kind of Muggles possible: prejudiced, bigoted and xenophobic. And he would ignore the fact that these Muggles responded to strange things with physical violence, no, to dwell on such things would just give him a headache. It would be for the greater good, Harry will be much more kind and gentle (not to mention pliable) if he was far, far away from the magical world.
The sound of his door opening roused him from his thoughts, James poked his head in, his normally mischievous face replaced with a grim expression, he fell into the room and Lily appeared. Dumbledore smiled tiredly at them, gesturing to the armchairs in front of his desk which they gladly sat in.
"How are the boys?" Dumbledore asked them, James ran a hand through his messy locks whilst Lily rubbed at her eyes.
"Physically they are fine, but Harry is really quiet whereas Robert is crying. It's really weird." he told the older man with a confused face. Dumbledore just sighed.
"It is to be expected I think." the elderly wizard said. "Harry has been through a hard time, he's probably in shock. Which brings me back to his situation." he addressed the two parents, who glanced at each other before looking at their mentor.
"We think he should go to my sister, just until all the fuss dies down. They have a child too, so it won't be too much of a bother," Lily tiredly explained to the Headmaster, who nodded along understandingly. "She is a Muggle and far away from us all, it is all for his protection of course, there are many Death Eaters around still."
"I was thinking the same thing m'girl." he agreed with her, reaching over and squeezing her hand briefly with an assuring smile. "It's a sad fact, but he will understand." he told her, Lily just nodded. "Would you like me to arrange everything?" he asked her gently and she bit her lip.
"If you would." she replied with watering eyes, he just smiled at her again.
1st November 1981
Vernon opened his front door cheerfully, whistling a nursery rhyme as he looked about the street; reaching down with sausage fingers to retrieve his milk – he faltered. A child was on his doorstep. A child with blue lips and shocking-green eyes,wrapped in a light-blue shawl which he had been left in all night. Vernon stood gaping at the sight which was definitely not normal before doing the only thing that would solve this confusion.
"PETUNIA!" he called into the house, and seconds later a blonde woman with an extremely long neck appeared next to her bulging husband with an irate look.
"What is it Vernon? I was feeding Dudders-" she trailed off as she spotted what her husband was staring at. "Get it in!" she hissed at him, "Before the neighbours see!" she elaborated, swiftly moving back into the kitchen where a blonde, pudgy child was banging his fists against the table; Vernon quickly followed after her, bundle tucked in his massive arms
"There's a letter." Vernon told his wife, pointing at a neatly folded piece of parchment tucked next to the cold boy. He moved to take it but Petunia snatched it from him, she quickly read the contents and paled, the parchment falling through her slack fingers. Vernon then read it, face growing red with anger.
'Dear Mrs and Mr Dursley,
Last night Lily and James Potter's cottage was attacked by an evil wizard. James and Lily were out of the house at the time so the nursemaid was caring for Robert and Harry. Luckily though Harry somehow defeated the wizard, I am hoping you would take him in for safe keeping for a couple of months.
Thank you.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'
"How dare they!" thundered Vernon, crumpling the parchment into a tight ball. "Why do we have to have him? He is going to be a FREAK like THEM!" Petunia nodded dazedly along with her husband, before narrowing her gaze.
"It's all Lily's fault. She always was an impertinent and ungrateful child." Petunia spat with distaste. "Not even raising her own child! She's disgusting." she told her her husband, lifting the basket which held the boy.
"Where are you going?" he asked his wife, hands clenched tightly into fists. Petunia ignored him, balancing the basket on her hip as she threw open the door to the cupboard under the stairs and placed the child in there.
"If we have to look after the freak, I don't want to see him all the time." she told her husband with a disdainful sniff, resuming her child's dinner. Vernon nodded absent mindedly, before walking out of the house and into the company car. 'Today is going to be horrible, I just know it.' he thought to himself as he drove out of his drive.
7th November 1981
He twisted the door-knob to no avail. 'Locked – again.' he thought with with a sneer.
Rodolphus Lestrange raked his fingers through his devilishly handsome locks with an exasperated sigh. Removing the fingers from his hair he formed a fist with them and banged them against the tall oak door in front of him.
"Bella! Open the door love!" he demanded, punctuating each word with a pummel against the wood – there was no reply. "Bella, Bella, Bella." he chanted, falling into a heap beside the door and pressed his palm against it; blue eyes forlorn at his wife's behaviour. "You haven't stepped out of your room in a week Bella, and the house-elves say you won't eat. Snap out of it." he pleaded with her.
There was silence and Rodolphus was about to leave when he heard a muffled 'thump' from the other side of the door. "Bella?" he questioned, resting his worried temples against the cool wooden surface.
"They're gone, Rodo." he heard a quiet voice stutter out, he closed his eyes in pain. 'Not again.' he whispered in his mind.
"Our Lord isn't gone Bella. Just look at your arm." he told her gently, staring at his own arm. "You know as well as I, that this mark would disappear if he was truly gone. But it's still there love, just faded; he's out their still, growing stronger with each passing day. All we have to do is find him and help him recover!" he told his wife, hoping his enthusiastic words would help pull her from her depression.
"How can we Rodo? He's so far away. And have you read what the papers say!" she suddenly screamed hysterically. "They're saying that our little one defeated him! He didn't, I know he didn't! Our Lord made him his blood-brother for Merlin's sake!"
Rodolphus smiled slightly at his wife's passionate cries, 'At least her spirit's back.' he thought gratefully. She had been like a ghost ever since she was forced back home from the Potter's, she wouldn't speak, wouldn't eat or exit her rooms. 'It was like she was dead...'
Rodolphus shook himself, those thoughts wouldn't do any good. "I know love." he told her reassuringly "It was Dumbledore. All Dumbledore's fault."
"And now we'll never have our little one..." she forced out with a sniff, 'I'll never have him, I'll never have children!' she moaned pitifully, and Rodolphus heard quiet sobs coming from the other side of the door.
"Bella, love." Rodo started once he heard her crying, he had been party to this situation too many times before, and knew exactly where her self-pity would lead her. And Merlin knew he didn't want that.
"DON'T RODO, DON'T!" she screeched through the wooden door. "YOUR WORDS DON'T MAKE ME FEEL ANYTHING! JUST ONE THING. I JUST WANTED ONE THING! Was that too much to ask?" she faltered off, her tears reaching a new level and Rodo felt like his heart was breaking at the helplessness his wife was feeling.
"Bella..."
"SHUT UP! YOU KNOW NOTHING!"
Rodolphus felt something inside him react to the words. "NO I DON'T." he roared back at her. "I DO NOT KNOW A THING UNLESS YOU'LL TELL ME! AND IT'S NOT LIKE I'VE HAD TO PUT YOU BACK TOGETHER AGAIN EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU'VE BEEN DESTROYED FROM EACH MISCARRIAGE AND EVERY NEGATIVE RESULT. NO IT'S NOT LIKE I WAS THERE AT ALL WAS IT?" he snarled, derision dripping off his tongue, acting like acid on open wounds.
"AND IT'S NOT LIKE I WAS DEVASTATED EACH TIME WE LOST A CHILD WAS IT? NO, BECAUSE RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE WOULD NOT WANT KIDS BECAUSE HE'S A HEARTLESS BASTARD. ISN'T THAT RIGHT? AND HE DOESN'T SUFFER THROUGH WATCHING HIS WIFE TORTURE HERSELF OR DIE A LITTLE INSIDE EACH TIME SHE BERATES HERSELF, AND WOULD NEVER COMFORT HER OR LOVE HER STILL! WOULD HE?"
Heavy panting was the only result to his venomous tirade, and he was still gasping for breath even as the door opened slightly. "Bella?" he questioned once he had regained proper use of his voice and he opened the door further and stepped inside.
Bellatrix was curled in the foetal position just beyond the door, a bright-blue stuffed rabbit clutched tightly to her bosom. His heart was pained at the sight, his wife so defenceless holding the toy that would have been their first child's if Bella hadn't miscarried.
He swiftly moved into the room, falling beside his wife and pulling her close to him. Back to chest, hands carding through curled-locks, muttering assurances into seemingly deaf ears, as she sobbed into the rabbit.
They stayed in that position for countless minutes. 'For as long as is needed.' Rodolphus corrected absently. 'Until she can stand by herself again.' he thought. 'Until she can face the cruel world with her sadistic smirk and bright eyes and with her cold demeanour and haughty looks and all the other quirks I fell in love with.'
"I'm sorry" she whispered, rousing him from his thoughts, "I-I never realised how this affected you and I should have. I'm your wife, I should support you as you support me. And I've failed you Rodo, I'm so sorry." she choked out, attempting to look away from him in shame, but the hands in her hair stopped the action.
"Bella love. You don't need to apologise. We'll start again." he promised her with a smile. "What shall we do tomorrow love?" he asked her, relieved when she finally met his eyes.
"Away." she answered distantly. "Away from here. Let us find our Lord." Rodolphus nodded along with her, a fresh start was what they needed. Away from England for the time being, one day they would return, hopefully with their Lord in tow.
"Yes, that's a good plan." he told her happily and she offered him a watery smile.
'We will get our Lord Back, and we will get our little one too.' Rodolphus silently vowed, even if his wife didn't know it yet.
6th July 1991
'I hate Lily and James Potter' That was one of young Harry Potter's first thoughts, along with 'I hate the Dursleys' and 'I hate this cupboard!' Hate, pure unadulterated hate, one of the only emotions the 10 year old boy had experienced in his entire life, in fact, the only thing that he actually liked – were his dreams.
He dreamt of a young woman with beautiful curly hair and kind chocolate eyes, asking him whether he wanted to stay with her. Harry had thought this women was his mother, but she wasn't, he knew what his mother looked like and the dream women wasn't her. Sadly.
He also dreamt of a handsome middle-aged man performing some sort of spell to become little Harry's brother. Magic, what a wondrous thing, celebrated in his dream world, scorned and hated in this world. Young Harry Potter did know what magic was, he had known for a long time, but that is for later on...
He was currently huddled in the too-small cot in his hated cupboard; the shadows and darkness (for he wasn't allowed a light bulb) hid the bruises that marred the ten year-old's fragile body, hid the haunted emerald eyes and hid the cruel smirk which appeared whenever the child thought of ways to punish those he hated.
But those looks should not be on a person so young, it was ghastly to think upon the horror and torture a child has to endure to become warped enough to create those expressions. Horrible to think upon the people who had the stomach and heart to create the horrors the child had to face. How could they corrupt an innocent babe? Poison him against the world? Destroy his youth and any child-like emotions that go hand-in-hand with it? Inconceivable, unbelievable, unthinkable.
And yet it had happened...
"BOY!" thundered the voice of his whale of an uncle through the cupboard door and Harry stared at the it with derision. Boy, one of the only two words in this house used to address him by. "We want breakfast, make it!" he demanded. Harry heard him unbolt the and plod away; he uncurled and stretched, ignoring the protestations of his pained and stiff body.
Upon opening the door, he squinted, adjusting his poor eyes to the blaring sun streaming through the obscene orange curtains. Silently walking into the kitchen, he made his way towards the stove, pulling the heavy pans out of the cupboard, careful not to bang them too loudly. He dragged a rickety, old stool from under the table and placed it in front of the cooker, for his ten year-old body wasn't tall enough to see above the stove. He had just placed 9 eggs into the hissing oil when his aunt entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table.
"Freak." she stated coolly, 'There it is, my other name.' Harry thought with a sneer. "Your mother has sent another letter, would you like to hear it?' she asked in a sickly-sweet voice. 'No I wouldn't you cow.' he thought but didn't state this, he didn't need to add any further injuries to his list. "Of course she needs some sort of contact with you doesn't she? It's not like dumping her kid on me and never seeing it is abnormal, is it?" she hissed with fury, Harry didn't reply, he had heard the tirade too many timed to care. Desensitised to it, one may say.
Her strangely long fingers fiddled with the wax seal of the envelope before pulling out the parchment, and as she did so something drifted to the table. Petunia's eye lit up with excitement. "Look at this freak she sent you a picture too, isn't that nice." she laughed at him. "It's of your twin and your loving parents, and they're on brooms.' she said, gleefully emphasising the emotive words. Harry thought that she may have been hoping for a reaction, she was going to be sadly mistaken then.
Petunia Dursley nee Evans hated the magical world, abhorred it. Being able to perform magic wasn't a gift in her opinion, it was a curse. So she took great enjoyment with punishing her freak of a sister's son, beat the freakishness out of him. She wouldn't lie to her nephew like some may have thought she would, and deny all knowledge of another world and all existence of magic. But they were wrong, she would tell him the truth. Kill his soul with it, Magic was real, and his magical parents abandoned him with Muggle relatives, in favour of his twin who they had kept.
He was of course told of the reasons why he was place with Muggle relatives, maybe in hope that he would accept their pitiful reasons, and agree with whatever his parents said. Maybe they hoped that with them sending him letters, he would feel loved and a part of his real family. Maybe they thought that he didn't know that they knew of his abusive punishments and regular beatings. Harry Potter hated these ideas – they were pathetic.
"Anyway Freak, this is what your darling mother has written." she said, rousing Harry from his hateful mind. "My lovely Harry." Petunia began in a high, nasal voice. "How are you darling? Your father and I have just come back from tea at Hogwarts, Headmaster Dumbledore told us that the Muggle Studies professor was retiring so I have been offered the position, isn't that great? So now I'm working with your father and your uncle Sirius, unfortunately I have to see Severus everyday too, I'll have to grin and bare it but your father and Sirius say they'll prank him!"
This was how Harry learnt about the Magical world, through these letters he was sent, it was also how Harry discovered that his dream woman wasn't his mother. And with each word read to him, Harry felt his rage grow, Lily Potter's narcissistic and 'holier-that-art-thou' attitude just annoyed the hell out of him. And to be quite honest Harry quite liked the sound of Severus, quiet and brooding, the type of people who create the best types of revenge. In any case, he liked Severus Snape more than his bully father and godfather.
"Robert keeps asking for you, he misses his little brother! The picture is of the three of us out on the Quidditch Pitch, your father reckons you'll be a brilliant Keeper because Robert is the Seeker in the family! We're really sorry, but you're going to have to stay with your aunt and uncle for a while still. There are still evil men around; last week, a man attacked your father because he thought him a blood traitor! Love you loads. Your Mother." she finished with a great big kiss. "So what did you think of that, Freak?" she asked, mirth dancing in her eyes.
"I'm disgusted." he answered her truthfully, and she laughed, it was the only thing they agreed upon.
"Too true, Freak, too true. She is such a selfish little bint, her and that husband of hers. Mother was so happy when Lily turned out to be a witch, so proud. And I was the only one who saw her for what she really was...a dirty little Freak." she stated with hate, crumpling the letter in her hand. "I mean how does she expect you to reply? She didn't even give you her address. She probably didn't want you to reply."
Harry silently agreed with her, too concentrated on not burning the bacon and sausages sizzling in a second pan, to verbally answer.
"She hasn't even visited you once either." Petunia idly commented, fingering her golden wedding band. Harry scowled at the meat, when he was younger and less wise he once harboured the thoughts that his parents would come and save him from his beatings and cruel relatives. But he soon learnt the truth; they wouldn't come. He might have even liked them if they had visited once, would have forgiven them, but they never visited, never took him out, he hadn't seen them since he was a year old.
"I mean if for some reason I had to give Dudders to someone, God forbid the thought." Petunia's voice cut through Harry's thoughts and he vaguely saw her cross herself. "I would at least visit him once a day." And Harry knew she would, Petunia may be a horrible woman to him, but she cherished her son beyond belief.
"How is breakfast coming along, boy?" barked Vernon upon entering the kitchen, kissing his wife on the cheek and opening the morning paper.
"I just finished." Harry replied in a neutral voice, placing three fried eggs, four sausages, five rashers of bacon, a pile of beans and two grilled tomatoes on Vernon's plate, before doing the same for the other two occupants in the house.
"Good." was Vernon's only reply as he continued to read his paper. Harry stepped off his stool and stood on his tip-toes to grasp the heavy plate above him, his mouth watered at the sight but he knew a slice of bread would most likely be the most he would receive.
And he was right, after the Dursleys had finished their meal they absently told him that he could get one piece of bread before going back into his cupboard. Harry just glared at them with his eerie verdant eyes and retreated back into his hated cupboard with dark thoughts.
'I hate them. Why oh why can't my dreams be real?'
7th July 1991
It was Sunday, Harry hated Sundays mostly because Vernon Dursley was in the house all day long, this meant the probability of Harry getting beaten was extremely high. He was in his cupboard (as always) because he was being kept away from the residents of the house asVernon's sister, Marge was visiting with her bulldogs. Marge hating Harry would be an accurate statement, Harry hating Marge would be an understatement, he despised her very bones.
All she would do was rage against the Potters, it didn't affect Harry like she originally thought it would 6 years prior when he first met her, it just annoyed the hell out of him. He already knew that the Potters were pathetic, he didn't need to be repeatedly told by the woman who gladly spent hours salivating over the newest letter sent from Lily. Sneering and mocking Harry over his mother's words and comments, and he couldn't reply, for speaking just brought pain – and Harry's self-preservation skills were high.
He could already hear their gossiping through the thin walls of his cupboard, this time about how Robert looks like a mutated lion with his wild red-brown hair and dirty clothes – Harry had to laugh at this description because it fit his twin very well. And because of that topic of Robert, their conversation soon moved onto Lily and James' poor parenting skills.
"Honestly." he heard Marge say. "Shouldn't they be in social care? Surely this kind of thing is against the law? You can't fob your children off on someone else, if you have kids you should care for them yourself." she stated in her supercilious voice.
"We've tried Marge, we really have, but we can't get rid of him." Petunia morosely replied. Harry heard a chair scrape across the floor so he assumed Marge must have stood to comfort her sister-in-law. "After all, we have no documentation for the freak, so we can't send him to some school and we can't give him to the authorities because they'll just ask questions."
"You poor dear." cooed Marge; Harry grimaced at the sound.
"Yes but he is useful for some things."
"Good." Marge firmly said. "He should earn his keep and be grateful."
Harry tuned out of the conversation then, he didn't want to to hear about how 'grateful' he should be for the little food received and the chance to redeem himself from his parents sins by the beatings he received. Harry thought that that was just an excuse to beat him, Vernon didn't need a reason for violence.
And Harry hated excuses, he thought they were a pathetic way to justify one's deeds with sweet words, and thought they were lies to fool one's self of the side of them they didn't like. Harry liked the people who were straight-forward with their thoughts and actions but were able to hide them to gain more power and respect. He didn't want glory and fame because he thought they were overrated, but power? Oh yes, he wanted power, the power to control his life, the power to have other's attention and admiration and the thrill of having enough power to make other's fear.
He already had the power to make other's fear, because despite the Dursley's constant belittlements, Harry knew they feared him. They feared magic and Harry was extremely magical, not that they ever saw him performing magic – they just saw the consequences.
Like the time, Petunia attempted to cut his hair because it was at an 'abnormal length' and shaved half of it off, but the very next day Harry's hair was the same as it always was. Or the time that he ended up on the school's roof when running from Dudley's gang, or the time when Harry was too sick to move after a rather vicious beating and the Dursley's breakfast was already made.
Most people thought that this magic was unintentional, a reflex one may say, accidental magic say the Magical world, but it wasn't. Harry could do many, many things, he could hurt, heal, create, and escape with magic, but everything he did had a purpose.
For example, he had found a broken musical carousel toy when he was cleaning the spare bedroom earlier in the day, Harry quite liked it and had hidden it in his cupboard. When he returned to his cupboard he glanced upon the toy 'It looks antique – maybe Victorian' that was Harry's first thought upon seeing it, made mostly from cream and rouge painted wood, with ornate cherub and jesters adorning the sides, the horses were bay, chestnut and grey. The handle that operated the carousel was missing hence why it lay forgotten, Harry flexed his fingers with a smile, delighted as the once broken toy was now spinning with a jaunty tune playing happily from it.
Oh, Harry loved having power...
11th July 1991
The bright sun was setting for the day, casting the glorious pastel hues across the beautiful rolling hills and large meadows and paddocks, where the Manor's horses were trotting into the stables for the night. Albino peacocks strutted across the sprawling Manor grounds their beady red eyes glowing in the gowning darkness as they ran from the white-blonde boy that had just appeared outside of the Manor doors.
They opened by themselves when the blonde approached them, but even the spotless House-Elf service did little to change the frown that marred his otherwise angelic features. He strode from the entrance hall, too accustomed to the lavish and intricate furnishings to gape in awe over them (Malfoy's do not gape anyway – Rule 135), his destination was his father's study where he knew his father would be working.
"Draco, how was school?" Lucius Malfoy greeted his son with a small once he saw his eleven-year old child scowling at the floor. Draco locked his silver eyes he inherited to his father's identical one's and huffed.
"Terrible father." he admitted, and Lucius raised an eyebrow at his son. Draco took a deep breath – that was the sign he was looking for "Tell me about Harry Potter, please. The Weasley spawn kept telling me about how he defeated Our Lord! But Our Lord could not be defeated by one so young could he father? And Aunt Bella told me that Harry Potter was our Lord's blood brother, he wouldn't defeat Our Lord, would he, father?" Draco rushed out and Lucius had to stifle a chuckle at his son's exuberance but by his son's glare he would have to assume that his neutral mask was failing.
"Draco you've heard how that night went multiple times, I don't even know why you let yourself be sucked in by that idiot's blathering." Lucius told him and Draco looked away, a blush staining his cheeks at the comment. "Your Aunt Bella and Our Lord went into the nursery to take Harry, Our Lord decided to make Harry his blood brother because then they would be equals, thus proving the Prophecy to be true. He was about to give Harry to your Aunt because she would have been his adoptive mother when Our Lord detected the presence of Dumbledore and ordered us to retreat ends but Bella didn't want to abandon Harry so Our Lord forcefully apparated her away. We can only assume what happened after that but it is more than likely that Dumbledore cast the killing curse at Our Lord. But he is not defeated Draco, don't you ever believe that, your Aunt and Uncle have nearly found him after all." Draco looked at his father with gratitude, he didn't want his two idols to be marred by that red-headed idiot.
"Yes father." Draco dutifully agreed.
"And the Weasels? Pah! I don't even know how they afforded to get another one of their children into primary school. What is her name? Jessy? Gina?"
"Ginny." Draco informed his father with a small smile which Lucius returned.
"Yes Ginny, thank you Draco, just thank Merlin that Andras doesn't attend there." he shuddered with a sneer. "It was a very good idea of Sev and Remus', I wanted to tutor you personally but the Ministry wouldn't allow it." he sighed regretfully and Draco placed his smaller hand upon his father's shoulder, Lucius looked upon his child with pride.
"Is Harry really with Muggles?" The younger blonde asked his father with barely concealed horror.
"Not by his own choice I assure you." Lucius told his son, chuckling at his son's Muggle-phobia.
"The poor thing." Draco sympathised with the boy he had never met.
"I know son, we'll just have to spoil him once we find him, won't we?" Lord Malfoy told his son, molten silver eyes dancing with amusement.
"Yes." Draco nodded firmly.
11th July 1991
Harry had been awake for 6 hours – no it is more accurate to say that he had slept for an hour. His insomnia had been increasing ever since he was five when he only got 5 hours sleep, now he was lucky to catch 2 hours. That is if you exclude his fainting spells where he was unconscious for hours on end, Harry knew why he always fainted, it was a shame that the Dursley's didn't understand too though. Harry thought it was quite obvious, he was starved, worked to exhaustion and regularly beaten but he hardly ever slept; were they really too stupid to understand? Harry snorted to himself, of course they were.
He glanced disinterestedly around his cupboard, he knew every object in this tiny space by memory now. A small bookcase next to the door, Dudley's broken soldiers on top of that, his small cot crammed into the corner below the gas pipes. A thin layer of dust coated every surface, spider webs hung in the corners and the spiders themselves were scattered everywhere. Harry didn't care.
"BOY!" bellowed Vernon, unlocking the cupboard door. "OUT NOW! We want our dinner." he grunted, Harry lazily complied. Fixing a neutral expression upon his face before exiting, automatically closing his eyes from the bright light of the hallway. Upon entering kitchen he saw his fat cousin sat at the table, a bored expression on his face as he stared out of the window at the prim garden with manicured hedges and flowerbeds. Petunia sat opposite him filling a cross-word with utmost concentration, he carefully lifted the stool from its place, after he got lashes for dragging it too loudly the day before. His aunt glanced up at the movement and sneered at her nephew.
"Your mother hasn't sent you a letter today Freak. How do you feel about that?" she asked with malice, Harry just stared at her flatly, resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow. She narrowed her eyes at his failure to answer. "Well?"
"If I was to be honest, I would say I was relieved." he stated in calm voice whilst pulling a packet of fresh pasta from the fridge and placing it on the surface next to the stove.
"Understandable." was her reply. "And Dudders isn't getting the same as Vernon and I, he can have a cheese salad." she told her nephew idly whilst filling in a one of the cross-word answers.
Harry acknowledged her request and set about his task.
"But mum!" whined the whale at the table, greasy blonde hair clinging to his sweaty skin. "I don't like salad! And you and daddy get all the good food! Make the Freak cook me something nice!" he demanded, banging his fists upon the table.
"Dudders the doctor told me to cut down on your food, so you'll either eat it or you'll eat nothing at all." she told her son with a stern look, the fat boy just crossed his arms and looked away, Petunia ignored him.
"What's all the noise about?" Vernon enquired as he waddled into the kitchen, Dudley immediately began to complain to his more sympathetic father about his eating dilemma. Vernon's double-chin wobbled as he nodded along to his son's complaints, patting him consolingly on the arm.
"Now, Tunny." Vernon began in a chastising tone, "Our Dudders is a growing lad and he needs all the food he can get." Harry had to physically bite his lip in order to not laugh out loud at this sentence, but his eyes watered with mirth as he stirred the pasta in the pan. "This salad business will not satisfy his needs, we want our son to be strong and healthy don't we?" Petunia assessed her husbands words and with a quick look at her son she nodded at her husband.
"Boy! Make Dudders his normal tea." he commanded, and Harry mentally sighed as his cooking was nearly finished. He vaguely heard Dudley thanking his father and Petunia commenting on new clothes for her son's rapidly expanding body.
"All right." he agreed, Vernon's face flushed various shades of red before finally settling on a horrible puce. He stormed from his chair narrowing angry eyes that promised pain onto the small boy in front of him; he raised his pudgy hand and swung it across the ten-year old's cheek with a deafening 'crack'. Harry flew from his stool into the cupboards opposite, slamming his head against the corner and with a pained-shout he crumpled to the kitchen floor.
"Show your elders respect, Boy!" he roared, spittle flying everywhere. "You will address me as 'Sir'. Do you understand?" he thundered to the dazed boy below him.
Harry raised his heavy head with difficulty and locked his half-lidded emerald orbs to enraged watery-blue one's. He could hardly feel any part of his body apart from the splitting headache at the back of his head and he had a sneaking suspicion that the stickiness clumping his dirty hair together was his own blood.
"BOY!" screamed Vernon at the near unconscious boy. "Answer me!"
Harry hated the Dursleys, hated his cupboard, hated this life he was leading so he did something that he had been wanting to do for years. He raised his lead-weighted arm with concentration, curling his hand into a fist and lifting his middle and index-fingers in the process. He aimed them at the man dubbed his 'Uncle' and slurred the one word that issued pain but promised liberation. "No" before slipping into the waiting arms of unconsciousness.
"That..." Vernon stuttered in a dark voice. "That little bastard!" he screamed, dragging the limp body away from the kitchen and into the garage where most beatings were held.
"Mum?" Dudley enquired with confusion, pointing at where his nephew was once standing.
"Yes Dudders love?" she asked lovingly, pinching his chubby cheek but her son quickly shrugged her had away.
"Will I still get my tea?"
Severus wiped his brow on his sleeve with a tired sigh, he had been working at Hogwarts school for ten years now. He was the youngest Potion Master of all time, qualifying at age 19 he had dedicated his youth and free-time into advancing the Wolfsbane Potion for his then-friend and now-lover: Remus Lupin. The updated potion, allows the Werewolf to transform with their complete human mental faculties without pain, the transformation wouldn't harm the Werewolf and they would feel rejuvenated after transforming back into a human. It truly was astounding and Severus was paid a hefty amount for the recipe.
He was currently in his labs preparing the potions needed for the infirmary and he was exhausted. He had to be awake at a Merlin-forsaken hour to prepare his class notes, eat his breakfast, teach classes full of pathetic dunderheads Potions and then make more potions until late into the night. No wonder the students thought he was irritable, he hardly got any sleep, or sex now that he thought about it. Remus wasn't allowed into the castle because of his condition and neither Sirius or James would speak to him – Lily would just sneer at him.
Severus growled at the memories of his lover's treatment by his former friends, just because Remus had finally admitted he was gay 10 years prior. Severus hated Lily and James Potter, not forgetting Sirius Black, the cruel bastard. It was hard to relate sweet Narcii and Bella with that cur, then again poor Walburga found it hard to deal with such a disappointing son tainting the most honourable and noble house of Black and promptly died.
Severus shook his head at such morose thoughts and turned to look at the skele-gro potion that was simmering before him. The stupid Potter's let their Precious Robert fall off his broom and consequently broke his arm much to the child's sudden dramatic and self-proclaimed demise, so Severus had to brew much more of the difficult potion. 'Stupid Potters with their horrible child.' he sneered into the bubbling liquid.
Severus thoroughly despised them, they entrusted their child's life to Dumbledore of all people, the deluded fool who believes Muggles are the greatest thing to bless the Earth – the moron. Muggles are the worst sort of people out there, they're abusive, bigoted and thoroughly annoying and the Potter's gave their child to him. 'He gave My Lord's blood brother to Muggles, gave him to the Dursley's and I can't even access their neighbourhood let alone their house because Petunia moved away from her childhood home!' Severus snarled as he poured the completed potion into the appropriate vials and exited his labs with a billow of his black robes.
Because Remus wasn't allowed inside the castle, Severus travelled to their home each night, a cottage down in Inverness. It was a collaboration of both of their tastes, Remus had the small garden with a swinging seat overlooking the fields as the sun set, and Severus had the dark climbing vines creeping along the sandstone walls. And every time Severus saw his home he smiled and then smirked, he smiled because this was his and Remus' house and then smirked because he imagined the world's reaction if they ever knew he lived here. 'In such a quaint abode.' Severus thought, repeating his lover's first observation of the cottage.
He walked through the white-painted, wooden door into the small hallway lit with orange, flickering candles, which led into the comfortable sitting-room where he would find his lover and their nine-year old son: Andras Orias Snape. No-one but the Ministry Official and their closest friends knew of their child, mostly because of the prejudice towards Werewolves in society, even-though Andras did not have the Werewolf virus the insults against his father would be too much for the small child.
Andras was conceived due to a potion Severus created, aptly named the 'Fertility Potion for Men', the potion forces gametes to be produced through meiosis, however instead of the gamete being sperm it is an ova. Once sexual intercourse is achieved, the ova will be fertilised by the partner's sperm and the consumer of the potion will grow a womb where the zygote will be kept. 9 months later the baby will be born through a Caesarean-section.
The potion only managed to increase Severus' Potion Master qualifications, plus it made homosexuality more socially acceptable as heirs could now be produced. Only Remus knew that Severus was also working on a fertility potion for women for his friends Bella and Rodo, but the 30 year-old wouldn't tell them in case his theories failed. 'Honestly.' Remus thought when he heard his lover's reasons 'Of course you'll succeed.'
"Hello love, how was it?" Remus asked his lover with a small smile from where he sat on the sofa with their sleeping nine year old boy curled next to him. Severus smiled back at his lover, sitting upon the carpeted floor in able to watch his son and look Remus in the eyes.
"As bad as every other day." he sighed dramatically. "Idiots running about the castle thinking they are able to perform magic better than the actual professors. The Potter spawn broke his arm and now he has to grow the bone back." he smirked maliciously when he said this and Remus chuckled. "So of course I had to brew more of the Skele-grow potion and then I was sorely tempted to silencio him because of his incessant whining! It was terrible!" he cried out. "The Potter mare is flaunting her new position in my face as if I actually care she is able to inform dunderheads about the difference between a plug-socket and a rubber duck, honestly! Black incorrectly taught his first-year class how to perform Wingardium Leviosa and the Gryffindors ended up with singed faces and the like, only my Slytherins managed to incant the spell correctly, annoyed him to Hell too!" laughed Severus and Remus could hear the pride in his voice when referring to the Snake House.
"And what of Potter himself? He must have done something." Remus asked, lovingly stroking his son's pure-black hair.
"Just fussing over his pathetic son, I still cannot believe he actually qualified that healing course, he is the epitome of stupidity. He practically failed his O.W.L.s and his N.E.W.T.s, even Black scraped through with decent enough grades, and he only got the job out of favouritism." Severus growled out "Well that or pity." he corrected.
"Most likely." Remus agreed, placing a hand on Severus' arm. "Dumbledore always was a blind fool, well fool is the wrong word as he is always scheming but you know what I mean."
"I know love." Severus said. "Any word from Bella?" he asked, surprisingly those two became good friends despite Remus' creature status. Remus glanced at his lover's thoughtful expression and smiled slightly.
"They have narrowed down the search to either Albania or Serbia. They're thinking they'll have Our Lord back soon." Remus informed his lover. "Rodo says that Bella is still grieving." he said with a frown.
"Well he's hardly dead." Severus stated dryly and Remus shot him a withering look, which quickly made Severus pale. "I'm not trying to be insensitive!" he cried defensively and the Werewolf only raised an eyebrow as an answer. "Well he isn't dead, he is alive in the Muggle World and we can't get him because Petunia has moved to Surrey somewhere and that idiot has placed a magical ward up that only the Potters and he can pass through!"
"I know love." Remus returned softly before glancing up sharply. "Have they even visited him?" He suddenly asked, and Severus thought that Remus' maternal instincts were in overdrive! "Surely they wouldn't abandon their child completely."
Severus glared at nothing in particular. "They've never even once bothered to meet their son, they only send him pathetic letters." he sneered the word with distaste, Remus nodded along, completely agreeing. "Wait." Severus stated, quickly standing and walking off, Remus stared at him with confusion.
"That bitch sends him letters, why have we never done so too?" Severus questioned once he returned to his lover's side with a quill and leaf of parchment.
"I." Remus paused with disbelief. "I don't know. How can we be so stupid?" he cursed. "Go on. Get writing!" he demanded, and Severus didn't need to be told twice.
A/N: Here lies the end of Chapter two, so what do ya think? ^.^
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