- In The Dark -
Authoress Ramble: I started this story because I was simply bored. I don't really know where its going yet. I got some things figured out but I'm still working on the plot. It's going to be a "Snape saves Harry from the Dursleys, opsie, look who suddenly cares.. It's Draco" fic. SLASH! DM/HP.
Warnings: This story had been rated "M"for Language and Violence, It might also contain things such as; Cuttings. It's very Graphic and if you don't like blood and agony, then I advice you to leave now. Sorry. This story could at some times be very disturbing.
Disclaimer: :Sigh:I do not own Harry Potter and the magic world around him, I never will, but I'll still have to keep writing these 'Disclaimers'. If I owned Harry Potter I wouldn't be sitting here right now, trying to remeber the capital of Cuba or whatever. What I mean is; Im just a poor, 13 year old swedish girl with way to much time on her hands; Don't sure.
"BOY! GET DOWN HERE!" Harry's Uncle Vernon shouted at the top of his lungs; Harry jumped off the bed, ignoring the piercing pain shooting through his entire body, and ran down into the kitchen where his furious uncle was seated at the kitchen table. Vernon's face had turned into a nasty shade of purple and the anger vein in his forehead was throbbing dangerously. Harry gulped, afraid of what was coming--his uncle had begun to beat him, saying that he was sick of Harry's abnormalities and freakishness--he would do anything to hurt his nephew. The beatings had progressed from slaps and pushes to hard-core beatings. Vernon would use anything at his disposal: his hands, his feet, and even his belt.
"Come closer, boy!" he ordered. Harry did as he was told. Vernon gestured for him to get even closer; nervously Harry took another step towards his uncle--he knew what was coming, and on cue, a sharp blow hit him hard across the face. Harry grabbed his cheek as it stung and turned red.
"Listen carefully, boy," Vernon growled. "Here's the list of chores. I want them done by the time I get home tonight. Is that clear?"
Harry nodded and grabbed the note from his uncle's beefy hand and glanced at it before gasping. The chores would take days to do; there was no way he could finish them all in one day. Vernon shot him a look daring him to say something, but Harry knew better and left the room to begin with the list--he needed all the time he could get if he was going to get anything done.
When he stepped outside into the yard to mow the lawn, the sun was burning, but Harry wiped the sweat of his forehead and got to work. When he was done with the grass, he began to paint the fence--he knew better than to do that before mowing the lawn--the grass would stick to the dried paint and Harry would get the worst beating of his life. It was bad enough that Vernon beat him for breathing, but if he gave his uncle an actual reason to beat him, things would get tough.
After several hours of chores Vernon got home. Harry's body was bruised and damaged and he hadn't eaten for two days, so he thought that he had done one heck of a job--being starved had begun to effect him and thus the chores would take much longer to do. When Vernon went to check up on him, he was half done the list his uncle had left.
"LAZY BASTARD!" Vernon roared and hit Harry hard in the face. The boy fell down to the floor with a loud thump. "GET UP, YOU INGRATE!"
Harry slowly got to his feet; he didn't want to make his uncle any angrier.
"HAVE YOU DONE ALL OF YOUR CHORES!" his uncle shouted, even though he knew the boy wasn't. Harry shook his head 'no'.
"B-b-but, Uncle Vernon. I-I-I tried. I'm s-s-sorry," Harry stuttered, but was interrupted as another slap hit him across the face.
"TRIED! YOU PROBABLY JUST SAT AROUND LIKE THE LAZY RUNT YOU ARE!" Vernon grabbed his nephew by the collar and slammed him against the wall, pinning the slight boy.
"I'll make you scream," he whispered dangerously. Harry shuddered. Vernon smirked evilly at the fear in his nephew's green eyes. He pulled the boy up the stairs and threw him onto the bathroom floor. Dots began to cloud Harry's vision as he hit the hard tiles full force, and he realised that he wasn't wearing his glasses. He could hear water running and weakly lifted his head.
Hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to his knees. It took Harry a few seconds to register that he was kneeling in front of the bathtub. Before he could do anything, a firm hand gripped him by the hair and forced his head down into the cold water. Harry didn't get the chance to take a breath before the water surrounded his head and he began to panic. He struggled with all his might to break free as the air left him; the cold water stung in his open eyes. Desperately Harry began to kick and squirm to get out of his uncle's grip. His vision was cloudy and he tried to breathe, but only inhaled water. He couldn't see, he couldn't breathe; Harry got another mouthful of water and his struggle ceased. He became weaker as the light embraced him. Everything surrounding him seemed distant--he felt nothing, he saw nothing but the faded stream of light.
'Am I dying?' Harry's eyes closed and he became limp. The hand gripping his hair shifted and pulled him up with a huge force; it dropped the boy as soon as he left the water, causing him to fall back on the cold floor. Harry's shirt was soaked through and transparent as he began to cough up water, and his breath came in small gasps. He was so weak he couldn't even move when his uncle came into his blurry view, and Harry could clearly see the smirk covering Vernon's face.
"Aaw..." the large man mocked him. "Didn't you like our little game?"
Harry whimpered and Vernon laughed evilly, grabbing both of the boy's arms and pulling him into Harry's bedroom. He let go and his nephew's arms fell down limp at each of his sides. Vernon then picked Harry up again and threw him on to the small bed in the corner of the room. There was a pair of manacles around the bedpost and Harry shuddered when he noticed them. His uncle grabbed his wrists and chained them to the bed. Harry began to struggle weakly but the chains held him tightly.
Vernon undid his belt, smirking evilly, and Harry began to thrash and kick frantically. His uncle approached him, his belt raised in the air, and brought it down onto Harry's chest. The imprisoned boy's scream of agony filled the room followed by the sound of the belt once again coming in contact with flesh. Harry couldn't believe it, his sick uncle was whipping him.
'No, you just don't want to believe it,' a small voice whispered in his head. He flinched in pain.
The boy lost count of the number of times the belt hit him. Only a couple of seconds later, the blood began to flow freely down his chest--his shirt had been ripped open and was smothered in fresh blood.
The piercing pain increased with every lash, as his skin was slashed open repeatedly. Red marks were covering his pale skin, hidden under the blood streaming down over his stomach and dripping on to the white sheets, creating a sickeningly large red puddle. Vernon became tired of the belt and threw it aside. He began to search through his pockets and pulled out a big knife.
Tears were streaming down Harry's face; the pain in his chest was insufferable, he couldn't see anything at all now, the sharp pain in his chest increased as Vernon brought down the knife against his sensitive skin. He cut slowly across Harry's flesh and enjoyed the look of blood slowly flowing down his nephew's body: pretty, red, thick blood, slowly running down the boy's red and slashed chest, making its way down to his pale stomach, mixing with the sweat. Harry screamed, but his cries fell on deaf ears. The cut made it harder for him to breathe and soon the screams died out. Vernon lifted the knife--the cut was deep enough to be fatal and he knew it.
Sobs and whimpers escaped the weak boy's mouth. Vernon smirked and looked down at his work, satisfied at the evidence of how much pain he could cause a human being--someone so pure...so innocent.
"You had it coming, freak. You deserve everything that's happened to you," the man whispered dangerously to his helpless victim. Tears were running down the boy's cheeks and falling on the already bloodstained sheets.
Vernon stood up. He threw down the knife where it landed not far from his discarded belt and made to leave the room. The boy was still sobbing quietly. Vernon turned around and hit him hard in the face; he spat on the bloodied body and left the room, laughing like a mad man.
Harry felt the life leaving him as everything began to turn black, his vision getting darker, the darkness embracing him. He couldn't register what just had happened and just lay there; his thoughts began to drift away as he felt the darkness taking over.
'He couldn't die like this, die at the hands of his muggle uncle. He couldn't leave the world like this, there were so many things he wanted to say before he left, so many things he wanted to do, had to do...
'He wanted to say good bye to his friends...tell them how much he loved them...he had to write a will...he had to...'
Darkness clouded his vision, he couldn't see
'...destroy Voldemort...he needed to see Hogwarts one last time...'
He began to feel lightheaded...
'He had to fulfil the prophecy...he had to protect his friends...he had to live...he didn't want to die...'
Darkness took over and devoured him
Silence filled the room. The only thing that was heard was the soft whisper in the air as a piece of parchment slowly fell down to the floor, filled with final, unheard words written in blood.
Severus Snape walked down Privet drive, searching for the house of Harry Potter--he had been sent there by Albus Dumbledore. Potter's friends had been worried because he hadn't sent them a letter for four days, even though he promised to write every three.
'Clearly a call for attention,' he thought derisively. Snape knew Potters. They were spoiled little brats, always looking for attention. 'What could have happened at Privet Drive? Potter was probably spoiled beyond all hope at his muggle relatives house.'
Snape stared at the cookie-cutter houses, with their pristine fences and their perfect little gardens; everything looked exactly the same. It was sickening.
Soon he found the house he was looking for: Number 4, Privet Drive. He rang the doorbell and waited. Loud thumps were heard from within the house, coming closer and closer to the door, and then suddenly, it burst open revealing a fat blond boy, with pink cheeks and small piggy eyes. At the sight of Snape's clothes, the boy paled visibly.
"D-D-Dad!" the boy shouted, stuttering. "It's o-o-one of those f-f-reaks!" A large man with almost no neck came thundering out of the kitchen, his face purple with rage. He stepped up in front of Snape.
"We don't want you freaks here," he spat right into the shocked face of the potions master. "Never come back." He made to slam the door shut, but Snape quickly held out a hand and stopped it from closing.
' "Freaks"? What did he mean by that? He couldn't mean wizards, could he?' Snape cleared his throat, settling his glare firmly in place. "I'm looking for Harry Potter," he said, trying to sound as calm as possible, but it was hard to control his anger while facing the man who had insulted him and his world.
"There is no Harry Potter here," the fat man growled. "Now, if you could move your ha.."
Snape pulled out his wand and pointed it in the insolent man's face. "I don't think you understand. I am here to see Harry Potter. I will not move, and I'm not going to move until you let me in. Get! Out! Of! My! Way!" Snape was beyond furious. 'How dare this muggle lie to him!'
Loosing his anger, he flicked his wand and the man shot backwards until he was pinned against the wall at the far end of the hallway. The younger blond boy cringed and ran to the kitchen as Snape stopped to look around. Covering the walls were pictures of the fat boy and who Snape could only assume were his parents--not a single sign of the scrawny Potter boy was in sight. Snape blinked.
'Perhaps he was in the wrong house? But Dumbledore said that this was the place.' Snape's frown deepened, and he walked up the stairs searching for Potter's room.
The first room was the master bedroom--it too was filled with pictures of the fat child--, the second room was a huge bedroom filled to the brim with all sorts of muggle toys and other contraptions. Snape figured that this was Potter's room, but decided to search the rest of the house for the boy himself. He stopped in his tracks as he spotted a door with several locks on it--surely this couldn't be Potter's room.
Alohamora,"Snape said, the locks opening with a series of soft clicks. The potions master put his hand on the doorknob and turned. He slowly pushed the door open, but was not prepared for what was waiting behind it. As he walked into the room he was hit by a wave of emotions: hatred, fear, and pain. The smell of blood hit him hard, making his stomach curl. The room was dark, and Snape raised his wand.
"Lumos."The sight that met his eyes made him gasp: in the small room there was nothing more than a desk and a small bed in the corner. On the floor there was a belt stained with dried blood, and a knife, also bloody. Snape noticed that something was moving on the little cot; he got closer and could see a little shaking figure hidden under a ragged blanket. Snape slowly removed the blanket and then took a few steps back--under it lay the hero of the magical world, bruised and broken.
"Oh, sweet Merlin," Snape muttered, in a mixture of shock and disgust. The boy was chained to the bed and his wrists were bleeding because of the pressure put on them; blood was trickling down his arms and on to the bed. His chest was even worse--he was wearing a too-large tee-shirt, shredded beyond repair and stained with both fresh and dried blood; under it could clearly be seen harsh red lines, some still bleeding, but the worst of the wounds was the large cut across his chest, fresh blood was still running from his torso and down onto the bed, creating a puddle of far too much blood. Snape suddenly realised that the boy wasn't breathing and began to panic.
"Bloody hell," he cursed and took a step closer to the boy--he needed to stop the bleeding. He stopped as he heard something under his right foot. He bent down and picked up the parchment; there were words written in dried blood.
'The last will and testament of Harry James Potter,' he read. Snape felt his throat sting; that child had written a will, truly believing that he was going to die.
'If you are reading this, I can only assume that you are the one who found me. I don't really know what to say--there is so much I didn't get to say and do before I was ripped away from this world. First of all, I want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for letting you down, letting everyone down. I know that I am a disappointment; hell, I couldn't even fight off my own uncle. He is the reason that I'm here, dying. He accomplished something that Voldemort dearly wished to but couldn't-- he broke me. I felt like I was falling, falling deeper in to the well of death, away from the world of the living, away from my own life, leaving everything and everyone behind.
'I'm sorry, my friends, for making you deal with this pain on top of everything else. I'm sorry, Dumbledore, that I couldn't stop Him...stop Voldemort. I'm sorry, everyone, for all the pain that I've caused you...my parents...Cedric...Sirius. I accept responsibility for their deaths, and I guess this is the price for that lack of foresight.
'I wish that I didn't have to live with this destiny. I'm afraid I was not strong enough to do what I was supposed to do. I'm sorry because you deserve a better and stronger hero then me, someone who can live up to the expectations of the world, someone you could be proud of, someone you could love and admire. All I ever wanted was to grow up with a family, with all the love and support that entails. Instead, I grew up unloved and unwanted, taken in by people who felt they had no choice in accepting me. Then, when I found out that I was a wizard, I thought that maybe this would be the chance I had always wanted but never had, but even then I was a freak--eternally separate from everyone else because of who I was and what I had done, but did not remember--put on a pedestal by one side, and hunted by the other.
'Now, I wish to thank all those who have made my life worthwhile.
'Ron--you were my first and best friend, we've gone through so many things together. You've always been there for me. I wouldn't have gotten far without your friendship, you have no idea how much you mean to me...brother. To you, I give my invisibility cloak. Keep the adventures coming, and take care of Hermione.
Hermione--you are the closest thing to a sister I've ever had and I love you. I may not say it a lot, but I do. Dont ever forget or doubt that fact. You'll make it without me, you are strong, stronger than I ever was. Remember that you can do anything, Hermione Granger, and that I have always believed in you. To you, I give my wand, and my owl, Hedwig. She is strong, just like you.
Mrs. & Mr. Weasley--you have taken care of me like the parents I never had. You made me feel like I was part of your family; you made me feel loved and you didn't have to. For that you have my thanks. Mrs. Weasley, you gave me first real hug I ever remember getting, and I thank you for that memory. To you and your family, I leave the entire contents of my vault at Gringotts. I can think of no one who deserves it more. Thank you again for everything you have ever done for me.
Remus--I know that you blame yourself for Sirius death. Please don't. It was all my fault and I have received my punishment. I thank you for being the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we ever had at Hogwarts, and for everything else you have ever taught me about fighting and my parents and life. I return to you the marauders map. I think that you should be the one to choose the next owner.
Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, & Ginny Weasley--thank you guys for everything, you were like a family to me. I hope that you will all have a good life. Fred & George, keep going with the joke shop, it will be a hit. And like a said--everyone could use a good laugh right about now. Ginny, good luck in life and in anything you do. You are strong just like your brothers. I know you all will make it through this war.
Please, don't mourn my death I am not worth it.
Harry James Potter
Snape was shocked as he felt salty tears pour down his cheeks and drip to the floor. He put the note in his pocket and turned back to the boy, now more determined than ever to help him. He released the handcuffs gently, and put on of his arms under Harry's knees and the other one under his back. After he made sure that he was supporting the boys neck, he slowly lifted him up and apparated away.
Seconds later, the door to Harry's room burst open again, and a very angry Vernon Dursley stepped inside. When he saw that the boy was missing, he growled angrily, turning to leave. But suddenly, he stopped and all the anger left his face as he paled. For there, written plainly on the wall, in the bright red blood he himself had spilled from his nephew were written three words.
I'll be back.