NOTE ON THE NATURE OF THIS STORY:

This is a rather offbeat story for many of the followers on this site, so I feel it incumbent upon me to warn you, or rather, merely enlighten you of a few details concerning this piece. I did not have any particular audience in mind when I sat down with my pen in hand, but I do know that I began writing during a deeply cathartic moment. Therefore, it is highly personal, and is written in my natural syle, which tends to be very poetic. I want to make it plain to those of you that have been reading so far, that I have been experimenting in order to see what kind of responses I would receive. I have been extremely touched by the people that have written pure responses, who have enjoyed this piece for what it is. Oh, and please don't be distressed, readers! This is not goodbye. I simply want to specify my purpose for readers that have found this piece to be confusing. I have thought intermittently about tailoring this piece to be written in plainer language, but I have decided not to do so. In the future, I may write a different rendition. However, this was meant to be lyrical, and it will remain emotive and explorative. Again, my deepest thanks to those who have grown attached. I will not take this piece down, although I may consider posting it to my personal blogsite. This is mainly directed to those of you who are confused by the figurative language of this. I offer my apologies. As I said before, I am exploring, and learning to direct my work towards a variety of audiences at present. Therefore, I have categorized this underneath 'poetry,' and plainly ask that all of your queries be sent to me. I will be happy to clear up any matters possible, to make the story as clear as it can be. A big thank-you to everyone involved . . .

A/N: My stories tend to work themselves out. I would appreciate any support and welcome all of the suggestions in your arsenal, to my lovely readers. You mean more than you can possibly imagine, and your ideas help to hone my creations. I will not provide a developed plot, and I will not tell you what happens next, but wait for Snape and Harry to realize what has been hidden away from the eyes of readers to portray something that will be worth the risk. And here is the plunging into our first. I hope you enjoy, and that you will tell me if you do not, via a constructive format. Cheers!

Additionally- Not mine, not mine, as we say! {The Disclaimer}

Chapter 1

When he was little, he often thought about what it might be like if the trees in the wind stopped blowing. But then, who cared? Was there any reason why he had become so disenchanted with the leaves that resembled palms outside of her window? So he didn't live in sunny California. Big deal. People grew up. Wizards, grew up. It was a wizard's world in which he was living, and what would possibly make it otherwise? He was here, so that he could defeat Lord Voldemort, the most nefarious evil wizard that ever walked the face of the Earth, nothing more . . . there was no reason for him to feel that when everything was said and finished, the aching, dull pain would leave his chest, and that he would be able to lie upon his small cot in the Dursley's room that had graciously, given him, forever . . .

"Harrrry!" The shrill call penetrated his eardrums, forcing him to rise from his half-sit in a languid half-fall from his bed. Would that she would interrupt Harry, while he was busy. He was always busy. Why didn't she understand that? His Aunt Petunia would never portray an iota of the brains that God had surely bestowed upon her. No matter. "The dishes need to be done!" He sighed. Of course.

"I'll be right there, Aunt Petunia," he said, dully. Sirius Black was dead. What did he care if he still had chores, that needed to be finished? There was no respite for a weary soul. He would do the dishes mechanically, and as methodical as ever while he stared out of the window at the swaying tree branches. He was always staring at the trees. As he looked back down at what he was doing, a small sleek tuft of fur caught his eye. Near the crevices between the sill and the wall of the kitchen, deep in the nook of a shadow, rested a black cat. His Aunt Petunia would not doubt have a fit if he saw this. He peered at it a bit closer. It was a sleek, glistening black one, with rather haughty features about it, and an astute expression. Malevolent green eyes narrowed at him. Harry shook his head to himself. Haughty features? He really was allowing his grief to claim him.

"Booooy," thundered a deep voice, followed by the blundering of an oversized man.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry looked up innocently as his uncle sauntered clumsily into the room. "When you are done with those, you need to work on the garden. I told your Pentunia you've been slacking these past few days." He eyed his nephew beadily. "I trust there's a reason for this?" he hissed through clenched teeth. He waved a puffy hand in the air. "Don't answer. You always were as negligent as your parents. I always knew, that -" Harry's skin was boiling. He could feel his face getting red, and swiftly he turned away, trying blatantly to ignore his uncle's words. Without the stain of his godfather plunging mercilessly ahead of him as a distant but poignant presence, a blot that followed before him as his- his savior- Harry could no longer threaten the Dursleys. For once in his life, he chose to take a wiser journey, and he left the room, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

He sunk down on his haunches and wrapped his arms about him. He blew shaky breaths, trying to calm his breathing. As he bit his lip so hard that he nearly drew blood with the effort, an odd swelling behind his eyes forced him to blink rapidly. In the short time that he took to try and calm his rushing adrenaline, clouds overhead began to gather into rolling heaps of black, velveteen stir-fry noodles. A storm was brewing, and by the looks of it, he would be stuck out here in a roaring thundercloud misery soon.

"Just bloody great," he muttered. Well, he didn't care if he got sick, he thought to himself stoutly. There was no way he was going back to listen to the Dursleys berate him. He knew his actions were stupid. But, really, who cared? He was the bloody savior of the wizarding world. No one really cared if he lived or failed, save to think of his life in terms of what it meant to the war. Sirius had cared . . . he shook his head to himself. Too late.

It was a dark and terribly perilous enclosure. How was it that the Dursleys could have shut him away in this room for longer than he could remember living? Waves upon waves of the raging storm had no way to release their efforts save for unleashing their satanic qualities upon his window. Harry thought that it was bent on targeting only himself, as the tails of long rain slashes thrust themselves against his window. Actually, perhaps he wasn't so far from the mark of precision, for his deduction proved correct a moment later- a long, heavily-soaked, saturated teardrop that extended the length of the pane became something more, of a sudden . . . it writhed, and twisted . . . these qualities aren't a part of rain? How could it writhe? Harry was too deep in grief. Really. But then it darkened, and a long and dark shadow crept outside the window. There was a great creak, and then a crash, as the window suddenly, somehow amazingly, broke.

"You have got to be- " Well, no one was kidding. A giant snake was now developing out of the fold of black shadow. Harry watched with horror as it twisted and adorned scales, like it was putting on some sort of clothing, a black mass . . . putting on its shiny snakeskin, and suddenly, he was staring at a full-fledged, roaring with fury, snake. Everything emitted from the animal was furious, and it was directed right towards-

Where was his wand? All of the color left Harry's face and was wrenched from his body, which feeling pulled him mentally into absolute fear for his life. All of the life was already sucked from him as he stared straight into the malevolent red eyes of the ten foot monstrosity glaring at him. Which immediately, lunged for the boy in front of it.

He had to warn the Dursleys. That was the top concern on his mind. He pulled his door open and flew down the staircase, not stopping to look back to see whether the giant had followed him. He accidentally kicked the black cat he had seen earlier.

"Move, cat- !" The animal hissed at him. But reminded him-

"Hedwig!" No, something in his still coherent brain said, not without the wand. The Dursleys had placed it under the cupboard earlier that summer, because of course he wouldn't need any of his supplies while he was living with muggles who harbored an intensive fear of anything that was magical, and loathed him for each semblance of a magical quality he had ever portrayed. "Arrrgh!" It was a yell that was filled with frustration when he found the door to be maliciously locked against him. A terrible hissing noise was beckoning him sibilantly from behind, and he was quite sure that it was not the cat. Harry swung around. He glanced furtively around himself for some sort of large piece of furniture, or an item that he could chuck at the huge blob of snake-bits.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon hollered. "What's all that racket?" He was sweating profusely. Good grief, that phrase was an understatement. What was he going to do? He couldn't protect them too.

Out of nowhere, a sight met Harry that he found to be completely- unlikely. The black cat that had been hiding out for the day, unseen by anyone save for himself, lunged from some unknown place in the house and landed directly upon the giant snake's head. Harry's eyes widened with astonishment as well as relief as it moved back from him, distracted by the four-legged beast now clinging with a paramount ferocity to its skin. The cat had jumped on the top of its head, with claws dove deeply, Harry presumed, into the scales, because it was enough to cause the snake to shake its head several times in succession before the cat made another dangerous move. It dug its claws into the monster's eyes, causing blood to ooze from the red orbs. The snake, disoriented by blindness caused by this, moved slowly back, and backed through the doorway, obviously in agony. Its body thrust several times against the door, slithering down to a coil of apparent pain when it would not open. This was extremely precarious, but Harry could not reach the door to open it without further inhibiting the creature. That was the moment when footsteps pounded down the stairs. He turned, and saw all three of the Dursleys backed up against the door to the living room, all of them resembling stiff boards plastered to the wall and doorways, since Dudley actually took up the frame alone.

"Er- I um- I don't really know what happened," Harry said truthfully, still shaky from the encounter. None of them said anything to him. All of them were occupied with their apparent utter terror at the creature now writing on the floor before them. Uncle Vernon was the first to recover. His beady eyes sought out his nephew through a face that was quickly purpling.

"You- you- " He seemed at a loss for words. Oddly though, Harry was feeling strangely fed up.

"Now look. I didn't have anything to do with this," he stated blandly. He narrowed his eyes at his uncle, saying through gritted teeth, "you need to just open the door to the cupboard, so I can get my wand to get rid of the snake." Aunt Petunia nudged him. Obviously Uncle Vernon was on the line about this idea. Finally he clamped his mouth shut, as though he were trying not to spew out his objections with more force than Harry would have thought possible, if he hadn't been such an overly-large person- and the overall push that moved him to the closet was amazing. Harry ventured that size blackened the shades of willpower, making them more formidable. Because it must have taken a dark force to get his uncle to unlock that door. Yet nevertheless, Harry nearly ploughed through him in order to get to his wand, while his uncle removed himself to the side, lumbering before the entranceway near the stairs with Aunt Petunia and Dudley quick at his heels, quick, for what could be deemed quick, of course- he desperately hoped, though that they would flee the house quickly. Nevermind if they are quick about anything, for the snake had roused itself at Uncle Vernon's movement, causing whimpering to reverberate about from the three of them, their terror so palpable, it would have been ridiculous. Only under normal circumstances though.

The snake was now behind Harry, his sweat pores trickling with rain it seemed, at this realization of the large blob's appearance. Mass, of black in a snake's skin. He swiveled with skills born from Quidditch, flourished his wand in a few, quick incantations. Of course nothing blasted happened. Before Harry could do anything more than stare into the horrible creature's piercing red eyes, deeper than he had ever imagined something that had no apparent connection to Tom Riddle to be, so malevolent and somehow . . . he had only ever seen such purpose in Nagini's eyes.

"Petrificus Totalus!" He wasn't quick enough, because the animal lashed out at him in the mere minute he had taken to think of the refreshing spell, which, in spite of originality, probably was totally a stupid act that made fluid magic seem completely . . . an entity that mocked his nimble leg, now incapacitated, oozing with apparent stuff, his blood dribbling from a gargantuan, porous figure-eight in great, malicious lines . . .

Then there was a dark figure looming up in front of him slowing all of the senses Harry had ever experienced up until this point, the world brought about a new picture of the type he had never before caught in his grasp. It was in his grasp because Harry was looking up at the swinging chandeliers from the Dursley's ceiling, baffled, relaxed . . . candle semblances that were not real candles his aunt liked so much adorning the walls, all in one picture. He smiled. This was really the Dursley's place then he was definitely missing out all this time that he'd scoffed at them. They truly knew how to pretty it up, make it picturesque. It did look like the scene out of a- moving novel. An odd one. Severus Snape was now staring down at him, saying something that Harry couldn't decipher.

"Potter I need you to . . . " It emptied into the open space.