Vengeance: Chapter 2
Proper Nouns (c) J. K. Rowling and Associated Lawyers
Warnings: A little language, implied child abuse. Nothing graphic. (Unless “bastard” is graphic?)
Vengeance Chapter 2
The house was made of brick and paint, arranged in stately lines that lent the home an air of modern, yet homey, normalcy. The hedges were perfectly square; not a twig was out of place. The red mulch around what Petunia certainly saw as prized begonias was even, and not a weed dared tread upon such sacred ground. The windows sparkled even in the dim light of dusk, and even the brick of the house was spotlessly clean. It was obvious to someone with his considerable talents that this house, and the people in it, tried much too hard to appear normal.
Severus, having never seen the house on Privet Drive, wasn’t surprised, per se. He vividly remembered Petunia Evans as an uptight, narrow-minded girl obsessed with normalcy. He saw no reason to believe that those traits would not have carried over into adulthood.
With the comfort of knowing that he was invisible, Severus took a much-needed moment to replay the conversation he’d just been a part of, if passively. Usually, the Order members overlooked Arabella Figg, because while she was a permanent guard for Potter, her usefulness was severely limited as a Squib. It wasn’t any prejudice on Severus’ part, just logic. If, somehow, Death Eaters came to call on Potter at his summer home, the older woman could realistically only wring her hands while she waited on help to arrive. Why had Albus not arranged for better protection before now?
Severus caught the self-deprecating groan. Never had he subscribed to the belief that Potter was anything more than an arrogant carbon-copy of James Potter. Why should he need extra protection? He made an effort to put aside all emotion in the subject and examine it from a clean angle. Did Arabella’s warning have any credible cause?
When he’d stepped out of the Floo, bracing himself against the strong ammonia smell of feline urine, Figg was standing by her couch, face cautious. As if relieved to see him, the tension melted out of the woman’s posture. It was not a reaction he’d been expecting. If Severus was being honest, and he continually strived to be brutally so, she looked beyond tired.
“Thank Merlin, ‘e finally listened.”
He’d been all-intent on beginning the dreaded watch-duty, but Arabella blocked his gracious exit. It had been clear that there was something the woman needed to say, and so he would listen, and catalogue.
“For years, I’ve been tellin’ ‘im that somethin’ wasn’t right. I asked if you could come and observe, ta see if you notice the same things I see. When Alastor wrote ta me last summer, I was thrilled that things might finally improve. Moody’s heart is in the right place, but ‘arry needs someone who’s dealt with this kind of thing before.”
He’d been confused, initially. Why would Potter need a spy? Did he need a Potion’s Master? Both scenarios were equally ridiculous.
“What could Potter possibly need from me?”
The woman had looked at him askance, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He felt a moment’s worth of inadequacy. What should he understand? He didn’t like feeling that he was missing something important; no spy would.
“I thought Albus sent you specifically. I thought ‘e finally understood. If ‘e didn’t- why did ‘e send you, Severus?”
He’s explained that Alastor was needed at the Auror Corps, and there weren’t any other Order members available. The words seemed to sadden the older woman greatly, and she sagged into the chaise, upsetting several cats who had been lounging there.
“I was so sure that you might have known. ‘ow is it that nobody sees what’s goin’ on in that house?”
Severus didn’t really have time to listen to the older Squib go elliptical, and so he asked, once again, what Potter could possibly need from him, specifically.
“‘arry needs someone who knows what ‘is life is really like, and who’ll fight for ‘im. I’ve begged Albus to take ‘arry away from those ‘orrible people, but the old man insists that the blood wards are safest. Well, what protects the boy from the people inside the house? Nothin’, I tell you. Go. Take the watch, and come ta me if you need somethin’.”
She’d shooed him out of the house then, as if the wheels of fate still turned, and she’d failed somehow. Her shoulders were drooping, and her gray hair was falling from her bun. Severus didn’t have time to keep digging around for the truth. Whatever Figg had been talking about, he was sure he would find out eventually.
Severus walked up the path to Number Four Privet Drive. His assignment would be over in exactly one hour, because at Seven pm, Harry Potter was moving to the Weasley residence for the rest of the summer, just as scheduled. It was an appointment he would be only too glad to make sure Potter was on time for.He had spent quite enough time in the eerily perfect neighborhood, thank you, and was perhaps over-eager to depart. Number Four, for some reason, put his nerves on edge. He hadn’t actually spent much time around Potter or his relatives’ house. Once he’d set up wards to tell him if anyone magical crossed them, he made himself scarce. He had no intention of sitting around for days in idle boredom, watching Potter no doubt laze around unproductively. It was bad enough that he had to be in close proximity during term. Other than the very first visit to create the wards, this would be the first time Severus had ever been in the Dursley home.
He felt Albus’s wards moving over him and making his magic tingle. After a moment, he was able to walk up to the door and knock. Once his knuckles hit the door, his ears were assaulted with the kind of screeching a banshee could only hope to emulate, and the howling was calling for none other than Potter. He readied his usual disdainful sneer, only to have it fall completely from his face once the door opened.
Standing there was a teenager who was unmistakably Potter, and yet, without the eyes and the scar, he would not have recognized the Boy Who Lived. It was clear that something wasn’t right, and the suspiciously guilty feeling in the pit of Severus’s stomach told him that something was about to change, perhaps for everyone. It was an instinct he had learned not to ignore.
He catalogued the changes in Potter mentally. The boy was a bit taller than previously, though not by much. Potter had always been sort of scrawny (from what he could tell with the teen’s penchant for loose trousers, shapeless jumpers, and long school robes), but it appeared that the boy had lost a stone, at least. Unruly black hair, though shorter than it had ever been, still defiantly challenged gravity itself.
The most noticeable changes were not so obvious. The normally expressive green eyes were blank. The teen barely showed any sign of recognition other than a slightly pained “put your wand away, please”.
It was unfortunate that the owner of that screeching voice decided to choose that moment to show herself. The horse-faced woman took one look at him, and in a tone so full of loathing it practically dripped venom, spat “you“, dramatically.
Potter had one fleeting look of confusion before a mask of some kind slammed down, wiping all expression from the tired young face, even the weariness. Severus deliberately turned to address Petunia personally.
“I do not have time to argue with you today, Petunia. I’m only here for Potter. I suggest you invite me in, lest your neighbors happen to hear our conversation.”
Potter’s aunt paled, but she moved aside to let him in. Once inside, Severus instructed Potter to gather his things, and after the boy nodded and trailed off, he turned to explore the house, ignoring Petunia completely.
He found not one picture of Potter, not even one of Lily. The walls were covered with photos of another boy in addition to the appalling family portraits (where Potter was also absent). The only evidence that Potter existed at all were the clouds of magic around the home, and Muggles wouldn’t be able to see those. The largest by far was gathered around a small door on the stairs in the entryway. As he walked closer, the aura took on a tangible shape and color. It reached for him with grey, sluggish fingers, reminding Severus of the London fog. The area that was closest to what appeared to be the latch (on the outside) was as dark as Severus’s robes.
Potter walked steadily down the stairs, and once he saw what held his professor’s attention, Severus could almost see the Occlumency shields slam down. When the boy spoke, it was subdued, not at all challenging or defiant like he was used to hearing.
“I need you to open that for me, sir.”
Even though Severus knew that Potter couldn’t do magic at home, he smirked.
“The mighty Potter, brought down by a Muggle lock. The Savior, indeed.”
Potter clenched his fist so tightly Severus could see the sinew in his arm shift below the pale skin.
“It would be hard to do any magic without my wand.”
Severus crossed his arms.
“Why is your wand not on your person?”
Potter’s jaw ticked.
“Where it is doesn’t matter much, as it’s in pieces.”
He gaped just a little, though he would never admit it on pain of death.
“How in the blazes did you manage that?”
Green eyes flashed momentarily, like little leaks in the mask.
“Obviously I did not snap my own wand.”
Stronger wizards had quelled under the type of glare Potter sent his aunt, so it was no surprise when the woman flinched violently. The boy continued.
“I suppose it’s quite lucky that the wand broken was a joke wand, and not my real one.”
“Indeed. Why did you not owl someone as to the situation?”
Potter had the nonchalance to shrug.
“Hedwig is with Hermione, to make sure nothing happens to her, sir.”
He looked between Potter and Dursley.
“What, exactly has been going on here?”
Petunia opened her mouth to respond, but her nephew cut her off with exasperation.
“Nothing I can’t handle. I need to get inside that cupboard before I do something accidental.”
Severus had heard the stories, of course.
“As I am not particularly in the mood to repair glassware, I will acquiesce, but you will explain later, in detail.”
“Fine.”
The fog surrounding the door was turbulent, now reaching entirely for Potter. It surrounded them, smelling like blood in the air.
“Potter, what is in that closet?”
The boy was looking at the front door, now.
“My things, brooms, mops, quite a few spiders, I imagine, and an old cot.”
When Severus spelled the door open, he realized the feeling he got. It was the same one as before, like he was missing some vital piece of information. It was an uneasy something in the air.
Inside the cupboard, tacked to the walls with Cello-tape, were drawings of strange things. A large gray wolf, a flying motorbike, and a pair of red eyes were all looking out at him. The art wasn’t signed, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out who the creator was.
When he turned, Severus wasn’t expecting to see potter playing with the magic aura, and was even more shocked to see the black fog turn blue before disappearing completely.
“Do you not see the magic surrounding the cupboard?”
Potter displayed his usual amount of arrogance long enough to roll his eyes.
“As a matter of fact, I do, sir.”
Severus huffed.
“Your penchant for stupidity knows no bounds, else you would no so eagerly approach unknown magic.”
The boy blinked. Was he surprised?
“Unknown magic? Hardly, sir. My own magic won’t harm me.”
Severus turned to survey the cupboard again, this time with new eyes. The drawings were tacked up to the wall in pride, and the cot Potter had mentioned wasn’t folded up like he’d expected it to be, but opened, and squeezed in. If it hadn’t been for the ratty sheet lying half on the thing, he might have assumed the Muggles were simply idiots, which, of course, they were, but as it was, it looked like…
“Potter.”
The teen turned his head up from his open trunk momentarily.
“I would rather leave as soon as possible.”
When the boy straightened up, Severus realized that the Gryffindor had been fiddling with his arm holster, which now deposited the famous holly wand into a waiting hand, where it surged upwards to point at his heard.
That little bastard. The clever little bastard.
“Thank you for your assistance. Now, I’ll need proof that you are indeed Severus Snape.”
He reply was a definite growl.
“I’ll hand you to Riddle myself if you don’t lower your wand.”
When the teen chuckled, it was infused with a sort of darkness Severus wasn’t used to hearing from someone that young.
“You certainly sound unique, I’ll give you that, but I’m afraid that there is just too much at stake. I have no good experiences with Polyjuice, and I don’t have forty minutes to waste. You will tell me something only the Professor knows, or I shall have to incapacitate you.”
While silently reeling at the sudden turn of attitude, he was also cheering.
“Would the details of my Pensieve convince you? During our last Occlumency lesson, you witness my fight with your mother in front of your father and his little minions. I called her a Mudblood, in broad daylight, when she defended me.”
Harry looked to consider the answer, but he lowered his wand.
“Forgive me, sir. I’ve trusted too many people blindly.”
He waved a hand dismissively.
“Never apologize for what you must do.”
Potter just blinked again, as Severus turned to the sister of the only woman he’d ever really loved.
“You and I will be having words soon, Petunia Dursley. I think-”
“Boy! You’d better have a damned good reason supper isn’t on that table, or it’s back to your room and no food for a week!”
When he turned a questioning eye towards Potter, an explanation was less than forthcoming, as the teen’s head was bowed in submission. This was a Potter he’d never met. The boy in front of him seemed to act more six than his sixteen years, with his hands clasped firmly behind his back.
Severus was forcefully reminded of himself, standing before his father, unsure if the abuse to follow would be merely verbal or more. Something in him cracked a little at seeing the same behavior from Potter.
He quickly and silently Disillusioned himself, morbidly curious as to what was going on. Vernon Dursley rounded the corner, his large face an unattractive scarlet color. The bulbous man stomped up to Potter and grabbed the boy’s arm violently. The abused child in Severus knew that it would leave a purple bruise, eventually fading to an unsightly yellow-gray color. It was difficult to reconcile the treatment with the boy being subjected to it. It was like two puzzle pieces that weren’t supposed to touch.
“Well? Answer me, boy!”
Potter was as docile as a choir boy, and twice as repentant.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Vernon. Time got away from me.”
The large man closed the other meaty hand around the teen’s throat hard enough to turn the fat fingers white. Petunia was sputtering at her husband, as if her incoherent babbling was going to warn the lout to Severus’s presence.
“I’ve had it with your insolence, Potter! (Severus mentally snorted. Insolence. The man had obviously never seen Potter’s worst.) You’re no better than that freak father of yours. Marge was right, you know. There was definitely something wrong with that bitch-”
Severus had never been very controlled when it came to Lily, and certainly not those who insulted her right in front of him. It was no less truthful for her memory. With a flick of the wand, Dursley was chained to his own wall, and Potter had fallen to the ground, taking great gulps of air down his abused throat. Severus crouched down to help the boy sit up.
“Can we just leave, sir?”
Potter’s face was downcast, but he didn’t need to see it to know that it would be bright red, both from embarrassment and lack of oxygen.
“We’ll be Flooing from Arabella’s to the Weasley’s.”
When he turned around, Petunia was trying to calm an enraged Vernon Dursley.
“Release me this instant! I demand it! You freaks have no business in my house!”
Severus lifted his wand, satisfied when Dursley paled further.
“You are in a position to demand nothing, sir, and I am in a position to grant… nothing. You will regret ever laying a hand on Potter.”
Uncharacteristically, the boy in question was pulling ever so slightly on his robe sleeve, but Severus was too angry to care.
“That little freak is worthless.”
When he laughed in their ignorant faces, it was cruelly. He looked right at Petunia, damning her more than the brute she married.
“You didn’t even care enough about Lily to ask about Potter’s family, did you? That “freak”, the one you put in the cupboard and beat, has more power in this world than your pathetic Muggle monarch. He’s got more gold than her, too. He’s a Lord of two of the oldest, pureblood elitist families in existence. He’s a direct descendent of King Arthur’s familial line. He’s richer than the dreams of avarice (and if his opinion of Petunia was correct still, she was quite familiar with what that entailed).”
Petunia had the sheer gall to stick her nose in the air.
“They were unemployed.”
Severus waved a hand in her face.
“Out of choice, I assure you. They were absolutely rich, but your sister hated the thought of doing nothing to earn her place, so they joined the Order full-time. The Auror Corps begged James to join them, but he remained loyal to the cause. I hated James Potter more than you ever could, but he definitely wasn’t some freeloader.”
Because Dursley was sputtering loudly, Severus almost missed the whispered “please” that came from his elbow, but he did hear it, and nodded. He spun around and shrank the trunk, which Potter suck in his jeans’ pocket. Petunia gave a pathetic gasp as they turned to leave.
“You can’t just leave Vernon there!”
Severus grinned that malicious grin that set first years crying, and didn’t even turn back to the woman. She wasn’t worth that much effort.
“I believe you’ll find I can.”
On the walk over to Arabella Figg’s, he slipped a look over at Potter, and noted the bruises starting to form on the teen’s skin; it made his blood boil. How many times had he slunk away from a confrontation with is drunkard father in similar shape? The similarities were disturbing something deep down in him, well beyond the mask he wore.
When they entered the house that was, at least on the outside, almost identical to Number Four, Severus schooled his expression once again. He turned to look at Potter, and was puzzled to find that the boy looked like he always did, certainly not bruised up.
“Potter, if you don’t remove the Glamour charms, I cannot even begin to heal your throat.”
Potter looked confused, as he asked what a Glamour charm was, and Severus suddenly recalled that illusion and appearance charms were only in the Seventh year curriculum. Arabella provided the answer.
“I believe ‘e does it without knowin’. Has since ‘e was a tyke.”
Severus turned his full attention to the older woman who had been watching the boy for the last fifteen years.
“Accidental Glamours?”
She shrugged.
“Looks that way, at least.”
He blinked.
“That’s-”
“Extraordinary, yes. Imagine my surprise when the boy produced ‘is Patronus last summer, and fully corporeal.”
Severus waved a hand, once again. It was becoming a habit, unfortunately.
“Potter mastered that spell his third year. I am unsurprised.”
The boy’s voice broke between them.
“Thank you for your confidence in my abilities, however sudden, but could you please talk to me, rather than just about me?”
Potter standing there, eyebrow raised and arms crossed, sounding like Lily so much Severus almost smiled at him… that was a Potter he could handle.
He pointed his wand at the teen, surprised when Potter didn’t flinch backwards.
“Finite Incantatem.”
The marks along the boy’s arms, neck, and face were now clearly visible. Bruises and scrapes littered the skin, adding to the myriad of scars already there. Arabella had a hand over her mouth, but didn’t look all that surprised.
Was that what she had been trying to tell him? It seemed so obvious now.
“When did you start trying to hide your injuries, Potter?”
The Gryffindor was tired of their staring, apparently.
“I don’t try, do I? You said they’re accidental. One night I wished, the next day, poof. Wishing always worked before.”
He held up a hand to stop the irritated muttering.
“What does that mean, before?”
Another shrug.
“Aunt Petunia shaved my head once because my hair looks like my dad’s, and the next morning, it had grown back. She never did try to cut my hair again. I think it terrified her.”
Severus knew that such a thing wasn’t normal, though why he expected anything concerning Potter to be, he didn’t know. There wasn’t any way to get underage magic to do something so controlled. Not to mention the huge amounts of magic it would take to maintain Glamours twenty-four, seven.
“We will investigate this further. Right now, we’re expected.”
“But-”
Severus’s mind was working full throttle, and he didn’t like any of the solutions it was coming up with.
“Don’t you want to see your friends, Potter?”
“Of course, but-”
Did the boy have some latent Metamorphmagus abilities?
“Well then, in you go.”
“But sir-”
Or perhaps this was tied to the “power the Dark Lord knows not”? Either way, it wasn’t good.
“Potter, we don’t have all night.”
Without thinking the situation through, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder, threw it in while calling out their destination, and shoved Potter in. It was only after Arabella grabbed his arm did Severus realized what it was Potter had been protesting.
“Severus, the Glamours!”
When he finally finished spinning, shouts reached his ears.
“What happened?”
“Was it Voldemort?”
“Are those bruises?”
“Where is Severus?”
He took a deep breath and gave his best bellow.
“Enough!”
Every eye turned to him. In addition to the Weasleys, most of the Order was in attendance. The bodies were thick around the boy, who looked like he’d rather be at a Death Eater revel.
Molly started towards him.
“Severus-”
“No. Everyone move, now. Potter, with me, upstairs.”
The Gryffindor nodded, and turned to follow, but as Severus turned, he saw the line that had formed behind the teen.
“Just Potter.”
Several people gave their heartfelt protests, but once again, he heard the boy’s soft whisper above it all.
“Hermione.”
He didn’t like it, but he nodded. The three entered what appeared to be the twin’s old room, if the red WWW boxes were any indication.
“Sit down before you fall down and take your shirt off. I can’t promise they’ll all heal, but I can try. Granger, come here.”
He handed the girl a jar of salve, and she immediately got to work, uncapping it and rubbing it on the boy’s chest. It wasn’t nearly as bad off as his back. There was a long scar that carved an obscene path from shoulder blade to the opposite hip. After a moment, Severus caved to his curiosity.
“How did this one happen?”
“Dudley pushed me into a torn chain-link fence when we were six.”
“The Muggles did nothing.”
He hadn’t posed it as a question, having actually met the disdainful humans, but Potter replied none the less.
“They sent me to my cupboard without supper for bleeding on the kitchen floor.”
Granger pursed her lips, but just switched arms to apply more of the salve. A slightly minty scent wafted around them from all the salve on the boy’s skin.
“You owe me an explanation, by the way.”
It was with an unhealthy detachment (and Severus would know all about it) that Potter shrugged.
“What do you want to know?”
“Put this on his throat,” he told Granger, handing her a pain and swelling blocker, “and you brought up the cupboard, so start there.”
“It’s simple. I lived there.”
Granger had no reaction to this.
“For how long?”
“Ten years.”
Inside, Severus was cursing, but outwardly, he only nodded.
“They moved me to Dudley’s second, spare bedroom when I turned eleven. They thought that someone must be watching them, since my letters, well, the first ones, were addressed to the Cupboard Under the Stairs.”
Severus got some more of the scar removal cream out and methodically applied it to the worst of the scars.
“How many letters did you get?”
The teen laughed at a memory only he could see.
“Oh, hundreds. They didn’t want me to know I was a wizard. I was freaky enough as it was.”
Severus absorbed the information, and figured that the word “freak” was one the kid had heard a lot growing up. Ironic, when the Muggles were really the freaks. Granger spoke for the first time. She was rubbing a scar on Potter’s right arm, which was small in comparison to the others.
“What year?”
When Potter looked down, he actually smiled.
“Second. The Basilisk fang.”
While Severus reeled, Granger just smiled, and he was convinced that all Gryffindors were insane.
“How are you not dead?”
Sharp green eyes pinned him down in honesty, another part of Potter that he’d only glimpsed.
“I’ve been asking myself that for years. So has Voldemort. When we figure out the answer, I assume that will be the final moment for one of us.”
Severus didn’t want to agree with him, though he did.
Granger brought a flannel out from somewhere, a cooling charm already in place, and laid it on the back of Potter’s neck. There was a controlled tenderness that told the spy that this was a routine for the two. He would be asking later.
When Potter was done, and propped up, Severus turned to replace the empty jars in his bag. Granger went to stand, presumably to help him with the chore, but the boy on the bed grabbed her hand, and for the first time since entering the room, he saw the raw, chaotic emotion unmasked in the girl’s brown eyes. She whispered to her friend.
“Bad?”
While this conclusively proved that this wasn’t a one-off thing, his observation was cut short by Potter’s tight nod. Granger took a deep breath, and Severus recognized the effort it took for the girl to keep her anger under control. She sat next to him on the bed and pulled her friend into her arms.
In any other circumstance, it might have been considered inappropriate for Potter to use Granger’s chest as a pillow, but this wasn’t two adolescents sneaking a grope. This was a girl comforting her friend, who was in pain, and something in the act told him that it was a comfort that Potter hadn’t known until he’d met Hermione Granger.
He watched the stubborn, independent Gryffindor wrap his gangly arms around the girl in an almost desperate attempt to keep her at his side. She must have realized this, because she reassured him by muttering to him, and running her fingers though the hair at his nape.
It was what he supposed it would feel like to watch Albus lose a duel. He knew that it had to have happened at some point, he just didn’t expect to ever witness it.
This was the stubborn, cocky hero, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Savior to all of Wizard kind, and he was clutching his best friend to him like she was the last life-vest on a sinking ship, looking dejected and not a little shattered.
Before now, he’d had absolutely no trouble slinging insults at Potter, trying to knock him down a peg or three. He had a strong feeling that this Potter would now be the one he saw, and what kind of miserable wretch would kick a dog while it was down? It would make him no better than Dursley, which was a nauseating thought.
What else had he been assuming about his childhood adversary’s son?
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Granger’s whisper broke into his thoughts.
“Excuse me?”
Potter was fast asleep, looking deceptively innocent. If he’d never seen it, he would never guess that the scrawny boy had defeated the Dark Lord five times already.
Granger nodded at Potter’s bent head.
“I would think you’d be demanding a meeting with Dumbledore. After all, you’re honor-bound to make sure he doesn’t go back to that place, right Professor Snape? You’ve got to move now, because Harry’s going to dig his heels in like a mule when he wakes up.”
It didn’t take him a half-second to catch on, and he came away with the distinct impression that the girl had been waiting years for someone to notice what he’d learned today. Someone with more power than a “distraught young girl”, he imagined. He nodded, just the once, and she smiled in relief.
As he was walking out the door, bag in hand, she called after him.
“Sir? You might want to talk to Poppy first. She’ll be a strong ally in this, with extensive documentation of your suspicions, if you understand what I mean.”
He did, and for some unfathomable reason, was quite looking forward to the following discussion.
Yay! Oh, wow. This is SUCH a long time in the making. (This was actually the start of another story I’d written LONG ago, that I reworked to fit Vengeance.)
Anyone spot the Star Trek line? Anybody? Starfleet Shield shaped cookies for the person who gets it! (Alright, it’s 4:34 am here. I obvsiously need sleep.)
Reviews would be absolutely LOVELY. ILU, guise.
DDDDD
