I'm fine! (I'm not)
Harry groaned as he opened his eyes. Not daring to move for fear of worsening any damage done to him, he took a minute to assess his injuries. Vernon was bad but it had never been this bad before, he could hardly breathe against the sharp pain in his chest, most likely the result of his probably broken ribs, and he was certain his left arm was broken and dislocated and his right hand was mangled beyond recognition. He supposed he should probably be thankful that his left ankle only seemed to be broken in one place and his right was severely bruised but apart from that, his legs were perfectly salvageable.
After this initial assessment Harry thought he better move, or try to anyway, from the looks of it he’d been left on the hallway floor, exactly where Vernon had been beating him. A sudden urge of hatred surged through him. What kind of person did that? Left his own nephew bleeding and broken on the floor? Harry had had enough. As soon as he could move, he was gone.
Fuck Dumbledore’s plans. He had had enough, and, if that godforsaken man had anything to say about it, he could bloody well talk to Harry instead of talking through his friends in riddles that no one understood. He was in his 5th year at Hogwarts for Gods’ sake. He was powerful. Really fucking powerful. And Dumbledore was stopping him from being great.
As soon as this thought had crossed his mind a feeling not dissimilar to that of freeing his mind of the imperious curse last year overcame him. His (however reluctant) tolerance of Dumbledores schemes vanished. An incorrigible anger filled him, Had the Bastard been controlling him? With a wince, Harry decided that was a thought was for another time as he had not stopped aching since he woke up. He wriggled around a bit but couldn't stop the gasp of pain that escaped his lips, his chest felt like it was being sat on by a bloody hippogriff. He wished for the pain to leave him, hoping that it would go like it had in previous years when he was hurt. he waited, his breathing laboured and drifting in and out of consciousness until, eventually, he felt a pop in his chest, not overall very painful but still uncomfortable to draw another gasp from his mouth. He tentatively began to move around again, all to aware that if his magic had healed his ribs wrong, he would be in an immense amount of pain.
However, to his relief he was able to sit up without passing out again. He thought standing up might be ambitious right now, so he stayed perfectly still, sitting up against the door of his cupboard.
He must have finally drifted off to sleep because when he awoke it was dark outside and he was starting to shiver against a cold that shouldn’t be present in the summer.
Confused, Harry looked around, why was it so cold suddenly? it was July. Sow why did it feel like fucking February. There was something familiar about the chill he felt. Like all the happiness was being sucked from the world. Like he’d never be happy again. Like… Like…. Like….
Don’t take Harry! Not Harry!
A scream
A flash of light
Then nothing.
***********
“Potter!” A voice called “Potter”.
Harry could hear a fear in the voice, but decided it didn’t matter, he was so comfy, the mattress at the Dursleys wasn’t this comfy. So, he had to make the most of this one. At least he wasn’t living in a cupboard anymore, that was uncomfy. Not like this bed. This bed is comfy.
“Did you just say cupboard Potter? What are you talking about boy? Open your eyes”!
Oh, Harry thought to himself, did he talk about his cupboard out loud? Not that it mattered, the voice was angry. Why else would it have called him Boy? That’s what freaks are called. Freaks that aren’t allowed a name.
Freak
Freak
Freak
Just before he drifted back into the release of sleep, he could’ve sworn he heard a voice talking about needing to get a Pumpkin? A Pom Pom? A Pomphrey? Something in his mind registered the latter as a name, of someone? Something? Oh well. Didn’t matter now. He was comfy.
*******
Harry jerked awake, breathing rapidly, eyes scanning around the room for any distinguishable or recognisable features, he could’ve sworn he had fallen asleep on the floor, on the floor of Vernon bloody Dursley's hall, bleeding and in pain. so how did he get from there to wherever this room was? Was he missing something? The last thing that he remembered was healing his ribs, so why on earth was he now in a strange bed in no small amount of pain? He looked round the room again and it vaguely registered with him that he was in a bedroom, lying in clothes that were not his own.
Shit!
If he was in different clothes, that meant that someone had changed him, he didn't want to dwell on what he looked like under these clothes but he knew it wouldn't be pretty, whoever's room this was knew. This was bad
And then it went and got bloody got worse.
Because Professor bloody Snape walked into his room.
Of all the people to walk in. It had to be him.
“Harry, good to see you’re awake, you’ve been sleeping for almost two days, and you’ve had a terrible fever, you’ve had everyone worried”.
Harry froze with bewilderment. Why was Snape talking to him in a way that wasn’t, well wasn’t mean. It almost sounded as if, as if he was being nice? No, couldn’t be. It was Snape. The same Snape that had been giving him hell in every potions lesson he had participated in in the past four years, there was no way he was being kind. No.
“What the fuck are you on about?” Harry answered defensively, “and where the bloody hell am I? I swear to Merlin if you have done anything to me I will kill you. Just because you’re a fucking teacher doesn’t mean I won’t. You were a death eater long before you were my teacher. Try me I dare you.”
You could’ve heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. Severus face clouded with anger as he stared at Harry, and Harry couldn’t help but think he may have possibly made a bad decision.
"Sir" Harry added quickly, hoping to diffuse some of the tension, but managing to make Snape look positively murderous.
“Boy-” Snape started, but stopped suddenly, a look of, something? Clouding his face as he saw Harrys barely concealed flinch at the name. But that emotion (whatever the hell it was) disappeared as quickly as it came as familiar cold glare slipped back into place.
“Potter,” he started again, no trace of the previous soft tone left “if you DARE speak to me in that tone again there will be hell to pay. We have a lot to discuss and very little time to do so, so if you have any sense of self-preservation you will listen to me and not talk about things that your tiny, tiny mind can not even start to comprehend, if I didn't walk into your house when I did you would be DEAD. So I would bloody well listen if you know what's good for you.
Harry tried his best to swallow the rising panic in his throat, Snape had the same voice his uncle did when he got angry. and that never ended well.
“We will start by you telling me why I was summoned by the headmaster at an ungodly hour to be told you had broken the VERY SECURE wards surrounding your house, and Mr Potter I assure you, if you dare try lying to me I will personally ensure that you never see your 'perfect' little friends ever again."
Harry paled drastically, and his breathing sped up. What the hell was he going to say?