Third Place - Romance

The alarms in Dumbledore's office went off, blaring their alert throughout the whole school

In his lab, Severus looked up in annoyance from the ingredients he had been meticulously preparing, and moved to the fireplace to contact the headmaster.

However, Albus got to him first. He apparated, possible because of the weakness of the wards, into the middle of the room and began to speak urgently.

"Severus, there is an emergency at Harry Potter's house. One of the monitoring spells on him has just signalled that he is in great physical distress. It may be a false alarm, but I need you to go and find him, and bring him here. I will contact Poppy and have her here. I fear Death Eaters, Severus."

"But Albus if that is the case am I not the last person that should go. They will be looking for me in particular; I would have very little chance of sneaking in unnoticed."

"I cannot go myself; the wards are at a crucial stage, and at least you know something of their ways. There is no one else who can go! I know that he is still at the house, Number 4 Privet Drive, or the other alarms would have sounded. Please Severus, go to check on him and bring him back if he is hurt." The weariness mingled with concern in the headmaster's voice was convincing.

Severus found himself agreeing automatically, and was almost angry with himself for it once Albus had left. If this was a false alarm he would not speak to the man for a month, and he would find a way to decimate the Gryffindor house points. Of course if it wasn't, if he actually rescued Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, that might go a long way towards his redemption.

Casting a last, longing look at his potions experiment, he apparated out.

Severus appeared at the end of a long, darkened street and immediately hid behind the nearest hedge. Peering over the top, he could not immediately see any Death Eaters, and decided to do some further scouting. He transfigured his robes into Muggle clothing to be more inconspicuous, though the Death Eaters despised Muggles; they were far less likely to be suspicious of them than of a wizard.

Cautiously he skulked down the street, staying in the shadows. Nothing stirred. Counting down the doors, he arrived outside number four. The road in front of the house was blackened, with quite a large crater deforming it. It looked like the results of one of Longbottom's potions experiments.

The windows of the house were dark. Still no movement. Concluding that it was unlikely Death Eaters were around any longer, Severus moved openly up to the house. One of the windows on the second floor was shattered allowing the curtains to billow through it gently.

Levitating up to the hole, Severus clambered through it as noiselessly as possible, and surveyed the room. There was no one there, not surprising seeing as the room was cold due to exposure to the night air. It was a very cluttered room, filled with toys and garbage. The room of a spoiled child. Must be Potter's he thought, before noticing that in all of the photos in the room- Harry was absent. They were of a hideously fat boy and his friends.

Then he saw the owl upon the floor. Potter's owl. Dead. He speculated that maybe she had tried to warn him of the attack and been killed, but as he bent to examine the bird he found that her neck had been snapped. Someone from inside the house had killed her! Did that mean that Death Eaters had breached the wards? No, for Albus would have known. Who else would have done it, not the Potter boy, for he did not hate him so much to believe him of that. The brat was far too noble, and idealistic, and full of self righteousness.

There was a note on the floor. It mentioned a Christmas present. So the owl had been carrying a parcel, and was attacked or intercepted. Severus cursed to himself, it didn't make sense.

He quietly opened the door to the hall and checked the next bedroom along. This one was bare, but in a bed slept the fat boy. Snape considered waking him to demand the whereabouts of Potter, but decided that it would be better for this visit to remain secret until he knew all of the circumstances.

The room after that was the adults' bedroom, Potter's aunt and uncle. The man was snoring loudly. They didn't look like they had been attacked, mused Severus. More pictures of the fat boy- simply disgusting.

That was all of the rooms on this floor. He thought that the boy had been captured for a moment before remembering Dumbledore said that he hadn't left the house.

He stood on the landing considering his next move, and rested his hand on the banister. It was wet. His heart began to pound. He brought his fingers up and smelled blood. Fresh blood. Icy fingers of fear spread throughout his body. The boy was hurt. He rushed down the stairs, some of them creaking ominously. Casting Lumos, he squinted against the light at his surroundings. More blood on the floor. A broken lamp with more blood on it. Bloodied footsteps. And a trail of blood, as if a body was dragged, leading to a door. A cupboard under the stairs.

It was locked. Several huge padlocks and a chain decorated the door. How festive, he thought idly, all the Christmas spirit one needs combined with security. Hah!

"Alohamora," spoken softly. The door swung open, grudgingly. Inside, in a space not three feet by four, was huddled Harry Potter. He was not moving.

Severus reached in and lightly shook the boy's shoulder.

"Come on Potter, come on." The boy was unconscious, and showed no signs of waking.

He levered Potter out of the cupboard with more gentleness than he showed most people and gazed down upon him. Dressed in overlarge, baggy clothes with the sleeves and legs rolled up, Severus could see that the student was brutally wounded. He laid a hand on the boy's cheek, expecting him to be cold, afraid that he was dead, but Potter was hot, too hot, and he breathed in pained gasps that made Snape's chest ache in sympathy. He gathered the small form up into his arms, holding him close, and straightened up.

Severus knew that he had to get the boy straight back to Hogwarts, and apparated away.

Snape laid the boy down on the nearest bed and, magnifying his voice, shouted out "Albus, Pomfrey! Come to the infirmary."

They apparated in seconds later, the mediwitch gasping at the state Harry was in and Dumbledore shaking his head in dismay.

Pomfrey listed all of his injuries; they were more or less as Severus had surmised and covered the whole of the boy's body.

"Severe bruising on seventy-two percent of his body, blood loss from cuts all over, a broken arm, three broken ribs, a bad fever, a concussion." Pause then added, "Some of the wounds are older than others by several days, some of the bruises might be more than a week old."

She continued to examine him then said angrily "This boy is suffering from malnutrition, Albus. He hasn't been fed enough or at all in a long time."

The mediwitch cast a spell to remove Harry's shirt without moving him, for fear of his injuries, and Severus was startled to see how thin the boy was. With all of the bruising on top of that, the boy looked barely alive, practically a wraith.

While Albus talked with Madame Pomfrey, Severus just kept on staring at the broken body in front of him. The boy had almost died. Potter had almost died. Earlier in the day he would have quite happily confirmed that a world without Potter in it could only be a better one, but now he began to feel that having him dead would not be the answer to Severus' problems, indeed would only worsen them.

And no one deserved to die like this. To suffer like this.

"We will just have to wait until he wakes up," said Dumbledore, rousing Snape from his thoughts. "Poppy thinks it may be some time before he does so." Albus looked down at the boy sorrowfully. "Will you stay with him Severus; he cannot be alone, and I must go to get the wards finished as quickly as possible. We have already done this wing, but until they are complete Harry is in danger."

Snape nodded, sighing. There went his Christmas, forced to look after a boy he despised during a holiday that he had hoped for once would be his own.

He drew up a chair next to the bed, made himself comfortable, and watched the boy broodingly, wand in hand, as Pomfrey scurried back and forth with potions and salves.

Harry awoke slowly, his body cocooned in a comforting warmth which drove away all other thoughts. His every muscle was completely relaxed.

Eyelids cracking open, he saw a world of white. With a shadow in it. It loomed closer, and Harry unconsciously shank away from the dark intrusion into his fuzzy view.

"Mr. Potter?" He heard dimly. "Mr. Potter?" The voice was somehow soothing and familiar, he found it unthreatening and any remnant of alertness in his mind dissolved. He lost the battle (which he couldn't really be bothered to fight very hard) to keep his eyes open, and they dropped.

The last thing he heard before the darkness folded over him again was a name being called, "Pomfrey!"

The next time Harry was roused from unconsciousness he felt far too exhausted to even consider moving at all. He was almost lulled to sleep again by the sound of quiet steady breathing somewhere near, and the occasional rustling that could have been a page turning.

Vague snippets of memory assaulted him, he remembered putting up the lights on the Christmas tree and scraping the burnt bits of the morning toast. He remembered getting a Christmas present from Ron. Then he recalled what had lain on top of it. Hedwig's body. He still felt raw about her murder, but now, with the apparent lack of Dursleys around, judging by the comfort level, his mind was undampened by fear, and he felt guilt. How could he have let that happen to her? He should have somehow known that she was coming, and broken out of his hiding place to warn her off. He should have known.

The recriminations flooded through him in a thousand different voices; his friends telling him that someone who had murdered his owl was not someone they wished to know. Dumbledore's voice, unkind and harsh, expressing his disappointment. And his parents, saying that they thought a child of theirs would have turned out differently.

"I'm sorry," he managed to get out in a low, choked gasp. It was so hard to talk. The words repeated in his head, over and over again. They were meaningless. She was still dead. Cedric was still dead. All his fault.

A hand came to rest gently on his brow, the touch breaking the mental cycle he had been lost in and another tear fell. Soft fingertips ran down the trail of it, wiping away the moisture.

Harry's breath, which had hitched at the unexpected touch when he momentarily thought that perhaps Vernon was here after all, eased. This person wasn't going to hurt him, this person cared.

A brief flash of the darkness in the cupboard, the madness, the beatings that he somehow felt he deserved but was not strong enough to take. He was so weak, so weak. And no one could ever know. The person tending him would turn away in disgust if they knew the truth.

He made a feeble attempt to open his eyes now, but found that he couldn't. So weak, the voices taunted him. He tried again. Nothing happened. He was trapped, trapped and no one could help him.

Harry panicked. His breath came out in shallow gasps as he struggled to overcome his weakness. But he couldn't. There was no way out.

Then the touch came again, soothing with a cool cloth. It moved over his forehead, fleetingly over his eyes, then down his cheek and moistened his lips.

"Pomfrey, he's awake," said a voice.

Harry remembered it from before. Had this all happened already? Was this another memory? Was it a dream? If it was a dream, then he could open his eyes if he wanted to.

That was when he realised his problem. He didn't want to. He didn't want to know what was outside. And if he was where he had begun to suspect he was, he certainly didn't want to deal with all of the questions that would undoubtedly come.

The voice again. The presence of the voice let him know that he wasn't alone. If only he could stay in the darkness with that voice to remind him he was alive. But it wouldn't let him be.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter, can you hear me?"

Of course he could hear them.

"Mr. Potter?" the tone was sharper now, and something in Harry responded to it. Better do as he says, it commanded.

Harry's eyes opened with all of the speed of a tortoise with a brick attached to its leg. That is to say, very slowly.

The world seemed different to how I remembered it, he thought sleepily. There were no lines or angles, just curves delightfully blurred. He realised that he didn't have his glasses. Thinking about how he lost them, he decided that the world looked better out of focus- you didn't see the ugly things.

There were shapes moving across his eyes. He blinked drowsily then realised that they were people.

That would make sense, he thought, then attempted to sit up.

Pain exploded through his nerves and he cried out, arms flailing wildly without his consent in a desperate effort to make it go away. This only worsened it.

Hands restrained him, two sets this time, and a new voice told him to lie still. It was a voice he remembered he was supposed to obey. The owner of it leaned closer and in the break from white he made out the face of Madame Pomfrey.

"Oh shit!" were the first words out of his mouth, saying them took a lot of energy, earning a disapproving frown from her and a dry chuckle from the other. He couldn't remember hearing that laugh before. He turned his head slightly, wincing at the pain in his neck, and looked at the man. Harder to see as he was standing further back, Harry made out his general outline by squinting. Only one professor looked like that, Snape. That explained why the laugh was so unfamiliar.

He really could expect the inquisition then. They knew, knew of his weakness. Snape knew. He thought he remembered Snape laughing at him for it, but then realised that had been in his dream. Now he would have a chance to sneer in real life.

"I'll hold him, you get him to drink," said the nurse. Harry was lifted slightly. He tried not to notice that it hurt.

A glass of water was pressed to his lips. He attempted to drink, but it was too hard. Everything was so hard. The glass tipped and some of the cool liquid seeped into his mouth. It felt wonderful. He tried to swallow, but couldn't. So helpless. So weak. Long fingers stroked across his throat, and in an involuntary reaction he swallowed.

He wanted to say thank you, but the words wouldn't come- his throat muscles weren't working properly. After two more sips the glass was withdrawn and he was lowered. Harry's eyes began to feel heavy again and he dozed lightly, still aware of the voices in the background.

"It's the spell to keep him quiet. I didn't want him moving and aggravating the breaks before they were mended so I impeded most of his motor functions. He also has a calming spell on him, though from his reaction to waking I would say it is starting to wear off," said Pomfrey.

"The headmaster is going to want to speak with him; I'll tell him that the boy's awake. He'll come as soon as he's finished that section of the wards," said Snape.

"He won't be in a fit state to talk until I take the spells off and give him some pain numbing potion."

"Then maybe you should start." That sounded more like the Snape Harry remembered, impatient and cutting.

Pomfrey came closer, muttering to herself. "Honestly, the cheek of the man, telling me how to treat my own patients. The boy's bones haven't even mended yet."

Harry opened his eyes as he sensed her nearing. She smiled reassuringly at him.

"Now Harry dear, I'm going to give you a potion to help with the pain. You mustn't try and move or you could stop your arm or your ribs from healing, okay?" She helped him up, propping up pillows behind him. Harry ignored the taste of the vile mixture poured down his throat. It worked. He felt a lot better. It also made him feel very tired.

Harry wasn't sure how long he dozed before the voices grew louder. Madame Pomfrey was angry. He wasn't sure why but opened his mouth to tell her everything was fine. He couldn't speak again, this time due to the dryness of his throat. He opened his eyes. Still blurry, but now three dark blobs instead of two. That meant that Dumbledore was there.

He tried to move. Instantly Pomfrey rushed over to the bed.

"No. No. No!" she scolded. "What did I tell you about not moving?"

He was given some more water, and was able to swallow it by himself this time.

"Harry?" said Dumbledore. Harry looked in his general direction and squinted to try and make him out.

He heard a soft chuckle from the headmaster, then a spell, and his vision corrected itself. He could see! He blinked and looked around. The hospital wing. Why was he not surprised? Madame Pomfrey was hovering looking worried, Snape stood in the background looking dour. Dumbledore was right beside him now, with a kind smile on his face.

"Harry how are you feeling?" he inquired.

"Fine sir," was all Harry could think of to reply, his voice a little hoarse.

"Good, good." Dumbledore paused, searching for words, then obviously settled on the simplest choice. "Harry, what happened?"

Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it again. How could he tell them? Just to say the words out loud would be betraying himself.

"Were there Death Eaters there, child?" the headmaster prompted.

Harry's thoughts immediately started speeding along at ten times the normal rate. Death Eaters? Not unless Uncle Vernon had joined in secret. He certainly hated Harry enough. But no, he was just a Muggle. Death Eaters! They all thought Death Eaters had done this to him. They didn't know. They didn't know! Absolute relief swept through him. They didn't have to. He could tell them whatever he wanted. Whatever they wished to hear.

"Yes sir." He listened to his own voice speak as though from a great distance. He had to think fast, Dumbledore had said that he was protected at the Dursleys' because of magic. So the death eaters wouldn't be able to come in. Hmmm. Lying came so easily. "They couldn't come into the house," he whispered, trying to put fear in his tone, it wasn't hard. "They were outside in the street. They were using bombs." Thank you Vernon for that idea, he thought bitterly. Seeing their confused faces, he clarified, "Muggle devices that explode. I was thrown backwards down the stairs. I landed badly on something sharp. That's all that I really remember."

Masterfully told. He mentally congratulated himself. Dumbledore looked concerned, Pomfrey was still worrying about him exerting himself. Snape looked puzzled.

"Why were you in a cupboard?" the professor questioned.

Damn. Should have remembered that, Snape is way to clever for his own good, thought Harry. He'd probably heard an awful lot of lies before. Oh well, improvisation time.

"Well, they wanted to hide me from the Death Eaters in case they came back. They didn't dare to try and get help while they were still out there, so they had to wait till they left."

Snape just stared at him. He was starting to get a suspicious look on his face.

Please no, thought Harry. This is the truth, this is the truth. He tried to look innocent, dumb and traumatised. Most of it was real rather than acting.

Snape said nothing.

Dumbledore patted Harry's hand reassuringly and said "It will be fine now Harry, you will have to stay at Hogwarts where we can keep and eye on you for the rest of the holidays though. I'll send someone to tell your relatives."

"No!" said Harry. Too fast. Snape's sharp gaze swung round to rest on him once more. "I mean, they already knew that someone would come for me, so we already said our goodbyes, and I wouldn't want to put them in further danger by someone going there and attracting attention."

Something in that must have made some sense for Dumbledore nodded.

"Well then Harry, get well as fast as you can, and I'll see you later." As he reached the door, he turned and added, "Oh, and Harry, Happy Christmas."

Harry smiled. He was safe.

Flawed Lines - Chapter 3

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