You made me...

You made me…


Summary: Ignoring HBP – “One just couldn’t flee - not from reality, not from oneself…” And certainly not one Harry Potter, because he was The-boy-who-lived, The-boy-that-was-condemned-to-see-reality.

It’s a world where you can’t discern between black and white, good and evil – where men are monsters and monsters are men – where it’s just a question of perspective… and the on-shining light…

Pairings: Let’s see…beside HP/SS… I am not sure… *shrugs*..but they will develop with my
story…

Warnings: Too many to list them all! It depends on my mood, really, but I give you a hint; expect everything.
*Please, I don’t want to repeat myself: If don’t like it? – don’t read it! It’s just that easy…but don’t think I am afraid of flames…*

Disclaimer: You know, there’s a major difference between J.K.R., the creator of this world and little ol’ me, who owns nothing – she has got the money… o.ô
You see, there’s no point in suing me.


Beforehand:
I must say that I am positive surprised that I’ve got 9 reviews to the first chapter of my very first fanfiction. Thank you, it certainly motivated me to make another chapter and I hope that it will please you just as well as the first one obviously did.


myniephoenix: Thank you. I mean, my fic must be pretty good to leave you so speechless.
*winks playfully*

Angel: I am pleased to hear that my style differs from others because that’s one thing I intended.
To answer your question: Well, I tried to make him cannon, but so far, it’s hard to tell if my efforts have accomplished just that. We’ll have to see how it works out. I am also open to suggestions… ;)


Ari: I tried to, I really did. :)


Hp_reader: Your review actually made me glad, because that’s exactly what I wanted the fic to accomplish…My intention was to make this story different and to let the reader feel the pain and the angst… Thank you…


witchinghour: *chuckles lightly* You got me there - grammar and orthography aren’t my strongest points. Thx for the review.

Elaine: Oh, I feel flattered that you like my writing. Thanks ;). But you had a question:I have to admit that I don’t know what I should make out of this story.So far, I am stuck with chapter 3, thinking about how it will move on from…well, the occurrences from this part. I want to make a difference – which author doesn’t? – but I am far from the end of this. So, sorry that I couldn’t answer your question, though the tendencies are leaning towards an open end. My muses will decide…


Redemption: Oh, did I win a faithful fan there? *raises eyebrow* ^_^ I would be very pleased, indeed.


TheOutCast: *smirks* Well, let’s see if you like this one.


nightrose: Thanks… ;)


Chapter 2: Hope ceases at last, but before it does, all faith vanishes…


Days passed… Second followed second, minute after minute, hour after hour…
A day ended with a night and a new began – a never-ending rotation.
Nothing could stop that, not even the heart full and desperate wishes of a sixteen year old boy that was hoping for an end - an end to everything.
His uncle had crossed the line, once and for all, and now his inhibition level was nearly non-existent.

Harry had been moved again.
Dudley’s old bedroom was just too “precious” for him, even better occupied by trash.
After about 4 years, he was back in his old cupboard under the stairs, though now, a few additions were made, just for him.

Shackles graced the farthest corner of the small space, and the old utilises that used to be stored there, were removed and Harry had nothing left, not even a blanket or a mattress.
Though, as time passed, the young abused learned to welcome the absolute separation from the world.
It helped, not healed, but helped to leave the world and the terror behind – to forget everything, even himself to a point.

Vernon’s beatings had increased.
Now every time he felt like it, he would pummel the defenceless boy into unconsciousness or he did worse…
Bound and broken, the youth gave upon life and fled.
Not with his body - that was constantly violated - only his mind could leave into its own world which was far, far away from pain and hurt and he certainly didn’t think about ever returning.

The tormentor was less than pleased about his victim’s mental state, of which he didn’t seemed to return from, after several ‘meetings’.
He swore, he raged, he beat, but nothing got the boy out of it.

One evening, while he was sitting on the couch, a bottle of Whiskey half drunken next to him, he contemplated his next steps.
He wasn’t over with this filth - he wanted ‘it’ to scream, to bleed and to die slowly, wanted ‘it’ to feel the whole punishment – and ‘it’ deserved much more.
Vernon thought that it was his privilege to rid the world of that scum that resided for far too long under his roof top. He would make all effort to hurl the boy back into reality, back into his awaiting torture. And a plan was fast at hand.
Yes, he would make the freak pay – dearly

sSs


Bang.
That door was definitely shut.

In the first days, every inhabitant of Grimmaulds Place 12 had jumped in surprise, wand drawn suspiciously, alerted by the noise, but now, as they‘ve got used to it over the break, they only caught themselves rolling their eyes in annoyance.
The werewolf’s uncharacteristically behaviour was, to say at least, unnerving.
They understood that his grief for Sirius’ loss weighed heavily on his shoulders, but his mood swings were more terrible than those of a hormonal teenager. Even the self-proclaimed ‘order-mother-hen’ – Molly Weasley – was losing her patients, something you couldn’t see often for her nerves were steeled after raising 7 children, of which two were mischief in its pure form.

Remus Lupin had fallen into a deep depression after the incident in the ministry.
He mourned for everything that he had lost during the war.
His heart was helpless to the ache it went trough and he had tried to sooth the pain, oh yes, but it just wouldn’t diminish, not to sleep, not to alcohol, not to pity… especially not to pity!
Oh, how he despised the looks that blasted order members were giving him. And Molly with her ‘I-pepper-you-up’-attitude was nearly too much.
He wished he could shove their half hearted tries of consolation all the way up their fucking asses.
They knew nothing, didn’t have a right… no, no!
And exactly those thoughts made his blood boil on more than one occasion.
Irrationality was also one of his bigger problems now, beside anger and … hate.
Hate for Voldemort and his minions, the war and cruel fate that took so much from him.
Hate for himself – he had failed again to protect his friend.
And finally, anger towards Sirius who had left him behind, who had went where he couldn’t follow…yet.

The first days were hard.
He had wanted nothing more than to die, just slitting his pulse if not the pain that wrenched his heart and soul would kill him.
But he couldn’t.
The razor was in his hands.
It was his to decide.
He just had had to choose his way to be free.
But he couldn’t.
There were certain things he had to take care of first and one of it was revenge.
His thirst for it, he imagined, could be compared to that one of a vampire for blood or a hunter for its prey.
Visions of him tearing Bellatrix limb for limb apart gave him strength to live through the day.
If only Harry’s cruciatus had been stronger…
Harry?
Confusion accompanied every thought the man had about James’ and Lily’s son.
What had been Harry’s role in the whole incident? Wasn’t he just another cause for Sirius’ death? Wasn’t his violating of the rules the bloody reason, why they had lost the grim-like animagus? Hasn’t the stupid imbecile at least half the guilt to carry on his shoulders?

At that moment, Remus’ thoughts swirled in a strudel of darkness that spiralled his mind downwards to the point, where his existence seemed only to rotate around one question: who was to blame?
He didn’t even notice that he thought of Sirius’ godson, didn’t even notice his lack of care of the young ones health.
Only his thirst for revenge burned deep inside of him, only his thirst.


While one man sunk deeper into his depression with every passing minute, another awoke by the door slamming shut.
Startled and even more exhausted than before he had laid himself to sleep, Severus Snape stumbled out of his provisional bed in Grimmaulds Place 12 and went shakily through his obligative morning routine.
Only the necessities, of course - nobody would ever accuse him of being vane.
Of death, torture and rape…perhaps even more gruesome deeds than those that his mind, by now not fully functional, could think of – but he was certainly not viewed on as a man that took great care of himself.
One fleeting look into the mirror showed the man more than he had wanted to see of himself.
His hair was every bit as greasy as his students tended to laugh about, his face was shallow and his skin held a sickly pale colour…not to think of the rest of his body, for example the yellow teeth or his skeletal legs or..-
He stopped himself in mid-thought.
Wasn’t it enough that they had tormented him as he was a school boy?
Did their voices have had to echo in his mind, reminding him of every ounce of the bastard that he was?
He was made fun of, even after their deaths had ridden the world of their useless yet overbearing presences.
But their ghosts still hunted him - even today, after so many years, so many attempts to forget and even more to redeem.
Their smiling faces still in front of his eyes, he took one of his many black robes and clothed himself hurriedly.
Potter’s vane smile, Lupin’s hidden grin and Black’s open laugh…mocking him, taunting him, and Pettigrew that little rat was practically drooling over them because of the power they radiated.
The hate still burned in his veins, after so many years – it felt like it would eat him alive, from the inside out…

With a scowl fixedly placed on his features, he opened the door to face the world anew.
Oh how he hated it all – especially mornings.
With wide strides, he made his way to the kitchen, glaring at everything and everyone in his way
There were so many things to be taken care of and so little time.
Sometimes, Severus Snape wished that he had chosen another path…
But his chance lay eons away…
And he had had let it slip through his hands… now, it simply was too late…

***
The late Blacks’ family estate was filled with people chattering and laughing these days.
After Voldemort’s return was made official, the Weasleys had left the Burrow behind and took residence in the order’s headquarters, which they tried to make as comfortable and homely as they could.
Their names were standing high on the Dark Lord’s most wanted list because of them being Albus’ supporters and Harry Potter’s friends.
Severus mood was, to say at least, foul after he got word of the Weasleys’ hiding.
Summer was his only way to escape those brats for a few weeks and now? Now he had to live in close proximity with them – a questionable pleasure in his opinion- and to make things even better was the fact that this Granger girl would arrive too, sometime in the following days.
Oh what joy was brought upon him…

The trouble in the kitchen was nothing the Professor’s nerves could handle in the early hours of the morning and he swore silently because of the mild headache those red-haired brats gave him.
Molly hummed cheerfully while being her usual busy self, but everyone who took his time for a closer look, saw the deep worry lines in her face and the few grey hairs that streaked her red curls.The war left its marks and even Molly wasn’t spared by the after-effects of the terror they all had to face.
Athur, Bill and Charlie were at their respective works and wouldn’t return until late in the evening, while Percy… well he was another subject, now, that he sided with Fudge and the ministry. Even after Albus had a word with him and Fred and George nearly beat him up, he wouldn’t change his mind. That’s how he became another of those black sheep the family didn’t want to talk about.
Other than him, Molly was proud of her children. They behaved well in those dark times and since Bill and Charlie moved back in with the family, her heart had one burden less to carry.
The twins were sitting at the kitchen table, preoccupied with themselves, probably planning on their new joke-shop and how they could double their flourishing business, while Ron and Ginny, who were sitting next to them, were bickering about some banal things.

That was another reason why Severus hated mornings – they were so terrible noisy and it certainly didn’t improve his mood.
His scowl deepened slightly and he was ready to curse the day when a heavenly smell called for his attention.
Black and hot, delicious and tempting – oh how the brooding man loved his coffee – no day could be started without it.
He knew for sure that Molly disapproved of his morning ritual to only drink a cup of this ‘god-damned-black-soup’, how the hot-tempered woman called it, instead of eating a healthy breakfast, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Old habits died hard and it wasn’t as if his stomach could hold a meal after the previous night’s meeting...
So there he was, standing in a corner of the kitchen and swirling the hot liquid in his cup as if it were an expensive brandy, watching the other occupants socialising and eating.
He felt like laughing at their stupidity, especially the youngest boy, who ate like a wolverine, Severus noted with some disgust, had a nag towards being an imbecile, but that, so the Potion Master mused, could be Potter’s influence. Though he kept his expression void of any emotions, he growled mentally – ‘Potter’.
At least, he thought as he lifted his cup towards his thin lips, there was no ‘golden boy’ to ruin his holidays, and with one gulp he emptied it.


sSs

“Harry…Harry…wake up….”
Throughout the haze that had covered his sensory organs, he could distinctly make out a bodiless voice calling his name.
It sounded so familiar, yet unknown.
It sounded like…

Petunia Dursley gently shook his shoulders to get his attention.
“Wake up, sleepy head. You nearly missed breakfast…”
Drowsily, the young man looked into his aunt’s eyes, not fully understanding her words, not registering where he was.
“Come on up”, she said, “It’s nearly 9 o’clock.” A small smile crept on her stern face and her voice was without the usual edge, even held an amicable tone.
Blinking, Harry did a double take of the picture in front of his blurred eyes.
Was he hallucinating? Dreaming again?
She couldn’t be sitting beside him, actually smiling and… he dared not to think…asking him to come down and EAT. This just couldn’t be real.
With every passing second, he recognized one more detail that has changed in his surroundings.
He was lying on a bed, in Dudley’s second bedroom and he was wearing one of his school pyjamas. His skin was marred with cuts and bruises, but most were healed and he was clean, for once in the weeks he was staying with his relatives.
Slowly, he lifted himself up and let his aunt help to wash and to dress him in fresh, nearly fitting clothes.
He went along to her gentle prodding, confused and without orientation, just like a good little puppet - silent, obedient, dead inside - yet he couldn’t hinder the question pulling at his conscious.
What was going on? How should he deal with this new situation?
But Petunia took no notice in the boy’s questioning eyes and led him downstairs instead.
There, sitting at the kitchen table and eating calmly, were his uncle and cousin, who both nodded a greeting as they entered.
“Sit down, sit down – I’ll get you something at once. How about some bacon? Some toast and eggs?”, chirped the woman.
Without waiting for his answer, she dished him a full plate and if he wouldn’t have known it any better, he would have said that his aunt had used magic to produce this meal.
It looked delicious and smelled heavenly, but, so the young man mused, a hand full of greasy chips would taste like the finest caviar, for his malnourished body.
His hand reached on his own accord for the fork, the housewife offered him, but his eyes were staring unbelievingly at the scene that unfolded itself.
He just didn’t understand his relatives’ sudden change of mind.
They had forbidden him to ask questions, didn’t want him to eat or to sleep - he even wasn’t allowed to be a child or a teen for that matter – instead they had raised him to be like a robot, so why this now?
‘But do you have to?’, a small voice inside his head asked him. ‘This is everything you’ve ever dreamed off ‘– a family’s love, his family’s love.
While he carefully began to eat – he observed the Dursleys, his haunted eyes restlessly shifting from one person to another.
They were talking calmly with each other, nothing seemed out of ordinary to an unfamiliar eye and even Harry couldn’t detect a fault to this display of a family.
The only flaw in this picture seemed to be him.
He didn’t belong here, was never allowed to participate in these kinds of gatherings before and now?
He felt like a third wheel, yet…
A sudden pain let him freeze in his movement. It was spreading from his chest, tightening around his heart and squeezing it mercilessly which quickly brought tears into his eyes. Again, his treacherous heart let him feel, mostly pain and loneliness, but there was also another thing.
Deceiving and threatening – it was hope.
Could he have it now, what they have always denied him, the fulfilling of the only wish he ever craved for? His wish for love? Their love?
Would he finally be accepted as one of them, a part of their family?
Throughout the evening, the Dursleys acted civilly towards him, letting him stay and watch TV after dinner and they never raised their hands against him, their tones also remained calm.
Even after Harry couldn’t stomach the food they gave him and in consequence threw up, right after the meal, they didn’t complain about him wasting their money.
It was a miracle.
That night, while he was lying awake – in Dudley’s second bedroom, which was bare expect for the bed he was sleeping in - he couldn’t help himself but wonder.
Had he found a sanctuary in an alternative universe or had he died and gone to heaven? Reality would never have been so…nice, not for him.
The worries lay heavily on his heart and the young man did his best to shrug them off.
In this moment Harry didn’t really care, he just wanted to relish the feeling of being treated as a human being and as he finally closed his eyes, he wished that this wasn’t just another dream.


***


A few days passed and Harry began to get accustomed to his new routine.
In the morning, around 8 or 9 am, he would be awoken by his aunt to get down to breakfast, after which he passed his time until lunch with a handful of light chores.
The afternoon were spent with reading in his school books, making homework or just taking naps, because his body needed the rest.
He didn’t know when or why it had happened, but Harry mentally degraded the abuse, as if it was a mere nightmare, and he let it slip into the back of his mind. ‘I had deserved the punishment and now he could begin anew’, was his motto with which he tried to explain to himself, why his relatives had changed.

If he was to think back to this time, he had to admit, that he was content with how his life had worked out to be.
His relatives hardly spoke with him or acknowledged him at all, and only his aunt ever touched him, to shake him awake, but that was more than he had ever hoped for after the brutality they showed towards him.
Sometimes, when Harry had a really good day, getting all his chores done and eating more than a mouthful of mashed potatoes, they would smile at him - really smile.
He had wanted nothing more.
Life was good.

It had been a week since his living conditions had improved and today was Harry’s 16th Birthday.
He had stayed the night awake, hoping against better judgement, that he would receive an owl from his friends, even with the shortest of messages, but as midnight had passed and he had received nothing, he felt miserable.
Had they forgotten about him? Ron? Hermione? … Remus?
It pained him more than he had expected it to do and deep down inside of him, he knew the truth that was craved into his very soul:
Nobody wanted to associate with a murderer - and that he was… a monster.

Came dawn, Harry stood in front of the herd, awaiting the Dursleys with a healthy breakfast and his first smile in weeks.
The three of them exchanged glances before sitting down at the table, letting their nephew serve the food and eating quietly.
The day was as any other had been.
After the meal, Vernon left for work, Petunia busied herself in the household and Dudley sat in front of the television doing….nothing.
Strange, the green eyed boy thought, how quick you could become used to something.
He had left his suspicions behind, not risking angering his uncle or aunt because of his stupid paranoia.
This was his chance - he wouldn’t let it be taken away from him.



Vernon returned early that day to not miss supper.
The teenager had asked if his help was needed, but Mrs. Dursley had banned him from the kitchen, saying that today was his ‘big day’.
Harry was astonished – did they actually remember and care that this day was the date of his birth?
It was the closest thing he got from them that he could call a well meant present, so Harry didn’t argue. Who would when it seemed that they were the only ones who didn’t seem oblivious to his existence?
At 6 pm sharp, he was called downstairs to eat.
What awaited him was a surprise.
They had made the effort to decorate the kitchen with a banner that red ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ and knowing that this was for him warmed his heart.
His family hadn’t set a table, only on his place stood a covered silver plate
The teen sat, overwhelmed by this small gesture of affection and the blinding smiles his family carried.
This was his first real birthday – with them.
“Don’t be shy, boy…take a look at your presence”, purred the voice of his uncle.
Harry flinched for a second, being remembered of past times where this voice only held malice and hate for him, but he did as he was told and…
…let the silver ware drop,
He didn’t hear the clang it made as it hit the floor, his eyes surely focused on the small body that was lying before him.
With death comes new life – one of Dumbledore’s many mottos raced through Harry’s head, giving the scene a sarcastic and bizarre undertone.
There, lying lifeless and half deceased was the body of his beloved owl Hedwig, his first friend.
The rotten flesh was covered with worms and bugs and instead of her beautiful amber eyes were black holes staring at the ceiling. Her beak was broken and half open as if a screech of terror would escape any minute; only a few feathers remained on her body which left the deadly wound in her breast exposed.
The word ‘Freak’ was scarified beneath it.
Harry couldn’t breathe anymore, while at the same time, the urge to gag was so strong – he nearly suffocated.
Then it literary hit him, his body making painful contact with the wall behind him before he even realised that his uncle had lifted his fist.
“Happy Birthday, FREAK”, Vernon menacingly snarled as he came around the table to set his next punch.
“Well, boy? Aren’t you…impressed by my surprise for you? I made sure that you only get what you deserve!”
The viciousness in his voice was born out of pure hate and it made the covering teen shiver.
Petunia cheered him on, encouraging her husband to give the ‘worthless Piece of Filth a proper lection’, while Dudley…was aroused by the show his father gave him.
It hurt.
More than it has ever done before.
Why had he trusted them? Now each blow wasn’t only a strike to his body but also to his very soul.
They had beaten, raped and used him, had shown him disgust and occasional even hate, but this was far worse – they didn’t want to hurt him, they wanted him to die.
The previous week had all along been an act, their plan was to bring him to trust them, just so that they could shatter it and him forever… each piece of the puzzle fell into its place now.

“Hahaha…. You know Freak, I couldn’t let you leave without a memorable goodbye. Even if you won’t have the time to remember any of this…we will… we will and we will laugh at it, at you… You had us quite entertained the last week.” Vernon rambled on, chuckling all the while insanely. He took the helpless boy and smashed him into the floor, holding him down with his massiveness while pummelling him into the wood.
“Oh yes, I can imagine how you are feeling…betrayed…forsaken? Where are those freaky friends of yours now? Eh? Gone! And you know why? Because you are the worst of the worst… mankind’s burden, a piece of shit under someone’s shoe,..but this is our vengeance for your…. kind*cough*”
The older man’s face held, as so many times before, a sickly purple colour and he was breathing heavily, his growing erection pressed against his victim’s thigh.
Spittle was flowing from his mouth and he looked every pound as the rabid boar he was.
“You are the personification of the ancient sin and I…I am the messiahs that will rid the world of you - for us, for mankind… you’ll die…”
The glittering in those beetle black eyes was so familiar that Harry had to concentrate hard to distinguish Vernon’s face from Voldemort’s snake like features.
There was the same glint in his eyes, the same intensity of hate…and the very same evil obsession.
“I’ve known that you would only cause trouble in my life, I’ve know it since that faithful day that my Pet had found you on our doorstep.”
With one swung, the youth’s clothes were torn from his shivering form and the mutilated body was exposed for the world to see.
His already fragile frame looked skeletal, arms and legs now were sticking out in an impossible ankle and his skin was deathly pale under the bruises and the blood from the re-opened cuts. His ribs were broken, one piercing his lungs, while his other internal organs were bruised or otherwise damaged. It was over.
Death would claim him soon…but his uncle seemingly wanted to speed up the process.
“You know what…I am such a generous man…I am putting you out of your misery and you’ll see those low-lives again. This rotten bird…and your fucked up parents…”
The youth’s fate was sealed.
‘What an irony’, was one of Harry ‘s last intelligible thoughts, ‘A mere muggle would succeed where the Dark Lord hadn’t – his uncle had to be proud of himself because he would be the one to kill the-fucking-boy-who-lived. Perhaps, he would get a medal for his deed – the order of Death Eaters’, first class.’
Suddenly, an eerie calmness overcame the young man. He couldn’t feel the pain anymore, his body went slack and his vision was fading.
The last picture that would be burned into his memory was that of his uncle raising a newly obtained butcher knife above his naked form and then….
…darkness enveloped him and he was carried away into the sweet realms of blessed nothingness and into the depths of his unconscious mind.


So….that’s it…until the next time.
I don’t know how the story will develop from now on because there so many options to be considered….well we, my muses and I, will discuss it properly…
And I will try to finish chapter three before January 2006, but I can’t make any promises.
As you may or may not know: Christmas is business… so, there won’t be much time left for my creation here.
Feel free to make constructive criticism, ask questions or give me ideas – I am grateful for your opinions – so don’t be shy, I don’t bite. *hears snickering in the background* What? Do I look like Hannibal Lecter? Wait - *holds up a hand before one of them gets the chance to open her mouth* I don’t want an answer to that…*glares over her shoulder*