Darker Shades of Grey

ALL STANDARD DISCLAIMERS STILL APPLY

WARNING: THERE IS EXTREME VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER. EXTREME HARRY ABUSE. IF THESE THINGS BOTHER YOU,
WE SUGGEST THAT YOU SIMPLY READ THE FIRST HALF OF THE CHAPTER, AND THEN SKIP TO THE VERY END.

Chapter Three- Hagrid Enter: Stage Left

He sat there for several moments, contemplating all that had just come to pass. He wondered where to go from here.
Standing up, he walked out of the infirmary, the words “What have I done?” gently echoing behind him.

Harry ran blindly for several minutes, before his knees buckled and he found himself sprawled rather ungracefully on the
ground in the Quidditch Pitch. Gasping, he lay there for several minutes trying to catch his breath. Even with Madam
Pomfrey’s attention, his whole body ached. And he needed no reminder of what that ache cau caused by.

What the hell was Snape doing anyway? Barging in there like that and whisking him away. And then Dumbledore, the
man he admired most, tricking him and abusing his trust like that. He’d thought that Uncle Vernon had been
bad…especially when Hedwig…The thought made his stomach clench, and he almost threw up. But Dumbledore had taken
things too far.

A scream of rage was working its way up his throat. It seemed to tear out of his mouth, building with an intensity that
threatened to push him completely over the edge. Before he knew what was happening, a great surge of energy shot
across the Quidditch Pitch and slammed into the support beams of the goal post. The thing crumpled on impact, leaving
a rather lopsided goal post. Not to mention the trail of singed grass that marked the trail.

This was enough to send Harry into hysterical laughter. There was nothing funny about it, nothing at all. But that didn’t
seem to matter to his body, no matter what his mind was saying. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe, until there were
tears streaming down his cheeks and he either had to stop laughing or pass out. The latter seemed a much more
preferable option.

“’Ello ‘arry. What’so funny?”

The sound of Hagrid’s voice startled Harry out of his bizarre bout of hysterics. He sat up with a grimace and looked into
Hagrid’s rather clueless face.

“Nothin’ Hagrid. I was just thinking about a joke that Ron told me.”

Hagrid seemed to accept this answer, and was silent for a moment before asking, “Well, what’as tha joke?”

Harry blinked.

“Well, once there was a rubber ducky who lived in a bath tub. And every day he was played with by the little girl who
owned him. So one day he decides to wait until the girl is away and fill up the tub by himself. When the tub was
filled, he jumped in. Shooting out of the water, he shouted ‘Cauldron!’”

Hagrid blinked a few times, before dissolving into a fit of laughter. Harry just shook his head. It took several minutes
before Hagrid was able to compose himself, finally remembering the reason that he had sought Harry out in the first
place.

“Oh, that’s a good ‘un Harry,” wiping away the few remaining tears from his eyes he added, “Dumbledore ask’d me ta
tell ya, yor stuff’s in me Hut.”

Harry scowled at the mention of Dumbledore’s name.

Hagrid, mistaking Harry’s look, added apologetically, “Ah know it t’aint much, but—“ trailing off, his eyes widened as he
took in the disarray of the Quidditch Pitch.

“Whatin tha blazes ‘appened ‘ere?”

Harry looked around.

“Dunno,” he answered with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“Well, we best be getting off then. Ah’ll tell Dumbledore about it, an ‘ave ‘im look inno it.” Clapping a great hand on
Harry’s shoulder, he started off in the direction of his hut.

Harry winced at the otherwise gentle-natured touch, his body remembering other times, and allowed himself to be led
along.

As they walked, Harry became curious as to how Dumbledore had explained his sudden appearance.

“So Hagrid, did Dumbledore tell you why I’m here?” To Harry, the question seemed innocent enough.

“O’course ‘e did. All that ‘xtra trainin an whatnot. ‘elp ya ta dafeat You-Know-Who.”

Harry grew thoughtful at Hagrid’s response. So the old coot wasn’t going to go around and broadcast his business. He
decided to play along for the moment. It was easiest after all. Things kept happening to him so fast, it seemed better
to just go with the flow.

Harry was out of breath by the time the short walk to Hagrid’s hut was over.

“Well ‘arry, ya stuff’s in ‘here. Ah’ll go and fetch Dumbledore ta look after tha field. Ya just make yaself comf’torable
‘ere. And—Blimey! What ‘appened ta your ‘and ‘arry?” Hagrid’s eyes were wide .

“Oh that,” Harry said, shrugging. “That was from when I fell down the steps…outside. On the way here.” Harry couldn’t
believe how stupid he sounded.

“Well, Ah’ll jus go en fetch Madam Pomfrey ta com an see ta it.”

“Nah Hagrid. I’ll just take care of it by myself. Just a scratch yanno?”

Hagrid nodded, clapped Harry on the back again, and then left to fetch Dumbledore, muttering under his breath
something about feeding the thestrals.


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Harry shrugged to himself, and then went into Hagrid’s hut. Looking around, he was careful to find a place clear of
clutter where he could step. It did him no good however, because Fang sprang from a corner and barreled into him,
sending things flying everywhere. After having properly slobbered Harry, he backed off and stood there panting, drooling
on everything.

Wiping a particularly big glob of drool off of his face, Harry turned to fang and said, “That’s gross!”

Fangs response was another quick slurp across Harry’s face. Harry grimaced, wiped off the remaining drool, and then
stood shakily to his feet. A sharp sting in his hand reminded him that it still had shards of tea cup stuck in it.
Rummaging around, he managed to procure something akin to tweezers, and some gauze.

Shoving away the stuff on the table, he cleared a spot and sat down. Looking at his hand, he realized he’d need a
bit more light. Pushing himself up, he somehow managed to cross the room and open the lone window. A beam of
light shot its way onto the table. Making the precarious journey back to his chair, he plopped down, and set his hand
into the light.

It was a bloody mess really. Using some of the gauze, he wiped away what he could of the blood that was still oozing
its way out of some of the wounds. There were jagged cuts here and there, and he could see shards of tea cup impaled
in his hand everywhere. The sight left him feeling light-headed, and a dull roar seemed to find its way into his ears.

Picking up the tweezers, he plucked out one of the smaller shards. The pain of it made him gasp. Squeezing
his eyes shut, he took in a great shuddering breath and steeled himself for the next shard. Bigger than the one he had
just removed, this one seemed caught in his hand. Abandoning the tweezers, he grasped it firmly between his thumb and forefingers and yanked. Blood gushed out of the wound, and Harry found himself lost in a dizzying sort of euphoria.
Blood roared in his ears, and it was several moments until the feeling had calmed down enough for him to pick up the
tweezers and start on the next shard.

Each new gush of blood left Harry soaring. Each new flash of pain left him craving more. Eventually there were no
shards left. Desperate to keep this dizzying feeling building up inside of him, Harry curled his hand into a fist and
slammed it down on the pif tef tea cup shards he had just removed from his hand.

His eyes rolled back in their sockets from the pleasure of it, and a wicked grin etched itself onto his face. He began
the wonderful process of removing the shards again. It seemed as though he could never get enough, as though each
shard would be his last. He never wanted this to end. The sight of the blood that was coating his hand, his blood,
seemed to drive him further.

Curling his fist around the shards, he drove the remaining ones even deeper into his flesh. He let his hand fall limply
onto the table, reveling in the shards that were now completely embedded beneath his skin. He held his hand in the light,
turning his hand this way and that. The sight of the open wounds excited him, seemed to fuel this euphoric feeling even
further.

Taking the tweezers up once again, he dug the sharp points into his hand, digging around until he had the shard firmly
grasped, and then yanking it out in one fluid motion. Over and over he repeated this motion. Eventually he began to
feel a loose separation. This no longer seemed to be real. After a while he couldn’t even feel what he was doing to
himself anymore.

All that was left was a sinking feeling of despair, closing in on him, suffocating him. In a desperate attempt to gain
the control back, to gain back some of that dizzying pleasure, he raised the tweezers high and slammed them into
his flesh. He felt nothing. Again, and again, down the tweezers rained onto his hand and he didn’t feel anything.

Slumping down onto the table, he reluctantly pulled out the few remaining shards, and stared apathetically at what
remained of his hand. Holes were everywhere and blood gushed freely. It wasn’t until he felt the firm pressure of
Fangs teeth around his arm did he move to bandage the thing.

The door suddenly swung open behind him, and Harry froze, blind panic threatening to take over. Glancing down
at his hand, he was puzzled to find that all the shards were in place, and the gaping holes from the tweezers had
disappeared.


____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“’Arry, I thought ya were gonna take care a that yerself.” Hagrid’s deep voice finished pulling Harry back to reality.

“I…” his voice had failed him. Staring wide-eyed at his hand, he realized he had fantasized the whole incident. “I…”
he tried again, his voice failing once more. A great shudder ran through him, and he tried desperately to pull himself
together. Once more he tried to find his voice. “I…I decided I’d rather Madam Pomfrey have a look at it.” There, he’d
said it. Glancing at the tweezers in his hand, he dropped them as though they’d burned him.

“Then ‘ead on up ther, an Ah’ll put on a cupa tea fer yeh, and yeh cen tell me ‘bout yeh summe’.” Harry nodded numbly
and left for the infirmary.

A stupor seemed to have fallen over him. He could think of nothing else but that vivid fantasy, and with a sort of
sickening wonder, think about what would’ve happened had Hagrid not come in at that moment. It took Harry a few
seconds to register that instead of walking, he was now sitting on floor.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape’s exasperated voice reached Harry’s numb ears, “if you would kindly watch where you are going,
we could avoid these kinds of abrupt meetings in the future.”

Harry merely stared at Snape, and for an odd moment, Snape was reminded of a sheep. The same vacant stare
was currently present in the Potter boy’s eyes. “Mr. Potter!” The voice had changed from exasperated to extremely
annoyed. “Are you even—“a flash of red caught Snape’s eyes and he stopped mid-sentence. The boy’s hand
was covered in blood.

That shattering sound in the infirmary. That must’ve been the teacup in Potter’s hands. For a short moment,
he wondered if perhaps it might’ve been the pink one with the purple tulips. He certainly hoped so. The creator
of that cup deserved to be tortured and killed.

For a moment, he allowed himself to remember a time when there had been an important staff meeting, and
Dumbledore had given him that cup, with a jaunty, “I saved this cup for you Severus. I know how much you love it.”
That alone had drawn a few wary stares and an occasional snicker. Shaking his head, he returned himself to the present.

Sighing, he gripped Potter firmly by the shoulder and pulled him up. The boy flinched at the contact, but made no
effort to move away. Snape grimaced, knowing what memories had caused that flinch.

“Let’s get a move on Potter. I’ll take you back up to Madam Pomfrey, and she’ll put you back together…again.”


____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Up in the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey clucked in sympathy at Harry’s hand. “I don’t know how you manage these
things dear. You show up here more times in one day than anyone else in the entire school. Except perhaps…for
Neville Longbottom.”

By now, Harry had snapped out of his trance. He briefly wondered what Snape thought of him now, the Golden Boy,
going to pieces. Obviously not much, as he had left him at the infirmary and then stalked off, presumably to his
dungeons. Then again, perhaps the man was gloating. Harry wouldn’t put it past his snarky Potions Professor.

Harry winced at the shards being magicked out of his hand. It was eerie, the way they zoomed out and then
arranged themselves in a neat pile on the desk. After she was done bandaging his hand, she clucked once more
at his seemingly endless misfortune, and sent him back down to Hagrid’s.


____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Snape stormed out to the Quidditch Pitch, caught sight of Albus, and marched out to meet him.
Seeing the damage, he raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling, “it seems there was a bit of an accident.”

Snape raised his hand in a gesture for silence. “No, let me guess,” his voice was laced with
sarcasm, “it was Potter.”

Albus nodded. “Seems the boy had a few frustrations to work out.”

Snape’s other eyebrow inched it’s way up. “He was mad at what? The goal post? Or perhaps the
grass wasn’t soft enough for the boy. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the truth serum in his tea.” Snape was
nodding his head vigorously by now, gesturing wildly.

“Lemon drop?”

The question startled Snape, stilling his motions. He looked cross-eyed at the tin beneath his nose,
answering angrily, “What? No! I don’t want a bloody lemon drop! And stop avoiding the subject!” Snape felt a surge
of frustration at the man’s ridiculous antics. He wondered if maybe the Headmaster behaved like this to grate on
his nerves.

Albus shrugged, and tucked the tin somewhere in the recess of his periwinkle blue robes. “I suppose
that we should work on repairing this field.”

“Yes, well, I don’t think Madam Hooch would appreciate coming back and finding a crater in her
Quidditch Pitch now would she?”

Albus ignored him, pulled out his wand, and began to repair the grass. Snape took a moment to
count to ten, and then focused his attention on the rather mangled goal post, wondering how in the hell Potter
could’ve possibly managed this.


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We’d like to thank our reviewers. Though there aren’t nearly enough of you. (Hint. Hint.) Tigeress is taking a leave of absence for about two weeks, so depending on how many reviews we get, determines how motivated she feels after her break. We hope that you have enjoyed this chapter, and look forward to hearing your thoughts.