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: I have to admit that another genius has created this world long before I or one of my muses could even define the word creativity. That means – I sadly own nothing and I don’t get anything for this fiction.


What’s there left to say? I warned you beforehand that this chapter would take its time…. Sorry anyway…

Thank you to all of my reviewers, Ari, Lothirielwen, DamedeMort but also:

Sophia: Harry will have to wait to get his revenge, but I am positive that Vernon will regret the day he was born…or at least the moment he laid his fingers on the boy. *grins evilly*

Angel: Wow, I mean, thank you for your lovely review – you really encouraged me to continue this fiction… the thing with Hedwig was sadly necessary…

As for your hints; I agree with you – Snape cannot be fluffy… though I’ll have to give him a soft side… but overall, he’ll stay the snappy, sarcastic git he is – and we all love him for that, don’t we?
As for the tea thingy; I wasn’t certain, tea or coffee but I choose him to be a coffee addict because of the difference it made… you can call it an instinctive choice… though I can also picture him with a strong cup of black tea… *g*

Well and about the Harry-Problem… what can I say? Wait and see for yourself… ;) I hope you’ll like it…



Chapter 3: Hush, little angel…

It was an ordinary evening at Grimmaulds Place 12 and the whole Weasley family plus Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin had gathered around the dining table to enjoy Molly’s cooking.
It was a rather noisy affair, Fred and George being the centre of attention, joking around with Charlie, Bill, Ginny and their Mother, while Remus and Tonks were talking quietly.
Nobody noticed the far away look on the youngest boy’s face.
“Ron, would you kindly pass me the salt?” Arthur Weasley asked his son who was sitting next to him.
”Ron? Roooon, stop dreaming boy!”
Shocked out of his musings, the younger red head looked sheepishly at his father before he reached for the required object.
“What’s going on with you, Ron? You seem so off lately…”
“Nothing dad, I… I…” He stuttered, trying to make up a non-committal answer, his ears colouring in the process. “I…” When…
“Arthur, a moment…please...” ...he was sparred answering by Severus Snape’s appearance at the kitchen entrance.
His dad sighed lightly, but stood nonetheless.
“We talk later…”, and with that left the room to follow the retreating back of Hogwart’s infamous Potions Master.
Ron laughed inwardly - he would never have thought that he would ever be thanking for the man’s presence, but one never ceased to learn something new.
None of the others had noticed the exchange between him and his father, they were happily preoccupied with themselves and so Ron deemed it safe to return to his imagination.
‘Someday, perhaps…someday’ He thought.
When Severus Snape could do him a favour, even if it was unknowingly, he would perhaps see his dream coming true…one day.
Smirking, his attention turned to his food. He would prove them, them all, that he wasn’t just the shadow of the ‘Boy-who-lived’.


The room was dimly lit and scarcely furnished, only one desk was gracing the wall opposite the entrance and one chair next to the bookshelf in the same side’s corner. No window, no carpets, paintings whatsoever - the room bared all personal touch and even the small flames, burning in the hearth on the eastern side, didn’t banish the impersonal feeling Arthur got as he stood there, waiting for the other man to speak.
‘It’s just like Snape’, the slightly older man mused, ‘Cool and dark…’ He shuddered a bit which went unnoticed by his fellow.
Severus Snape stood in front of the fire, taking a moment to watch the flames licking at the cold stones - like snake tongues - they were threatening and deceiving with their warmth while hiding their destructive potential.
This picture triggered painful memories to the surface, from the depths of his mind, alluring with their nostalgic charm and just before he could get lost in them, he fought them off.
He had left the past behind and there was no sense in remembering when the present was requested his attention.
Shaking, he refocused his concentration and addressed the other occupant of the room.
No pleasantries though – Severus didn’t believe in such likes – so he came straight to the point of this meeting
“On Dumbledore’s order, I went to see Mr. Edgecomb this morning and I have to say that my analyze on his condition confirm Pomfrey’s diagnose. Bodily, he recovered well enough, but his mind seems to have suffered permanent damage. When he’ll wake up, he will be mentally unstable and therefore I recommend a transfer to St. Mungo’s to ensure he is been taken proper care of.”
“You mean he…he will be mad?”
“In how far his mental capacitance has been damaged, can only be asserted, when he is awake and when the healers can official diagnose his condition.”
“There’s no…”
“No…”
“But….but…”, sighing, Arthur let himself sink into the only chair in the room, his voice strained as he continued to speak, ”God damn you-know-who…hasn’t he destroyed enough?! It will break Molly’s to hear that… – she loved him like a son…he…he…” A suppressed sob escaped the man’s lips after which a heavy silence fell over the room, letting both men dwell in their own thoughts.
Mr. Weasley, the family man he was, held nothing but grieve and sorrow for his cousin.
He was so young, 24 and had just recently absolved his Auror training – a young man with a great perspective and now?
It had been his first, and as it seemed now, last, mission - patrolling in Diagonal Alley, which was, until that particular moment, considered the safest place after Hogwarts, Gringotts and the Ministry. Even in the last war, Voldemort had never dared to attack there.

Dumbledore had had them warned, but the incompetent fool of a Minister waved his worries of, claiming that the prospect of the Dark Lord’s return was all but a lie – and the public, in their self-centred wish for peace, sided with the opinion that suited them best.

So no one felt the need to put up additional security measures that day.
The 4th. of July* was a symbol of the wizarding world and a historical day.
As every year, the minister had prepared a speech for the occasion and as every year, it should have been a great holiday with open festivities.
The gathering was a good target and the raid was quick.
It was in the middle of the speech as 30 Death Eaters apparated, scattered in the crowd.
From that moment on, dark hexes and curses were thrown in various directions, the unsuspecting witches and wizards were easy prey, for a defence was practically non-existent.
The hands of the present Aurors were bound, they could hardly make out between attackers and attacked, for the Dark Lord’s servants used their human coverage wisely and firing into the blue was too risky.
The chaos was complete as Voldemort himself appeared next to Fudge, who wetted his pants at the frightening sight and fainted on the spot, whilst the gathering was violently dispersed by a mass panic. Though his presence was short lived, it made a durable impression on the people’s mind and that day would make another entry into history as the beginning of the second dark war.
After 11 long years of peace - 15 if you were oblivious to his first appearance in Harry’s first year at Hogwarts – the Dark Lord had returned and the dark times began anew.

Walter Edgecomb, Arthur’s cousin and currently resident patient in Poppy’s care, was one of the first to go down. He had to endure several minutes under the Cruciatus before he fell into the same comatose state in which the Longbottoms, Neville’s parents, now scraped their living, and there was no chance of restoring him to full health.
His wife, who was in advanced pregnancy to that time, nearly suffered a miscarriage as she heard that she had practically lost him.
And he was one of many.
The balance showed that 65 men and women died that day and another 19 were more or less severely injured and it was only a promise of the things to come – a promise of hell from Lucifer himself.

A soft, nearly inaudible groan brought Mr. Weasley back into reality and he watched with some kind of morbid fascination as the Potion Master’s face distorted into a mask of pain and annoyance. To see the otherwise cool and aloof man abandon his mask, even if it was only for a few seconds, made Arthur wonder how painful the Calling had to be, to make the introverted man react in such a way.
Clutching his marked forearm, Severus hissed some obscenities under his breath before he addressed the other man once more:
“I’ll have to go…inform Albus…” With that, he straightened himself, his face wearing the usual impassive expression and the only visible signs that the pain in his arm hadn’t faded yet, were his tightly clenched fists.
With a final nod, the dark haired man stalked to the door, every bit the intimidating persona he was and Arthur followed him with his eyes.
The man was the born Death Eater, dark, cold and mysterious and sometimes, the Weasley patriarch doubted that his loyalties were lying with his side.
He had only Albus words on that matter – and even the greatest wizard of the century was only human, even he could make mistakes.

Throughout the whole conversation, neither man noticed that the door wasn’t shut properly, nor had they noticed the third party that listened at the small gap.
Under normal circumstances, Severus would have done more than to frown at the door, which was only leaning on, but as his senses were still clouded by the burning sensation of his Dark Mark, he hurriedly exited the headquarters to answer the call – it certainly wasn’t wise to keep his master waiting for too long, not even for him.
A minute after him, Arthur left the room to firecall the headmaster on the spy’s departure, pondering how he should tell his wife the news concerning his cousin.
So he too didn’t saw or hear the girl that had pressed herself against the wall behind the now wide open door.

sSs


She was relieved and for once thankful for the many shadowy corners in the building. But even though she knew she was safe, now that the two men had left, her heart was still racing like it would do after a marathon and her breathing consisted of small gasps.
The information she had just obtained were crucial - she was sure of that - and though, she had only heard fragments of the conversation, she thought she knew enough to determine the person’s identity. The question of whom the two men had spoken of was nagging at her mind and wouldn’t let her come to rest.
She inhaled deeply before she made herself on the way to her and Ginny’s room.
She needed time to think all the information through and where was a better place than in bed?

Hermione Granger had arrived just after tea and had used her afternoon with a bit of ‘light reading’ alone in her room.
Engrossed in her book, she nearly missed supper and made her way down towards the kitchen, as she heard two voices from one of the rooms further down the dark hall.
Curious as she was, she sneaked her way to the slightly open door and listened to the conversation.
Normally she would have considered that type of behaviour rude, but in that moment, she couldn’t make herself care for manners.
Her cheeks were flushed because of the excitement and her eyes were shining bright with the determination to conquer this puzzle. She liked riddles, it challenged her intelligence and it pleased her immensely when she solved it while others were still struggling – she liked to feel superior.
The brown haired girl chuckled – this was her idea of fun.

Later, while snuggling deeper into her warm bed, Hermione pondered the information she had overheard.
The two men had talked about a male person that Mrs. Weasley loved like a son, a male person who was against the Dark Lord and now has gone insane because of him…
There was only one conclusion.
Harry.
They must have been talking about the raven haired Gryffindor – there was no doubt in Hermione’s mind.
She had rethought it times and times again, but the result of her ‘mathematics’, as she called it, was the same.
It all fell into place just nicely.
Harry was loved by the Weasley matron like a son and he had opposed the Dark Lord since he was…well… one year old and has had a confrontation with him or one of his lackeys every year. Not to forget those horrible visions.
The pain and the exhaustion were bound to take their toll on the teenager… and then…there were the occurrences at the end of last’s school year.
The loss of Sirius had obviously broken the young man in question – she could vividly remember Harry’s behaviour after the incident, him being all brooding and moping, and since the holidays had officially begun, she hadn’t had heard anything from him.
The possibility was there…it seemed so clear.
Harry must have had finally cracked which, so the young witch thought, was not surprising.
The strain on him was too much of a burden and he was a teenager after all…
Yes, Hermione thought, that must be it.

Before long, her eyes were too heavy to keep them open and she was halfway into her dream as she made a mental note to talk to Ron about the issue.
The young Gryffindor knew that she was right. She just had to be, but it didn’t hurt to ask for a second opinion… and she would really like to talk to Ron.
Ron… with a smile on her face, she let herself be carried away into dreamland, where she would dance and laugh and cuddle with her adored, freckled, red head.

Not one of her thoughts was dedicated to her other, so called best friend’s health… but…oh, the joys of young love made truly blind…


sSs

The screams were terrible and as the moans, filled with pain, angst and hopelessness.
Every time Severus crossed the Dark Lord’s courtyard, he felt rather like he crossed the river Styx, which divided the world of the living from Hades, than solid ground.
The dungeons were extended beneath the whole villa and so the spy could say that he was walking on the dead – because one, who was once a prisoner to the monster he called his master, was a dead man.
As he glided towards the main entrance, he couldn’t help but imagine the poor, condemned souls and their arms that were trying to grasp him and to haul him down into their midst. Their lifeless eyes were staring at him, accusing him and cursing him for his deeds.
It nearly made him shudder, but his trained body betrayed none of his emotions - his strode was wide and confident and his head was held high like it was expected of a proud pureblood wizard.

Severus’ footsteps were echoing in the deserted corridors as he made is way towards the main hall.
The atmosphere was that of a Mausoleum which the hidden manor actually seemed to be if one thought of the many corpses, buried deep under the foundation, in the lowest cellar.
And it even smelled as such.
The Potion Master’s sensitive senses were picking up the smell of rotten flesh and excrements from the lower levels which made the man want to vomit.
It certainly was a despicable place and it was hard to believe that any human being would want to visit it, let alone live in such an environment - yet Voldemort took his morbid pleasure in holding his meetings here.
Under Death’s white mask, the spy found his way towards the hems of the man’s robes that he had sworn his loyalties to shortly after he had left Hogwarts.
Many years had passed since then and in this time, his life had worsened to the actual verge of breaking apart. He had been unable to stop himself from descending of his status as the powerful heir of a rich family to the life of a shadow under Dumbledore’s care.
As his lips touched the fabric he ought to kiss as a sign of his submission to the higher force, he found himself caught in a moment where he asked himself, how he could ever sink so low.
It hadn’t been the power he had craved for nor had he needed money – such petit reasons lured men like Pettigrew or Macnair into the darkness – no, he had fallen into another, much more affective and more foolish trap… and he wasn’t too sure if he had learned out of his fault…

That night, only the most trusted Death Eaters, the Inner Circle, had been called to gather and Severus surveyed the few empty places, the former occupants either exterminated of imprisoned in the hell the world called Azkaban, as he took his place in the rank.
Out of fifteen, two had been killed and one, Rabastan Leastrange, who had recently been freed with his brother Rodolphus and sister-in-law Bellatrix, had gone mad.
Other men, who had been believed dead, had magically reappeared and were now, as he himself, looking expectantly up to the Dark Lord.
They waited, kneeling, none of the men daring to make a sound while their leader was fixing them with an unreadable gaze.
“My faithful…” Voldemort’s hissing broke through the silence that had fallen over them.
“It have been 15 yearss sincsse we had been here, although, in a ssslightly altered conssstellation…Two, we have lossst at Dumbledore’sss handsss and one”, here his gaze flickered over to the Lestranges, “had to pay a high pricsse for hisss devotion.”
A slight pause ensued in which the submissive figures could mummer their assents to their master’s words.
“Asss you all know, I have made my public appearancssse yessssterday, sso tonight we have to begin with our planssss for the world. 15 yearssss have passssssed sincssse the lasssst war and ssince my fault…..but thissss time….oh, I know thissssss time I will sssucssseed.
We, my followerss, will create a new life, but before we can begin, let usss make them ssuffer…they’ll have to pay for their ignorancsse and sstupidity… We will make thisss world burn in the flamesss of hell and the pathsss and fieldsss will be covered with the bodiesss of thossse who defied usss – their blood will paint the world red and all what’ss left to them will be dessspair…”
Severus had to suppress a shiver at those words.
The madness in Voldemort’s eyes and words were easily detectable and if anything had changed since his resurrection, he was even more of a lunatic than before.
Be as it may, the Potion Master mused, he certainly didn’t doubt those words spoken in insanity as he could practically feel the power radiating from the monster.
And Riddle had been a genius, crazy but brilliant and strong.
What a shame that he had lost his good looks over the many dangerous transformations he had underwent to achieve true greatness.
At least, that he was, dark and evil, but truly great.


sSs


Lucius Malfoy was a proud man and nobody would ever deny that fact.
Born with the face of an angel, his white blonde curls seemingly shining under a halo, he also had a native sadistic side which he was taught to embrace in his early youth.
His family, especially his father, were delighted by their son’s attitude – a true Malfoy and the epitome of a Slytherin – and so they fed the darkness within him, teaching him the darkest and most hideous curses and traditions, which came with the inheritance of the family line. Only discipline was set even higher than cruelty - discipline and mannerism to hold up the family’s honourable reputation.
With a cold and uncaring childhood, Lucius turned out to be the man he was.
Cruel, arrogant, ambitious, sly… there were not enough words to describe the complexity of the man’s dark side. Yet he was respected for his strength and knowledge in public and as Voldemort’s right hand, he was also feared and hated in the dark ranks.
Bowing his head only to the Dark Lord, he was one of those who could be called ‘loyal’ despite his Slytherin nature. Second in command, Malfoy was arrogant, but he had also learned to not overestimate his abilities.
He was a man with a certain power, yes, but he was far from the level of being comparable to men such as Voldemort or Dumbledore, so he kept himself disillusioned.
Truth to be told he was also a man of foresightedness and therefore liked to have a few alternative options at hand if his first choice didn’t work out.
So if his master would be defeated, again, he could return into the midst of the wizarding society, claiming to be one who had stood under the Imperius curse as he had done it after the first fall.
Lucius was much, but stupid he wasn’t.

That moment, as he was kneeling at his Lord’s feet, he shuddered in anticipation of the time to come.
It had been too long since he could torture and kill, too long since the bastard within him could lick the blood he craved for.
A single moment, Lucius cold mask slipped to reveal the lust he felt by his master’s words, before it was back in place.
The Malfoy patriarch wasn’t ashamed of it and Voldemort certainly knew of his cravings as the man was far better at Legilimens than he could occlude his mind, so he just steadily returned his master’s piercing gaze - yet ever the inferior of the mental link.
“I can ssee your want and I can feel your blood lussst, but be patient my faithful. The time hasss yet to come before I can let you out onto your huntss.”
Lucius mood sank a bit. Such a shame it was… but after 15 years, he had learned to be patient – it had been a painful lecture.
“For now, I want you to return to your old tassksss you held before my fall. Our influencsse will corrupt the very foundation of thisss pitiful socssiety until they welcome my regime with open armsss. The day will come…when I have the world in my hand and Dumbledore’ss doomed head on a sssilver plate in front of me.”
Cold, unnatural laughter filled the hall and each of the 12 servants felt a chill creeping up their spine, each with a different emotion following.
“Go back to your dutiessss assss I ordered before and report to me conssstantly. - Severusssss, sstay behind….”
The group as one bowed once more and disapparted on the spot.
Before he left whoever, Lucius chanced a glance at his long-time friend next to him.
Severus posture was stiff, his mind heavily shielded and even if his face wouldn’t have been hidden behind the white mask, his impassive expression wouldn’t have exposed any of his thoughts.
The Aristocrat had no chance to get an idea why the man was being singled out and so with a pop he too vanished, leaving the sour Potion Master alone in His presence.


sSs

The darkness was all consuming and it was dazing his senses as if he was wrapped into cotton wool.
There was nothing and everything at the same time – his body floating in complete emptiness, yet he felt secure and… safe…
No pain disturbed him as a comfortable numbness lay over him like a blanket, protecting him from the world and himself.
Nothing seemed to matter, even time and space were irrelevant and he began to forget.
Who he was, where he was and why he was here… He didn’t know, but he didn’t care either.
Floating in the abyss, caught between two worlds, he was content with just being - never asking, never thinking, never feeling.

But as nothing could last forever, he was rather quickly brought back to awareness.
The slumber-like state left him exhausted and cold, his body beginning to feel the aftermath of an overexertion.
With it came his conscious of being in the dark, alone, and suddenly he found himself lost and hurt, like a broken child or rather its old and useless toy.
Never was he allowed to be a child, so even now, he couldn’t relate himself to feel as one. Rather was he the small puppet: manipulated, manhandled and disregarded afterwards.
He tried to focus, to think his situation over by telling himself that he was indeed alive and seemingly not in immediate danger, but the mere facts didn’t help him in regaining his composure.
Depressed, he rolled himself into a foetal position, searching for the warmth and security which every human being needed – in vain.
It was so cold and he began to shiver pitifully under the emotional pressure his alertness had caused and he let himself show one weakness, he wouldn’t have tolerated in the presence of other people – he let a lone tear slip from his swelling eyes, feeling it leaving a wet track down his cheek towards his chin.
So there he was, unable to do anything beside living on and waiting for a wonder to happen.
Perhaps, somebody would come and rescue him…perhaps - but his hopes were slim…

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but after what felt like hours, slowly, his eyes slipped closed, his body slackened and his mind fogged again – it was a relieve for the poor youth.
He still felt these oppressing emotions, but they weren’t that apparent in his half-sleep induced carelessness.
Out of a sudden, his ears picked up a faint sound – a female voice, humming, singing – but his eyelids had grown too heavy to open up again, he could hardly so much as blink in surprise.
A presence, he could feel another person being near, its warmth overwhelming him and he trembled again – this time with longing to be held, to be protected and to be cared for.
Her voice was so soft, velvety in his ears, stroking him with the tune and the words and she was coming closer.

“Hush, little angel, don’t be scared of me
I am here to watch and help thee.
Sleep tight little Harry, do find rest,
I’ll keep you safe, will do my best…” (+)


Arms sneaked their way around him and Harry could do nothing but sigh contently as he felt being drawn towards another human body.
The woman still hummed softly into his ear, lulling him further into his dreams and while she was holding him tight, he felt a shifting in their surroundings before he gave into his desire.
The last thing he was aware of was the picture of pearly white eyes shining down on him.
With a smile on his face, he slept soundly – dreaming of never leaving those arms, feeling cared for and looked after….




There…what’s done is done…finally…it took me long enough to finish this chapter.
Now…I don’t have the nerves for a long speech so I keep it short:
1. Review please yadda yadda yadda…
2. I don’t know when I’ll be able to update – sorry, curse me if you want, but remember that it doesn’t motivate me to writer faster.
3. Er…sorry for the grammar issues and the spelling…as I said before, those are not my strongest points…

Additonal notes:
• * In this fiction, the date is known as the day of Grindelwald’s demise at Dumbledore’s hands, so… no, this is no reference to America’s Independence Day.
• (+) Image the text being sung with the melody of “Hush, little baby” <- I hope most of you know that lullaby.