My Fallen Angel
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
28,596
Reviews:
88
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
28,596
Reviews:
88
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
My Fallen Angel
A/N: So I forgot. Here is the...
Disclaimer: The characters and places used in the story are property of JK.Rowling. I derive no money from writting the story.
~~~~~~~~
‘It can’t get any worse,’ thought Harry.
He always thought that when the Dursley’s would leave him alone, he would be finally happy. He wasn’t so sure any more. The minute they stepped into 4 Privet Drive, all of his things were locked away in the cupboard under the stairs. He was shoved into his room with only Hedwig, a pen and a few pieces of parchment. The next thing he knew was the sound of the many locks on his door being closed.
After a while, it became obvious to him that he wasn’t going out any time soon, if ever. He was totally humiliated the first time he had to use Dudley’s old computer cover for a provisory bucket. Although dumping the content of it onto Aunt Petunia’s roses was most satisfying. In the morning, she hadn’t noticed, or pretended not to. She only sprayed them liberally with water and used the old, very thick, very worn out gloves to tend to them. It didn’t change his situation in the least, but it still made him feel less hostile towards her. If his Uncle knew…he had to admit that the roses were exceptionally beautiful this year and their perfumes killed even the stench of his room. All in all, he ended up spending lots of time with his head on the window sill.
He rearranged his furniture to better suit his captivity very soon into the first week. His bed was now directly under the window, the little clothes he had and the desk along side of it. The wardrobe was now in the opposite corner. Its door gave him at least the illusion of privacy. It didn’t matter all that much now, anyway. When all your food is a plate of scraps once a week and a glass of water every day, you don’t have many needs to take care of. He thought that maybe his family really decided to off him. They most certainly put rats’ poison in what food they gave him. It tasted awful and he couldn’t seem to keep it down. Not even bread. Mrs. Weasley’s food packages arrived as always, but the window was blocked so that they didn’t come through. That left him ecstatically happy every time he got any fruits. Probably they couldn’t find a way to poison them. Or maybe it was another way of his Aunt’s to help him? Anyway, now, on the end of almost month and a half, his belly was starting to protrude and his eyes seemed to be huge and sunken. That was seriously worrying him. He remembered photos of starved people from his Primary school. To him, he looked like a victim of holocaust.
He sent letters asking for help, of course. He didn’t write what was going on exactly. It was too embarrassing. But he did say that they were a lot worse then ever before. Not that anyone cared, obviously, as he was still here. A week ago he ran out of paper so he told Hedwig to go to Hogwarts and stay there. He really hoped that he would see her again.
And, as if he didn’t have enough trouble already, he started changing. At first, he hadn’t noticed it, but it was cumulating. For starters, his hair became softer and shinier – a weird thing in its own, as he hadn’t washed for Merlin knows how long. His skin got paler and his lips pinker. His eyes shone in the dark, and his whole bone structure changed. Harry could see that perfectly, as now he could see every bone in his body. He got… well, not effeminate. He wouldn’t say that he was girly, just… less angular, and softer on the edges. If there was anyone to ask him, which there wasn’t, he would say he looked childish. Which would be just hilarious. How can anyone be childish, with a months worth of a beard? Or as much of it, as you can get at seventeen. And just yesterday in the evening, when he put the light on, his whole skin went on fire. Now it was peeling off, like after sunburn. Just as well, he was seeing much better in the dark, anyway. Merlin, his eyesight was perfect, no matter what part of a day it was!
And now, on the morning of his seventeenth birthday, he woke up with black wings. And claws. He tightened the belt of Dudley’s hand–me-down trousers and stared in the mirror.
“Good thing they’re not coming in here. Uncle Vernon would kill me.” The moment the words left his mouth, Harry heard footsteps on the bottom of the stairs. And then, the keys rattling.
Harry cast his eyes around wildly for some place to hide. No use, there wasn’t any. And even if there was, he was frozen to the spot. The boy closed his eyes when the first lock came open. His Uncle was muttering something he couldn’t understand. Harry was using every ounce of will power to get his wings and claws to retreat to where they came from. And they did! Thank Merlin! And then…
“Move away. Damn Muggle’s. Alohomora!”
Harry passed out.
*~*~*~*
The first thing that met him at 4 Privet Drive was a fat, purple man, maintaining that there was no Harry Potter there. At first, he thought that it was just a safety matter, but after having Dumbledore and himself called “freaks”, he changed his mind. After a well-aimed Pareo*, his next stop was the door to the boy’s room. On the way there the man mumbled something about not having a choice, and having to protect his family, and wired creatures, and freaks, and so on, and so forth.
What greeted him on Potter’s door was a long line of locks and a hole just big enough for a cat to go through. The man fumbled with the keys. His hands were shaking, and he seemed not to be able, or willing, to open the door fast enough.
“Move away. Damn Muggle’s. Alohomora!”
What he found was certainly not what he was expecting coming here. First thing that wafted out of the room was the stench of excrement, sweat and, surprisingly, roses. The second was the sound of a too light body hitting the floor. His head snapped in that direction instinctively. What he saw almost froze the blood in his veins. Harry Potter was lying on the floor in front of what must have been his bed. He was dirty and looked like a human version of a Thestral. The shiny mane of unruly hair was a striking contrast with the pale, unhealthy skin. He stared for a moment and then was next to the boy within seconds. He was alive, thank Merlin! The man examined Harry for bruises or any signs of abuse, but all he found were two old looking bruises on the inside edges of his shoulder blades. He placed the little body on the cot and rounded on the Purple Man still standing in the door.
“You are very lucky, Muggle. If I didn’t have to take care of him, I would be unspeakably happy to kill you slowly and painfully. But don’t think you will get away with that,” he waved his hand around.
“I had no choice!” The abomination had the gall to say. “That… that… that freak! He is dangerous! He tried to kill Marge! And my little Dudley! What would the neighbours say if they knew!”
“Silencio!” The ranting imbecile was now impersonating a gold fish. He went grey and then even more purple than before. He tried to fling himself at the wizard. Probably to hit him. “Petrificus totalus.” The man stepped gracefully away from the toppling body’s way. “Pathetic excuse for a human.” He kicked the puddle of fat in the ribs. That done, he renewed the Pareo, and took off the petrification spell. “Now, where are the boy’s belongings?”
On the way down, he saw something resembling a whale with blond hair, hiding behind a door down the hall from Harry’s. He took the young man’s things out of the cupboard under the stairs. He didn’t miss the cot in the corner or the drawings still on the wall but right now he had more urgent things to do. He took the trunk and carried it to the ‘rented’ ministry car on the driveway. Who would think that Shacklebolt would be so helpful in breaking a law? Well, bending it, anyway. He made a show of hiding the things in the cars boot. It was obvious that most of the neighbourhood was, more or less obviously, watching now. Then he went back home and tucked the little body into his arms. When he had the boy lain on the back seat, he rounded back on the Purple Man.
“The social workers will know about it, Dursley!” He shrieked. Oh, how he hated his voice, when he was reduced to shouting! It was just a croak then. “The school will see to it! If there is a penny missing from the boys account, we will meet in court!”
When the faces of people around were sufficiently horrified and repulsed, he got into the car and droved away. He prayed to all the deities he knew of that the boy lived through the journey back to Hogwart’s.
---------------
* Pareo – lat. (+dat) to be obedient to, obey. Not exactly dark magic, but close enough. It doesn’t render it’s victim mindless, or not aware of his actions. They just can’t do anything about them. It’s also wearing of pretty quickly.
A/N: I’ll lose my own head one day. I owe a big thanks to my beta, fantastic Lucy Jackson. Thank you Lucy.
Disclaimer: The characters and places used in the story are property of JK.Rowling. I derive no money from writting the story.
~~~~~~~~
‘It can’t get any worse,’ thought Harry.
He always thought that when the Dursley’s would leave him alone, he would be finally happy. He wasn’t so sure any more. The minute they stepped into 4 Privet Drive, all of his things were locked away in the cupboard under the stairs. He was shoved into his room with only Hedwig, a pen and a few pieces of parchment. The next thing he knew was the sound of the many locks on his door being closed.
After a while, it became obvious to him that he wasn’t going out any time soon, if ever. He was totally humiliated the first time he had to use Dudley’s old computer cover for a provisory bucket. Although dumping the content of it onto Aunt Petunia’s roses was most satisfying. In the morning, she hadn’t noticed, or pretended not to. She only sprayed them liberally with water and used the old, very thick, very worn out gloves to tend to them. It didn’t change his situation in the least, but it still made him feel less hostile towards her. If his Uncle knew…he had to admit that the roses were exceptionally beautiful this year and their perfumes killed even the stench of his room. All in all, he ended up spending lots of time with his head on the window sill.
He rearranged his furniture to better suit his captivity very soon into the first week. His bed was now directly under the window, the little clothes he had and the desk along side of it. The wardrobe was now in the opposite corner. Its door gave him at least the illusion of privacy. It didn’t matter all that much now, anyway. When all your food is a plate of scraps once a week and a glass of water every day, you don’t have many needs to take care of. He thought that maybe his family really decided to off him. They most certainly put rats’ poison in what food they gave him. It tasted awful and he couldn’t seem to keep it down. Not even bread. Mrs. Weasley’s food packages arrived as always, but the window was blocked so that they didn’t come through. That left him ecstatically happy every time he got any fruits. Probably they couldn’t find a way to poison them. Or maybe it was another way of his Aunt’s to help him? Anyway, now, on the end of almost month and a half, his belly was starting to protrude and his eyes seemed to be huge and sunken. That was seriously worrying him. He remembered photos of starved people from his Primary school. To him, he looked like a victim of holocaust.
He sent letters asking for help, of course. He didn’t write what was going on exactly. It was too embarrassing. But he did say that they were a lot worse then ever before. Not that anyone cared, obviously, as he was still here. A week ago he ran out of paper so he told Hedwig to go to Hogwarts and stay there. He really hoped that he would see her again.
And, as if he didn’t have enough trouble already, he started changing. At first, he hadn’t noticed it, but it was cumulating. For starters, his hair became softer and shinier – a weird thing in its own, as he hadn’t washed for Merlin knows how long. His skin got paler and his lips pinker. His eyes shone in the dark, and his whole bone structure changed. Harry could see that perfectly, as now he could see every bone in his body. He got… well, not effeminate. He wouldn’t say that he was girly, just… less angular, and softer on the edges. If there was anyone to ask him, which there wasn’t, he would say he looked childish. Which would be just hilarious. How can anyone be childish, with a months worth of a beard? Or as much of it, as you can get at seventeen. And just yesterday in the evening, when he put the light on, his whole skin went on fire. Now it was peeling off, like after sunburn. Just as well, he was seeing much better in the dark, anyway. Merlin, his eyesight was perfect, no matter what part of a day it was!
And now, on the morning of his seventeenth birthday, he woke up with black wings. And claws. He tightened the belt of Dudley’s hand–me-down trousers and stared in the mirror.
“Good thing they’re not coming in here. Uncle Vernon would kill me.” The moment the words left his mouth, Harry heard footsteps on the bottom of the stairs. And then, the keys rattling.
Harry cast his eyes around wildly for some place to hide. No use, there wasn’t any. And even if there was, he was frozen to the spot. The boy closed his eyes when the first lock came open. His Uncle was muttering something he couldn’t understand. Harry was using every ounce of will power to get his wings and claws to retreat to where they came from. And they did! Thank Merlin! And then…
“Move away. Damn Muggle’s. Alohomora!”
Harry passed out.
*~*~*~*
The first thing that met him at 4 Privet Drive was a fat, purple man, maintaining that there was no Harry Potter there. At first, he thought that it was just a safety matter, but after having Dumbledore and himself called “freaks”, he changed his mind. After a well-aimed Pareo*, his next stop was the door to the boy’s room. On the way there the man mumbled something about not having a choice, and having to protect his family, and wired creatures, and freaks, and so on, and so forth.
What greeted him on Potter’s door was a long line of locks and a hole just big enough for a cat to go through. The man fumbled with the keys. His hands were shaking, and he seemed not to be able, or willing, to open the door fast enough.
“Move away. Damn Muggle’s. Alohomora!”
What he found was certainly not what he was expecting coming here. First thing that wafted out of the room was the stench of excrement, sweat and, surprisingly, roses. The second was the sound of a too light body hitting the floor. His head snapped in that direction instinctively. What he saw almost froze the blood in his veins. Harry Potter was lying on the floor in front of what must have been his bed. He was dirty and looked like a human version of a Thestral. The shiny mane of unruly hair was a striking contrast with the pale, unhealthy skin. He stared for a moment and then was next to the boy within seconds. He was alive, thank Merlin! The man examined Harry for bruises or any signs of abuse, but all he found were two old looking bruises on the inside edges of his shoulder blades. He placed the little body on the cot and rounded on the Purple Man still standing in the door.
“You are very lucky, Muggle. If I didn’t have to take care of him, I would be unspeakably happy to kill you slowly and painfully. But don’t think you will get away with that,” he waved his hand around.
“I had no choice!” The abomination had the gall to say. “That… that… that freak! He is dangerous! He tried to kill Marge! And my little Dudley! What would the neighbours say if they knew!”
“Silencio!” The ranting imbecile was now impersonating a gold fish. He went grey and then even more purple than before. He tried to fling himself at the wizard. Probably to hit him. “Petrificus totalus.” The man stepped gracefully away from the toppling body’s way. “Pathetic excuse for a human.” He kicked the puddle of fat in the ribs. That done, he renewed the Pareo, and took off the petrification spell. “Now, where are the boy’s belongings?”
On the way down, he saw something resembling a whale with blond hair, hiding behind a door down the hall from Harry’s. He took the young man’s things out of the cupboard under the stairs. He didn’t miss the cot in the corner or the drawings still on the wall but right now he had more urgent things to do. He took the trunk and carried it to the ‘rented’ ministry car on the driveway. Who would think that Shacklebolt would be so helpful in breaking a law? Well, bending it, anyway. He made a show of hiding the things in the cars boot. It was obvious that most of the neighbourhood was, more or less obviously, watching now. Then he went back home and tucked the little body into his arms. When he had the boy lain on the back seat, he rounded back on the Purple Man.
“The social workers will know about it, Dursley!” He shrieked. Oh, how he hated his voice, when he was reduced to shouting! It was just a croak then. “The school will see to it! If there is a penny missing from the boys account, we will meet in court!”
When the faces of people around were sufficiently horrified and repulsed, he got into the car and droved away. He prayed to all the deities he knew of that the boy lived through the journey back to Hogwart’s.
---------------
* Pareo – lat. (+dat) to be obedient to, obey. Not exactly dark magic, but close enough. It doesn’t render it’s victim mindless, or not aware of his actions. They just can’t do anything about them. It’s also wearing of pretty quickly.
A/N: I’ll lose my own head one day. I owe a big thanks to my beta, fantastic Lucy Jackson. Thank you Lucy.