Specialis

Specialis (- Secrets)

“V-Vol-Voldemort!” he gasped once he recovered from the sensation of travelling by portkey. He gulped, trying to push all of his will into his weak trembling voice to make it heard by anyone. They had to know.

“Vol-Voldemort! He’s back! … He’s alive!” he panted.

He felt the Triwizard Cup being pried from his tense grip, soothing words as he was pulled from Cedric’s body and lifted off the ground.

He looked up into the worried eyes of Dumbledore.

“What did you say, my boy?”

“He’s back!” Harry shouted as loud as he could, his voice cracking under the strain before the dark night sky effulged his vision and his body became limp.

Harry Potter had been sent straight back to his relative’s home when he had been given the OK from the healers and a calming draught for his jittery state.

Dumbledore had thought it best for his safety to be sent back under the roof protected by his mother’s blood, the place where – he had assured the stressed Lupin and Co. – he would be taken care of by his ‘generous’ relatives.

The Dursleys.

Harry was beginning to doubt whether Dumbledore actually cared for his well being. After all, how could such a powerful and intelligent wizard like him not notice something was wrong when he was at the Dursley’s?

The calming draught had worn off around the time he had woken up the next morning and hearing the heavy footsteps slowly pacing towards his bedroom door did nothing for his nerves.

By the time his uncle Vernon had made it to his door and through all 7 bolts, locks and chains on it, Harry had worked himself into a frenzy.

So as soon as the overweight magic-hating Muggle laid eyes on Harry, his face showed fear for a split second as he came face to face with the end of Harry’s wand before becoming purple with rage.

Harry was on the floor in seconds; feeling the repeated bolts of pain from his uncles kicks stab his sides as the ‘generous’ treatment at the Dursley’s home began.

3 weeks later, The-Boy-Who-Wouldn’t-Die was still paying for his little slip up.

~ ~ ~

Harry winced as he moved to sit up in bed, his ribs protesting that they hadn’t healed since the last time Vernon ‘reminded’ him of how much of a magic hater he was.

The teenager heard the familiar ‘Boy’ yelled from the kitchen directly below his room and doubled his efforts to ignore his pain, knowing only more would come if he didn’t manage to complete his doubled chores on time. Which meant for his relatives: when they said so.

Harry risked a minute to take a mouthful of the healing potion he kept in his bed side drawer.

Since he’d found out how to make it in 2nd year, he had risked his grade in Potions with many, many failed attempts which resulted in many, many detentions.

That was until Professor Snape realised what his student was trying to do.
From then on they had built a sort of relationship in which the Potions master would allow him to make his healing potion without asking questions as to why the ‘Golden Boy’ would need it; and Harry would actually try to pass in Potions without causing too much damage.

“Get down here, you little brat! Before I come and get you!”

Harry jumped at the shout but hurried to comply.

A/N: new story, tell me what you think it needs, besides being longer and tell me if its ok. Thanks.