A Life Undefined

A Life Undefined
By Tiffindale

A/N: First of all, I am required to deliver the most standard of disclaimers and state that the books and characters do not belong to me. Second, a brief warning that this fic is slash, meaning there will be male on male homosexuality running rampant through the streets in leopard spotted underwear. Bikini style, naturally. That is all.

P.S. Severitus, with Draco x Harry later on, in case anyone was curious about the pairing.

-Tiffindale

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Prologue

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There are children whirling, laughing,
They don't know they should be scared.
Give me that hope, give me time to love
High above the glowing city.
Planes make circles humming madly
Please keep me safe
Give me time to love.
All I can do, all I can say.
I'll keep you safely in my arms and close your ears to not hear harm,
I'll sing to you.

-The Hush Sound

~*~*~*~

“You wanted to see me, headmaster?”

Harry’s voice was quiet as he stepped into the room, loathe to break the still nostalgia it seemed to contain. The orange glow of twilight streamed in through the windows, bathing the room in a deep gold light, and making Fawkes look all the more magnificent on his perch, his body a fiery blaze. It drew his eyes immediately, and he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from the magnificent sight, even when the Headmaster cleared his throat meaningfully.

“I’m sorry Headmaster, did you say something?”

“Why don’t you take a seat, Harry.” Dumbledore’s eyes regarded him closely over his half-moon glasses, the lenses glinting as he leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. Harry sunk down in one of the low, padded chairs, careful to keep his eyes away from those of the Headmaster. If he were to meet the knowing blue gaze, well - he was scared of what would happen.

Would he feel a burst of anger and hate, Voldemort’s emotions pulsing through the bond like a muggle power line? Or would he feel the now constant grief and guilt, for disappointing everyone so badly?

For getting Sirius killed?

He almost flinched visibly at the thought, his stomach rolling with sickness. Distantly, he hoped he wasn’t sick all over the desk in front of him; he doubted Dumbledore would be impressed, or was feeling particularly forgiving at the moment. Not that he deserved forgiveness, not with what had happened.

Dumbledore sighed in front of him, head bowing for a bare moment. Recovering quickly, one hand disappeared into his violet robes for a moment, before pulling out a letter. Setting it on the desk between them, Dumbledore got the same look on his face he had just days ago, when revealing the secret of the prophesy to Harry. A look that told how old the man truly was, and what it meant to have the weight of the world resting on one’s shoulders.

Harry would know. But he kept his thoughts to himself, waiting for Dumbledore to speak.

“Harry, I am saddened to inform you that I have received a very…” For the first time in five years, Harry was presented the sight of Dumbledore searching for the right words. It was disturbing on some level for him, something about the whole picture just so wrong. Somewhere in his mind, Dumbledore had always been elevated, placed on a pedestal above the vast majority of the wizarding world. The man always knew what had to be done, what had to be said, and how to go about doing both.

That base had been shaken by his avoidance of Harry all year. It had been broken irreparably with the Sirius incident, and crumbled to dust with the revelation of the prophesy. Some part of Harry wanted to attempt to rebuild the faith he had in the man, to go back to the trust that he had believed was shared between them in previous years.

Rationally though, he knew it could never happen. Not with everything so… changed.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hit him deeply to see what was once his mentor acting so human, so uncertain. Even if he wasn’t omnipotent, Harry thought vengefully, he was damn well supposed to act like he was, as he had been doing for the second half of Harry’s life. It wasn’t a fair thought, but Harry would like to think it was a justified one. If Dumbledore was going to control and manipulate everyone around him, he had no room to act as fallible as everyone else at the same time!

Finally Dumbledore found his voice, though he sounded very tired. “Perhaps I should start over. Harry, I have just received a letter informing me that, about two weeks ago, your aunt and uncle put their house up for sale, moving out within the day.”

For a minute, Harry could do nothing but stare, his mind hearing but not truly processing the words. The Dursley’s moving? But what did that mean for the…

“But what about the wards sir? Would they not move with the Dursley’s anyway?”

“I’m afraid not Harry. While they are mainly based on blood magic as the kind your mother used, the wards must also be anchored to a physical area, in this case, Privet Drive. It takes both to maintain the magical protection, alone either the family or the house is essentially useless.”

Harry was well and truly speechless. “So… can’t we just anchor the wards to wherever the Dursley’s live now? It might take a while, but it’s possible, right?”

“Under normal circumstances, yes, but I’m afraid the Dursley’s have severed all possible means of contact we could have with them…”

“What?”

“They have moved to the United States, Harry.”

And just like that, Harry understood. They had moved away, far away, so they would no longer be involved with what was going on in the wizarding world. They, they had…

“They left me.”

They had left him. Without the one protection that was sure to keep himself from the madman trying to kill him. They had left him to die.

He should have expected it, he was sure. But they were his family, no matter how much they hated him. He had always thought that meant more then any bad feelings between them and him or them and magic in general…

Apparently not.

“Harry?”

The Headmaster’s voice was frighteningly gentle, and Harry knew if he looked, he would see compassion etched into the deep lines of his face. But it was compassion he didn’t want or need. Or deserve, on some level.

He realized his jaw was gaping and closed it quickly, swallowing once and composing himself. He clenched his hands in the fabric of his school robes, keeping his head down, but his voice calm.

“So, where will I be staying for the summer then sir?”

Dumbledore opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Glancing quickly at Harry, he called out in a carrying voice.

“Severus, do come in.”

Snape. Harry’s teeth grit together in an almost impulsive reaction. Why in the world was that man here, now? Couldn’t it possibly wait until Dumbledore was done seeing Harry? Wasn’t his situation slightly more important?

“Headmaster.” The Professor greeted brusquely, striding into the room. Harry didn’t look back to greet the man, though he was sorely tempted when he heard two people enter the room. Who the hell would come with Snape of all people?

“Ah, and I see you have brought young Mister Malfoy as well.”

Harry felt his back tense with rage. Not only was Snape here, invading a very personal conversation between Harry and the Headmaster, but Malfoy?!

What the hell was Dumbledore playing at?

Harry managed to contain his temper, but only just when he felt the familiar sensation of Snape’s sneer turned on his back. He stayed quiet, not moving to speak to either of the unwanted guests, but not being particularly rude either. Surely that had to count for something?

Unfortunately, Malfoy had no such restraint.

“Oh, look, it’s Potter.” He said his name like it was a particularly grotesque disease. “Here for your weekly rendezvous with the Headmaster are we?”

And like that, Harry’s thin control on his temper snapped. Malfoy tended to have that effect on him. He was on his feet in a second, hand reaching for his wand.

Unfortunately, he got no farther, his wrist caught and twisted in a harsh, uncompromising grip. His head snapped up and he found himself glaring into the dark eyes of Professor Snape. The man’s lip was raised in the trademark sneer that had been aimed at Harry’s back just moments ago, now aimed at his face.

“Do try to keep your little pet under control headmaster, it would be a shame if we had to put him down.”

“Severus…” The headmaster warned in a low tone.

Harry felt his face curl up into a snarl, and didn’t think he even hated Voldemort more at the moment. He saw a sharp flash of surprise in Snape’s eyes just a second before he smacked the hand holding him away, as hard as he could manage. The sound of the impact rang through the room, long fingers and knuckles already turned red. Malfoy let out a sharp gasp, but Harry didn’t care.

He would like to see Snape try to put him down.

Just as Snape’s mouth opened, his face screwing up in rage, no doubt ready to rip Harry to shreds from the inside out, Dumbledore interrupted.

“Gentlemen. Please.”

Harry held Snape’s gaze a few more seconds, trying to every once of hate in him through his expression. Unsatisfied, but knowing it would look foolish to stand there any longer, Harry resumed his seat, deliberately avoiding looking at anyone in the room.

He heard Dumbledore sigh again, sounding impossibly weary, and felt a small stab of guilt, wondering if he should apologize. It was a notion he ruthlessly squashed a few moments later, remembering that it was the Headmaster that had brought the git - oh, excuse him, gits - here in the first place, into a conversation where they were most certainly not welcome.

If anyone should be apologized to, it was Harry, he told himself firmly.

He listened as Snape sat down in the seat next to him, Malfoy remaining where he was, leaning against the door out. Probably making sure he had the option of making a quick escape, the little rat. Crossing his arms against his chest, he did his absolute best to make it clear that he was not happy.

But, as usual, he was ignored.

“The situation, Severus.”

“Slightly more complicated than expected.” Snape said, dropping some of what Harry like to call the “bastard-ness” from his voice.

Dumbledore gave a grave nod. “I presume it has something to do with Mr. Malfoy’s presence?”

“Indeed.” Snape replied shortly.

“Please, explain.”

Snape darted a quick glance at Harry. “Are you sure that’s wise, Headmaster? We wouldn’t want the boy to do something foolish, after al-”

“I will trust you to allow me to decide what is and isn’t appropriate, Severus.” The Headmaster’s voice had a hard edge to it, and Harry’s brief flash of fury and pain was drowned in a wave of pleasure as Snape was told off.

Snape’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Very well.” He took a deep breath.

“Mister Malfoy is here under my protection. With Lucius in Azkaban, the Dark Lord has been leaning hard on Narcissa to call Draco home so that he may be initiated into Death Eater ranks.”

Um, wasn’t that what Malfoy wanted, to be one of Voldemort’s little flunkies? Harry knew better than to voice the question out loud, though his thoughts must have shown on his face from the admonishing glance Dumbledore gave him. Harry shrugged in return, completely unremorseful.

So Malfoy was getting his life long dream shoved down upon him. Good for him.

Harry was just surprised the sneak was being quiet for once, especially since the two men were discussing him.

“There’s more, I presume?” Dumbledore prodded.

Snape brought one hand up to knead his temples, growling sullenly. “Of course there’s more, there’s always more!”He shook his head, greasy hair shaking. “Narcissa made contact with me early this morning, nearly in a panic about the whole ordeal.” His voice got sharp, unhappy. “She pushed me into a corner, Albus, resulting in our current situation.”

“Which is?”

With one last hateful glance towards Harry, he finally spilled it. “I have now made an unbreakable vow to keep Draco out of Voldemort’s grasp and out of the war for as long as I am able.”

Harry didn’t realize he was now staring at the man until Snape met his eyes with a condescending leer. Shaking his head a moment, Harry felt his insides twist in distaste. Protect Malfoy, of all people?! The one person who had done his best to become the mini-version of a Death Eater his whole life? Who had made Harry’s life as miserable as possible on numerous occasion, and had nearly killed him more than once?

Who probably couldn’t wait to take his place at Voldemort’s feet?

And why the hell was Malfoy being so bloody quiet?

An awkward silence descended upon the room, Dumbledore closing his eyes, looking to be in deep contemplation. Eyes absent-mindedly moving over the desk, Harry noticed the letter was still there.

Well, he had waited long enough, he supposed.

“Headmaster?”

A pair of blue eyes opened, turning to Harry questioningly. “Yes, Harry?”

“What’s the letter for?” Harry pointed to the paper sitting on the desk, curious.

“Ah, yes, it was… found.” The Headmaster said, deliberately vague. Picking up the letter, he held it out to Harry. “It was addressed to you. I assure you, it has not been opened.”

Feeling the weight of three assessing gazes, Harry snatched the letter, quickly opening the seal and unfolding the parchment. He recognized Uncle Vernon’s handwriting right away.

It was a short note.

Boy,

Moving to the States. Burnt what you left behind. Don’t follow us.

And that was it.

Harry felt a painful lump grow in his throat, but kept his face carefully blank. He crumpled the parchment in his hand, telling himself that he shouldn’t have expected anything more from the Dursley’s.

But he had, damn it! He had!

He wished it didn’t hurt so much.

“Headmaster?” He heard Snapes’s voice as if from a distance, obviously puzzled.

The Headmaster’s eyes were big and doleful as he watched Harry. “I’m afraid Mr. Malfoy is not the only one who finds himself in a situation this summer, Severus. We haved just received news that Harry’s relatives have initiated a quick move.”

“A move?”

“To the States.”

Snape’s silence revealed his shock. His voice was oddly subdued when he spoke. “When?”

“Two weeks ago.”

The silence said it all.

Before a snort cut into the serious discussion, Malfoy seemingly unable to keep his mouth shut.

“Good God Potter, you’re such a hopeless reject even your family left you? Left you to move to the United States, and didn’t even tell you?!” Malfoy’s voice was mocking, cruel, deliberately intending to hurt.

On some level, Harry might have thought that Malfoy was lashing out in such a cruel way because of his own situation, if Harry had been in a better state of mind. As it was, he was speaking to the boy who had always managed to make Harry’s life more difficult than it already was, and was constantly doing his best to make Harry hurt. So he wasn’t really all that rational at the moment.

So several things happened at once. The vase next to Malfoy exploded, causing the boy to shriek and jump to the side to avoid the sharp shards. Harry was on his feet the next moment, eyes trained on the blond, wand pointed at his chest.

“SAY ONE MORE FUCKING WORD, YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE WORM, AND I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” Harry screamed. And for that moment, he meant it. He really did.

“Harry!” The Headmaster’s voice was sharp and full of authority, immediately silencing any further outburst. Harry saw that Snape had risen out of the corner of his eye, but he ignored the man in favor of the pale face in front of him.

Malfoy’s gray eyes were focused on his wand, the boy tense and shaking, obviously scared of what Harry could do to him.

What Harry would do to him, right now, given half a chance.

“Harry, lower your wand.” He wanted to scream in fury at the Headmaster, how Malfoy deserved everything he had coming to him, and could go straight to hell for all Harry cared. But he grit his teeth, lowering his wand with visible reluctance and restraint. Chest heaving in deep, angry pants, he gave himself a few moments to recover before whirling on the Headmaster.

No more waiting or messing around. He was getting his answers, and he was getting them now.

“Where am I staying this summer, Headmaster?”

He was finally looking Dumbledore straight and the eyes, and was thankful that he could feel nothing but his own righteous anger at the moment. Dumbledore stroked his beard for a moment, before finally answering.

“You will be staying with Professor Snape, Harry. And I suppose now Mr. Malfoy as well.”

One could have heard one of Fawkes feathers drop.

“WHAT!?” Harry shrieked.

He barely registered Snape yelling next to him. “Headmaster, I hardly think-!”

“I believe it will be a truly enlightening experience for the both of you. Or three of you, as it were.” Dumbledore spoke in all seriousness.

Harry slammed a fist down on the chest in front of him, not acknowledging the pain as his knuckles were bloodied. “What the FUCK makes you think I would ever agree to live with him?!”

It was Snape who responded, this time, his vice as dangerous as a knife. “Oh, you can be sure, Mr. Potter, I have no intention of ever opening my front door to the likes of you!”

Harry turned to confront the man head-on, allowing himself the pleasure of getting right into the sallow man’s face. “Oh yeah, like I’d want it in the first place, you great greasy git!”

Snape’s nostrils flared. “You see Albus, it’s just as I’ve been telling you all these years. The boy is no better than his idiot of a father or that blasted mutt-”

“Don’t you dare talk about Sirius that way!”

“And why shouldn’t I, Mr. Potter? Because he’s dead?”

Harry felt his eyes burning. “You’re probably happy about it, aren’t you?! Only regret is that you didn’t do it yourself!”

Snape’s next words struck him straight to the bone. “Oh no, Mr. Potter, you took care of that quite well yourself, didn’t you, considering it was ALL YOUR FAULT!” The man ended with a bellow.

Harry recoiled as if struck, feeling a few tears escape his eyes to fall to the ground as he stared at Snape with wide, wounded, and guilty eyes. He knew he was shaking, but he couldn’t stop, his arms wrapping around himself as if for protection from the harsh words.

After a moment or two, Snape paled slightly, his furious look dropping into what one might have called a stricken look on anyone else. Like he hadn’t meant to say the last words at all.

But Harry knew he had meant to say them.

Because they were true.

Harry felt an icy sensation start in his chest, quickly growing to encompass his whole body. He wiped his expression of all the grief, replacing it with hate tenfold. His mouth opened without conscious thought, and the words spilled out, cold and merciless.

“I wish it had been you."

And, for that moment, he really did wish it was Snape who had fallen through that veil, fallen to his death in that cold, cruel room, never to return. Never to hurt him again.

Snape’s face had gone white, and even the Headmaster seemed stunned into silence.

Harry didn’t wait around, a few fast strides taking him past Malfoy and out the door. When he hit the bottom of the staircase, he broke into a run, not stopping until he was in front of the fat lady, a stitch in his side. Entering, he ignored all the calls from his friends, heading straight up to bed and pulling the curtains shut around him.

Unable to hold them back any longer, the tears ran down his face, his shoulders shaking with repressed sobs.

He didn’t fall asleep until late that night, long after all his roommates had come up and gone to bed. When he finally did, it was uneasy slumber, with dreams of dark veils and snakes with red eyes.

When he woke up in the morning, there was a letter on his bedside table.

Mr. Potter,

You will be meeting Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy the morning of June 1st at the entrance to the Great Hall. Please be packed and ready to leave by 9:00 sharp.

Headmaster Dumbledore

Harry tore the letter to pieces with an angry scream.

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A/N: Ah, yes… I have nothing to say, really. Review?