Take A Breath, Center Yourself, Re-evaluate...

Trigger Alert: Homophobic slurs, abuse, violence & implied depression 

"Breathe… keep breathing. Don't lose your nerve." - Radiohead.

*

It wasn't too long before Harry sank into the first seat he could reach after boarding the Knight Buss; its conductor appeared in his peripheral vision.

The boy with glasses shuffled uncomfortably, ignoring his aching back from the sunburn. Then, finally, he produced enough coins for the approaching man to purchase bus tickets. He was dreading the interaction that was to come.

Nevertheless, just after the thought, Stan Shunpike was by him with an enthused greeting," 'Arry! I didn't think I'd see you 'round 'ere!" 

Harry forced his facial muscles to a semi-genuine smile at the friendly greeting and nodded in acknowledgement. 

"I seen your name in the paper loads over the summer, but it weren't never nuffink very nice…." Before the conductor continued, he glanced at the boy before him, " Just a buncha lies if you ask me… I said to Ern, I said, ' 'e didn't seem like a murder type when we met 'im." the conductor exposed. 

Murder? Harry thought to himself, but his thoughts were soon interrupted when Stan continued. 

"Ya shouldn't worry about things you can't never control, I say. It will drive you, nutters, innit?" 

"Mmm," Harry croaked from his bruised throat. 

"Unwell, are you? Why didn't you say so? A'right then, let's cut you up a ticket and move on, yeah? To The Leaky, innit?"

"Leaky." Harry tried, but the sound came out as a wheeze, the pain of it making him wince. 

Thankfully Stand didn't press on with the conversation and, soon after cutting the ticket, moved to the front, next to Ernie. After that moment, it was a blur for Harry when he allowed himself to relax by sinking into his aching muscles and the pain of the skin on his back. The teen wizard watched the whirling streets of London zoom past before his vision in tranquillity as the bus rushed through its obstacles in its unnatural haste.

Using this stolen moment, Harry finally had time to assess himself. He was starving, for he didn't remember the last time he had decent food. His back was severely sunburnt, and his head seemed woozy – potentially a sunstroke. His muscles were aching due to the recent Dementor attack, and he felt unnaturally lethargic – maybe eating the chocolate before arriving at his Uncle's house would have been the smart thing to do—his uncle. 

Harry could still feel the fat fingers against his neck, squeezing the breath out of him. The post-sting from the many slaps he received was still staining his cheek. The colour purple, his uncle's face got while yelling profanities, his spit landing on Harry's face… 

I want a shower. Harry thought when unwelcome nausea hit him. Don't think about him…

His neck was probably colouring into an ugly bruise, and his vocal cords were well swollen, explaining his voice's state. 

Won't be able to say a thing for a while, then. Harry thought. Keeping quiet and healing was going to be his priority. 

He had enough money to get him by at the Leaky Cauldron until the end of the break. Then he could easily make his way to Kings Cross station, and then Hogwarts would be where he would be the safest—a moment of blankless welcomed the boy when his thoughts for planning the rest of summer ended. It was almost as though his mind went static, and its silence enabled Harry to breathe for a few seconds.

This is peaceful. 

He took a few more laboured breaths and let himself be embraced by the arms of sleep as the bus knighted him away from his relatives. Then, finally, the harshness of the summer was over. Things were looking up. 

A foreign corridor sheathed in darkness… 

Polished floors made of black marble…

An alien figure in the midst of all this… 

A hissing sound…

A whistle from a train in Kings Cross Station…

He is here… Run… He is here.

"Harry Potter"

"Harry…" 

"HARRY…"

" 'Arry, you've arrived, mate." Harry woke with a gasp. He leapt forward in pure panic, only to be stopped by the conductor.

"Sorry." the boy gasped and hasted out of Stan's grasp before putting a safe distance for his anxiety to settle. 

"No worries, mate," the clueless man wavered by boy off, "we are at your stop." 

Harry got out of the seat he found momentary comfort from and quickly grabbed his trunk, broom and Hedwig and got off the bus.

The boy took a few moments alongside his belongings and his beloved owl to take in the inn while the Knight Bus zoomed past behind him. Harry started to believe Leaky Cauldron would be his refuge from the horrendous summers he had been subjected to. No more were the days when he needed to weed the garden under the blazing sun. No more was he to remain invisible in the scrutinising eyes of his household. He no longer had to worry about the slightest noise he was making. 

It was all about to begin…

My new life. 

Harry confidently stepped towards the oldest inn in London and entered the dark shabby pub. Dragging his trunk while balancing Hedwig's cage and his broom with his other hand, his eyes looked for the inn owner, Tom, hoping to get a room as soon as possible. 

Thankfully the pub wasn't as busy as Harry's previous encounters with the place.

There was only an old witch seated at the far corner of the room, reading the Daily Prophet, and on the other end, a middle-aged wizard sipping on his serving of a soup of sorts. 

Harry's tummy grumbled at the thought of food, and along with the idea, the enticing smell from the inn's kitchen enveloped his senses – once he settled in his room, he would eat a good meal. 

With that thought, Harry found Tom by the bar and approached the innkeeper. 

"Dear Merlin! Mister Potter, what an unusual occurrence to see you this early in the year," the bold man greeted the young wizard. 

"A room…" Harry managed to hiss before the urge to gulp in pain, "...please." 

Tom didn't waste any time directing Harry towards the part of the bar where several keys were hanging behind him, "Why, of course… a room!" After reaching for a key, the barkeeper glanced at the boy, "Would you like some hot tea and perhaps some soup after you settle?" The older man smiled kindly, "It is pumpkin soup." 

Harry couldn't have nodded faster. 

"I will bring it to your room momentarily. Your room is 13." the man pushed the key to the slim hands of the boy before pulling his wand and pointing it at Harry's trunk. "You will find your belongings in your room." 

Harry smiled faintly at the innkeeper in gratitude. Before moving to the room, he had one more request from the older wizard: "Don't tell."

"Of course, Mister Potter." the keeper bowed and began preparing Harry's dish on an old tray. 

Despite his sore and withered body, Harry ascended the stairs to the first floor reasonably quickly, not even feeling the earlier weight of Hedwig's cage in his hands. 

Everything is going to work out fine now, girl. Just watch. Harry thought, hoping that Hedwig could somehow read his mind. I should release you from your cage so you can stretch your wings. 

With that thought in mind, he remembered he should probably write up an excuse for Ron, Hermione and Sirius that he wouldn't be able to respond to many letters. 

Not that I had received a lot of letters before, Harry thought. 

This summer, Ron and Hermione's chronic need for sending Harry endless informative letters was less than usual. And considering the events that happened at the end of the year, this notion sat wrong with Harry. After knowing everything he'd been through, how could they leave him alone like that? 

Had they had enough of Harry's troublesome life? 

Was this a statement from their end? 

Harry thought about his rocky relationship with Ron throughout his fourth year at Hogwarts, and suddenly a constricting feeling encased his insides. It wasn't unlikely that his friends abandoned him, especially now that he claimed Voldemort was back. 

Why would anyone want to be my friend when a culmination of malevolence is after me? 

Harry halted his thoughts once he arrived at an old wooden door with the number 13 on top of it. Upon entering the room, Harry became familiar with his situation when he was thirteen. Recalling back, those were the best summer days he'd ever had, spending his days in the room almost next to his current door. 

Room 13, much like Room 11, had a simple layout of a four-poster in the middle, a window that received the afternoon light painting the cosy room in a warm colour, a fireplace and a talking mirror. 

"To be frank, I think you've seen better days!" the mirror spoke out of turn in enthusiasm as Harry stalled in the middle of the room. The young wizard decided to ignore the comment from the inanimate object. 

It's not as if I care about my outlook anyway… So Harry thought as he went to his trunk, magically situated at the foot of the bed, and conjured himself a quill and a piece of parchment. He was due to send a few letters. 

All three of his letters contained the same excuse for why he couldn't reply to letters he'd receive from Sirius, Ron and Hermione – he was on vacation with the Dursleys. 

Imagine that… The mere thought of having a getaway with the Dursleys made Harry chuckle in irony. 

Of course, he elaborated on the letters for the ones that were addressed to his friends. Over the years, Harry grew well accustomed to their nature. For the always enquiring Hermione, he provided the lengthiest details about how Dursleys couldn't find a person to leave Harry with, so they begrudgingly had to take him along. For Ron, it was a more heart-felt complaining letter about how he was not looking forward to spending extra hours with Dudley, that he'd rather stay at the Burrow and play Quidditch with him. 

The most challenging letter to compose, however, was for Sirius. He didn't know what information Sirius needed to ease his mind. Through writing a letter full of lies, Harry noticed he knew little about his godfather. Sirius' promise in the third year of Hogwarts about adopting Harry to live with him echoed in the teen's already ringing mind, and the sheer thought of Sirius being delayed for two years to save him made him teary. 

Because, in reality, Harry was really, really tired. His body was weary, weak and worn. His skin stretched in an ugly way that stung constantly. His head was now aching while his endless hunger and thirst were getting in his head. Turning towards the mirror, he took notice of a purpling handmark around his neck. His cheekbones appeared more pronounced due to the lack of food he endured over his summer. His right cheek reddened due to the earlier blows, and his bloodshot eyes had permanent rings around them.

Harry looked sick. 

No wonder Tom offered food, the boy thought while labourously gulping around his swollen throat to ease his voice to talk to his owl. Then, with his new-found resolve, he signed his final letter and attached it to Hedwig's waiting foot that already had the two letters tied on her feet. 

"Fly…" Harry managed with his lack of voice, "...to Ron…" he hissed, "...He-Hermio…Hermione," he continued forcing, despite Hedwig's protesting glance, "and to Sirius." Hedwig nipped the teen's awaiting finger – a gesture between the two that has been going on since the beginning of their friendship. The owl's concerned gaze stayed on the wizard's for a bit longer this time, and only after Harry's assuring nod did the snow owl stretch her wings and leave her master alone to deliver Harry's lies. 

After watching his owl leave his premises, Harry released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. He rested his against the bed frame and sank lower to the ground. A little sleep wouldn't hurt his body. Then he would eat and shower. 

Yes… sleep is a good idea. 

*

*

*

Severus didn't want to consider the mutt's gratitude as he exited Grimmauld Place. Instead, he paid extra care, leaving unnoticed by the people already starting to fill the kitchen – Dumbledore was assembling the Order, it seemed. He needed to hurry if he wanted to reach Potter before them. 

He thought about the potential destinations in Diagon Alley the brat would likely go. The boy would need money. He was empty-pocketed because he ran away from the Muggle way of living. 

That would make Gringotts a good pit stop. 

Hogwarts had yet to send the school supply list to its students. It was far too early in the summer for that. So Potter's need for money to spend in Diagon Alley would be minimal in the next few weeks.

The boy, however, would definitely need accommodation. Leaking Cauldron was a gateway to the wizarding world from the Muggle London, and thus, easy to access via transport. 

The boy is an idiot; Severus thought, he will get himself killed. 

He had no time to waste, for if it took several seconds for Severus to locate the boy, the enemy – once learning he was no longer under muggle care – wouldn't waste a second. 

Briskly walking to the alleyway perpendicular to the main street, the potion's master apparated. 

*

*

*

Harry jerked away from his sleep to the loud tapping against his window, only to realise it was Hedwig announcing her return from his room. 

I must have slept longer than I thought. So the boy thought and registered the soreness of his weak body return to him. He tried stretching his stiff muscles, but the sore skin of his back disabled him from doing so. So, finally, the young wizard resorted to leaning against his truck while watching his snow owl perch against the floor next to him, showing her empty leg to indicate the lack of replies. 

No surprises there. Harry thought and sighed audibly to signal his disappointment to his snow owl. My owl is my only friend… 

Leaning his head back to the footboard, the boy looked towards the door, and only then did he realise there was a tray of pumpkin soup Tom had promised to Harry hours ago. It looked like it had gone cold, but the boy's growling stomach couldn't dwell on finer details; he was starving.

Harry stretched his arms and body forward, ignoring the ache in his back, to reach for the food tray. His mouth started watering as the anticipation of the pumpkin soup's sweet, savoury flavour profile clouded Harry's senses. 

His fingertips touched the tray, and he began to pull the tray forward. 

CRACK! 

Just as the tray arrived at Harry's desired spot for the boy to start sipping, a dark-cloaked figure entered the room and tipped the bowl. The soup spread across the aged flooring in its thick consistency, and all Harry could do at that moment was stare at the bizarre mess with hopelessness before him before shifting his attention to his Potions Master in pure shock.

Pick up your wand! A voice commanded him, kickstarting Harry to move his muscles to reach for his wand. 

EXPELLIARMUS! Harry thought since he didn't have his voice to shout out the spell. 

The spell, weaker than its usual form, painted the room in a red glow, but the spell's target was already under Protego. 

"Don't you dare make this harder than it is, Potter", Snape spat out Harry's last name in his nasal voice. "I don't have all day for this." 

Let go…

 The internal voice from before rang in his mind. Harry ignored it and took a laborious breath, "What… a-are you… doing here?" gasping at the older wizard while stepping away to bring as much distance as possible in this cramped room.

For a brief moment, Harry took notice of a quizzical twitch in Snape's eyebrow, eyeing Harry before the professor turned his gaze into a blank dark stare back on the younger one in the room. Harry almost thought he imagined the whole thing. But, before he could evaluate it further, his thoughts were interrupted by his professor's nasal voice. 

"I am as happy about this situation as you are, Mr Potter. We need to go now." 

"No," Harry wheezed again, internally snorting at his professor. What did he think? That Harry would happily oblige? Had he not learnt anything about their relationship in the past five years? Harry didn't trust Snape. And that was that. 

The professor exasperatedly rolled his eyes and hissed, "You insolent boy! Listen to what I say!" 

Briefly, a vision of Uncle Vernon flashed in Harry's mind, Snape's tone triggering the events that happened earlier that day. Nausea washed Harry once again. 

Let go…

Snape was getting impatient; he always had little patience for Harry. Nevertheless, the young wizard grew used to Snape's lack of appetite for Harry's presence. He knew to be always cautious around those who couldn't stand him. He had years of practice over at Dursley's house, for that matter. And, so, his caution rewarded Harry in noticing Snape secretly tilting his wand at the fifteen-year-old, ready to cast. 

Let go…

"I will not repeat myself, Potter. You are coming with me whether you like it or not." 

"Or… else… what?" Harry taunted with his little voice. Will you take housepoints from me? He wished to continue, but he observed the little words he could manage already did the job. He always became more snarky the more anxious he got. 

More snarky and more observant.

The Potions Master was getting more agitated, that much Harry could tell from the paling composure of the older wizard and the further darkening of his eyes. 

Funny… Harry thought to himself as he observed the juxtaposing reactions between the two men who hated him immensely.

While Uncle Vernon bloomed into various shades of purple, Snape seemed to lose all the saturation from his face and turn more black and white. 

Let go…

"You…" Snape snarled. "You… you indeed are your father's son, Potter. Spoilt and entitled," the adult slowly closed the small distance Harry managed to put between the two. Harry felt his heart beating rapidly against his chest. 

"Stay… away," Harry warned with his little voice taking a step back. He tried to find a safe distance. He tried to cover his nervousness before Snape. 

Let go…

"You think of yourself so powerful with all the fairytales Dumbledore had fed you. Dumbledore isn't here to inflate your head anymore, Potter."

"Away." Harry tried again, his voice crumbling from overuse. Harry's back was against the window now, and Snape was stepping closer. Harry had nowhere to run. No more steps to take, and Snape was going to take him. To take me to Voldemort, probably… What was he supposed to do? 

Let go!

Snape's face turned into a nasty smirk, "You think I can't handle the Mighty Potter? Let's test that theory, shall we?" 

"I said… back… AWAY!"

LET GO! 

The chant took over Harry's mind, and with that, Harry let go.

Something snapped in him, and he felt a force leave his body—a weight he had held on to for a long time. Harry could only compare this force to the summer he accidentally inflated Aunt Marge, but intensity-wise, that was only a speck in a dust cloud to what he felt now. 

Harry was like a pebble thrown to disrupt the still waters of a pond, causing the ripples to grow and grow until the pond churned in wild waves. He was like a volcano erupting to destroy everything in its way, and the force was the lava that would keep only Harry unburnt from its scorch. 

Harry had never experienced accidental magic of this magnitude. Harry didn't know ways to control it but also had little desire. 

I will protect you… 

The ringing in his ears chanted over and over. Harry realised his eyes remained closed the entire time, and this power erupting from his body lasted for eternity. Harry didn't know what he was doing to his Potions teacher, nor did he care. All he knew was that he was safe as long as this force was there to protect him. 

I will protect you… 

It would protect him. 

Let go…

Harry let go and allowed himself to get embraced by darkness. 

*

*

*

Severus didn't mean to sound half as threatening as he did to the boy before him. But the way Harry Potter stood there, daring him in such manners? Severus wouldn't tolerate such… such… insolence. 

The potions master didn't have time to feel impressed at the boy's feeble attempt at a non-verbal Expelliarmus. Instead, observing the young Gryffindor, Severus concluded the boy didn't look good. Potter was near collapse, that was for sure.

Severus almost felt sorry for Potter the way his eyes traced the ruined soup on the floor momentarily due to Severus' grand entrance. 

When did he last eat? 

Potter's cheeks were sunken, his body lethargically tilting forwards, and his already loose clothing sagged against the boy's limbs. Severus was almost concerned. Almost. 

And then there was the boy's voice. Why was he gasping the words out? Was he sick? That would explain the overall stature of the boy… but no… there was something amiss. Snape couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he was keen to find out… 

… Which brought him back to the current topic at hand. He was to take the boy. 

"I am as happy about this situation as you are, Mr Potter. We need to go now." 

Severus honestly would have been surprised if the boy hadn't put up a fight. Through his journey, he was prepared to bring the boy to Spinner's End unwillingly. But Severus always presents the option of free will – even when the receiving end is a brat who would fight back.

How Potter opposed and fought back against Severus often differed from his regular fifteen-year-old students. Something about Potter never clicked well with Snape – probably how he looked so much like his father. And Severus tried… Merlin, he did try to put it past Harry Potter. He tried giving the boy many chances to act like a decent wizard with maturity and integrity. But Potter would always find a way to defy authority, whether from his end or someone else. 

The boy didn't care. He would always go against the grain and would rise against the authority who would try to correct him. 

Much like his father… 

So Severus pushed against Potter's boundaries like he often did at Hogwarts. He knew the boy's eyes were on him, so he flicked his wand towards the boy as a target – not that he would use it against his pupil. Instead, intimidating Potter was his strategy. 

But something different was going on with Potter that Severus did not expect. 

"Harry is Dark, Snape," Severus recalled Black's plea, but even the mutt didn't realise how Dark Potter was. 

It didn't take a powerful wizard to see the Dark Aura in Potter. Severus could taste it in the static of magic Potter was ruling around him. He could smell it like sulphur in a freshly burnt building. Harry Potter was Dark. 

Severus pushed the boy's boundaries further despite Potter's earlier warnings. Smirking at his discovery about the boy, Severus further taunted the wizard before him, "You think I can't handle the Mighty Potter? Let's test that theory, shall we?" 

It all happened instantly – by the time Severus took another step towards the boy, a magnitude of magical explosion erupted, and in its epicentre was Potter.

It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Swirls of raw magic in the auras of black and magenta winded across the room like a devil's snare, ready to choke its next victim. However, the pulsating magic soon took over the window. It blocked the sole light source in the room, making the older wizard only see the magenta auras gliding his way like the northern lights. 

It is fatally beautiful, Severus thought. 

When had Potter tapped into Ancient Magic? Who was the one who guided him to learn such forbidden and forgotten arts? He had read once from the Ancient Prince Library that there were two instances a fifteen-year-old Hogwarts student had an Ancient Magic affinity. The book theorised that those students both had dark cores. 

While in his thoughts, a magenta beam speared towards him swiftly, and Severus dodged it in the last second.

Could Ancient Magic select wizards? 

"Protego!" Severus blocked another deadly blow from Potter.

Was Potter taught in the Ancient ways? Was it Dumbledore?

It cannot be Dumbledore. Snape concluded. No. Dumbledore would not dare middle with Ancient Magic at the expense of turning his Golden Child Dark. 

But he isn't the golden child, is he?

Severus needed to think fast. One wouldn't simply fight Ancient Magic like in a wand duel. He needed a break from Potter's blows to calm the kid down. It was as clear as Veritaserum that he didn't factor in Ancient Magic when he contemplated bringing Potter forcefully to Spinner's End. 

He quickly dodged another blow. This time he could feel the lack of oxygen in the air. Did Potter have any control over the magic? Was he wielding this power consciously? 

The potion master quickly breathed and concentrated on the space around him. 

"Tempus, cede mihi,

Tempus commoda me tibi,

Hora tua, infinitum tuum,

Ego momentaneum mutuari." 

Severus felt the excruciating strain in his magic before time halted around him. From the chaos was born tranquillity where everything stilled. Amid the room, the black and magenta ivies were still trying to battle against his magic and break free. In shock and exhaustion, Severus took in the beautiful, chaotic landscape before his eyes landed on the boy, the source of this mad magic. From the pocket of his robes, he produced a calming draught and hastily made his way to Potter. He wasn't sure for how long he could hold against Potter's wild magic. His lone hope was that the potion would tranquilise the brat just enough to end this burst of magic. 

When he reached the boy, he realised that Potter was on the verge of passing out, to begin with. 

Were his eyes closed this entire time? So Severus thought before using his wand to feed the potions directly through the body. He didn't want to risk another magic attack by getting Potter to drink the draught forcibly. 

Much to the Potion Master's relief, the light was back in the room once the potion took effect, and the magic traces were slowly retracting towards their master. 

"You are more troublesome than I signed up for, Potter." Severus sighed before turning towards a very agitated snow owl. "You must be Hedwig. I am taking him somewhere safe. Spinner's End is where you will find him." He muttered and watched the owl nod before taking flight. 

He gathered Potter's belongings. He shrunk the school trunk and Potter's broom into his robes' pockets before turning towards the boy. With a tired grunt, the potion master lifted the tranquilised teen. It took Severus by surprise how light Potter felt in his arms. He had to look into that when he arrived at his house. He took a breath and focused on his destination. Then, with a loud snap, the was empty. The only remnants of the previous events were the tipped soup bowl against the worn floors and new small cracks added to the existing ones on the inn's walls.