"As it turns out, it wouldn't matter if I just kissed your girl, killed your entire family, and kicked you a couple times for good measure, do something amazing in a sport, and you'll still cheer me."

-Harry Potter

“Idiot!” Severus spun from his own cauldron and began to perform counter curses on Longbottom’s bloody hands. His potion had exploded yet again, finally breaking the all-time school record. He was serving detention for fighting another student, and Severus had jumped on the opportunity to wreak havoc on the boy’s mind once more.

In more ways than one, to be precise.

He strode over and finished his spells. Extending a small vial, he said curtly, “Drink.”

Longbottom, shaking, but less terrified than he should have been, obeyed. The boy’s eyes rolled and he slumped into a chair, utterly controlled by the Veritaserum. Something had changed about the boy, and the Professor’s Slytherin side had been unable to stand ignorance. The Dark Lord would call him that night, but not for several hours more; enough time to suppress his memory of the event.

“Why do you hate Harry Potter?”

“I don’t.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “Why do you not hate Harry Potter then?”

“I know him, I trust him, he’s saved my life, and he would never join you-know-who.”

“Why are you listed as ‘in need of protection’ by the Traitor Act?”

“Harry makes me uphold the pretense that I hate him.”

“What happened over the summer to give you a spine?”

“I trained with an old family friend.”

“Why?”

“I was at the Department of Mysteries last year.”

“Do you have any intention to cause any harm to Harry Potter?”

“No.”

“Do you know of any plot to harm Harry Potter that was created by students of your current house?”

“No. They don’t really trust me.”

“Will you die for him in this war?”

“Yes.”

Severus stepped back, and thought. There were only two options. Ask the Longbottoms for help or take the boy out of the equation. He was patriarch of his family, and they would follow him.

With a heavy sigh from exhaustion, he lifted his wand and muttered, “Oblivia Reparas con Subtefaera.” He woke the boy up, shouted for several minutes, docked fifty points, and kicked him out of his dungeons.

=====

Molly Weasley woke up with a scream and rolled out of the bed. Arthur was beside her a split second later. They stared in terror into the shadowed night.

They were staying at a safe house in the south of Wales, and apparated into the Order every day. Now, outside their one window was some twisted creature was waiting for them. It was flanked by half a dozen wizards in black robes and sickly white masks.

One of them lifted his wand, and without a word, the wall separating them vanished.

Arthur began firing curses instantly, but Molly froze for a moment. Her mind was reeling from the waves of memory. Her first fight, in the first war. Spells flying through the air, screams tearing her ears, and the sight of her siblings fighting beside her.

Wand in hand, she turned and uttered a primal scream. The level of the fighting rose, most of it now targeted at her, but she kept screaming curses, kept waving her wand. She separated from her body, and watched. One of the Death Eaters fell, but she kept attacking. A bolt of red light hit Arthur in the stomach and he sunk the ground with his hands covering the wound.

Molly hesitated, and she was hit. The world began to move in slow motion. Another shadow had appeared. The monster was missing. The new shadow fought with the originals, but Molly never saw it.

She slipped into darkness, and woke up the two days later in St. Mungo’s.

=====

Harry Potter took a deep breath as he dipped his fingers into the ointment. It tingled lightly on his fingertips. Carefully locking his jaw, he rubbed it into the nasty cut on his side. He hissed through his teeth as his fingers made contact. The injury was more than a cut.

The left side of his torso was marbled with gray and green lines. Two of his ribs were still broken, and just below his rib cage a half-healed hole with an edge like broke glass carved almost an inch into his flesh. The central wound was the size of his fist, but the entirety of it laced around his entire body.

He wiped the tears out of his eyes, got dressed, and flew onto the Quidditch field. Smirking over the pain, he nodded at his team mates, none of whom were willing to practice at the same time as him, or even share a locker room.

He shook hands with the Ravenclaw Captain briefly, amazed that his mere presence could terrify anyone so much. Hooch kicked open the crate, and the balls zipped out.

Flap, flap, flap.

Arthur and Molly had been attacked two nights before, just two weeks after the Hogsmeade attack. Half their house had been leveled, and both had to go to Mungo’s with severe burns. It had made the cover of the Prophet, and the muggle paper in the town where they had been staying.

Harry waited on his broom while Madam Hooch prepared to start the game.

Flap, flap, flap.

Madam hooch was announcing the rules and threatening about her desire for a fair game. She seemed to be glancing towards certain green-eyed boys more than others. Next to him, Ron was muttering incoherent curses and expletives.

The Weasleys had been left in the emergency ward at Mungos. The doctor had been handed an overly full bag of galleons and told to fix them. Ron had visited immediately with Ginny, and came back angrier than ever, spinning fantastical stories about traitors and murder, all of which revolved around Harry.

Far above them Lee began to announce.

“Today’s match ought to be good. With Gryffindor under new management and back with their winning Seeker again for the first time in a long while, Ravenclaw is in it deep.” Flap, flap, flap. “This new team lineup is interesting though, two Weasleys, just like always—something of a minimum that—the introduction of a second-year female beater,” Harry smirked as Natalie glared at the announcer, “and two Seeker hopefuls in the Chaser positions, we aren’t sure what to expect. As for the Ravenclaws—”

“Jordan, are you ever going to let them actually play?” McGonagall had already lost her temper.

Flap, flap, flap.

“Of course Professor, one last thing. Visit Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes! On that, Madam Hooch, audience,” Flap, flap, flap. “Let the Game Begin!”

Harry gently touched his side. It was leaking again, but wasn’t infected. It needed to remain as motionless as possible though.

Flap, flap, flap.

Harry could have completed the game. He could have ignored the pain. He could even have cheated. All of which would have annoyed Ron into insensibility, which was always a nice activity.

However, it he couldn’t stand, he wouldn’t be able to lose in a duel with Draco, and it was never smart to fail to pay a Malfoy. Well, Dad, after a month and a half of careful thought on tactics and technique, I only have one option. Oh well. Should be fun enough to watch the reactions.

The quaffle was thrown, the chasers raced forward. Harry snapped an arm behind his head without bothering to move the broom, locked his fingers around the snitch, and held his arm straight into the air.

Everyone was silent for approximately two seconds while Harry showed off the catch.
See Dad, I told you.

Then the pitch nearly exploded with sound.

“Sweet MERLIN! POTTER HAS THE SNITCH! HE CAUGHT THE SNITCH! HE CAUGHT THE SNITCH! BLOODY HELL! THIS HAS GOT TO BE A RECORD!” The magical timer had stopped instantly in Lee Jordan’s hand. His eyes went wide as he looked down and saw the number written there. “MERLIN! POTTER BROKE THE RECORD! POTTER BROKE THE RECORD! ONE POINT THREE SECONDS! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN POTTER BROKE THE PLUMPTON RECORD!”

The screams were deafening in the arena. The Wizarding world mocked, feared and generally despised him, but he had just made Quidditch history. Harry glanced at the Snitch, now held before him. Flap, flap, flap, it whispered.

It closed down, he slipped it into his pocket and flew to the changing rooms.