Harry was still staring at the mask when the sun came up. The light sparkled off the mask, and an odd smoke-like substance rose from it. That was strange. Was he dreaming? Harry rubbed his eyes, and peered again. It must have been his imagination. He looked at his watch. It was almost time to get up, and prepare for breakfast. He stretched once, and stumbled over to the door.  Unlocking it, he peered out. Why was Uncle Vernon on the floor? Harry rolled up his sleeves, and proceeded to carry – no, drag – his uncle back downstairs and on to the couch. It was too risky to put his uncle in his bed; his aunt would definitely hear him - not to mention, feel - and scream bloody murder.

He grabbed all the food he would need out of the fridge, and then turned on the stove. At half-past six, he woke his uncle. “Uncle Vernon, wake up!”

“Ehh?” his uncle blearily asked.

“You’ve got to go to work!” said Harry, frustrated. At this rate, all the eggs and sausages would be burned.

“I’ll be up in a minute…” 

Harry sighed. If his uncle wouldn’t wake up now, he’d be in for it. Maybe the smell of breakfast would wake him? He walked back into the kitchen, loaded a dish with scrambled eggs, sausages, and French toast, then walked into the living room, and waved the dish in his uncle’s face. He was barely in time to stop his uncle from bolting upright and knocking the plate. 

“Eh? You’ve got breakfast already, boy?” 

“Yes, Uncle,” said Harry submissively. Why wouldn’t he take the plate already? He could almost see the pan crashing on his head if the food was burned. “I’m going to leave it here, Uncle.” 

Harry quickly retreated back into the kitchen. Thankfully, nothing was burned. Aunt Petunia hopefully wouldn’t be able to find any fault in it, though one never quite knew what was going on in her head. And whatever she said, Harry agreed. She knew him best, after all, having raised him. He quickly finished making the breakfast, sneaking some food, and then went to wake his aunt, who had a hair appointment at 10. If she didn’t wake up now, Harry would sport a very large bruise at the back of his head. 

He knocked on her door. “Aunt Petunia?” 

There was no response. He tried again. “Aunt Petunia? Are you awake?” 

He didn’t dare go in. The last time he did…to say it was scarring was the understatement of the century. He’d have to ask his uncle to wake her up. He ran down the stairs, where he found his uncle scarfing down the food. “Uncle Vernon?”

“What do you want, boy.”

 “Umm…Aunt Petunia…she has a hair appointment in two hours. I-I can’t wake her up,” stuttered Harry. “C-could you…?”

“What, you want me to do your job for you? Ungrateful little brat,” snarled Vernon. “I’ll wake her when I go upstairs. You – you go weed the garden.” 

“B-but Uncle – ” 

“What, you don’t want to do that either!” Vernon got up, and his face twisted. “I’ll teach you to behave that way!”

 Harry’s heart sank. His uncle had forgotten that he himself had dug up the garden earlier, so they could make some sort of walkway in the front of the house. Harry couldn’t bring himself to tell his uncle though; it served him right for being such a smartass. Why, oh why did he open his mouth? His uncle flung him against the wall. Harry braced himself for impact, but it hurt just as much as every other time. His head connected with the fire grate. He felt himself losing consciousness, but not before he felt the first hit from his uncle’s belt. Thankfully, he wasn’t conscious to feel the rest.

When Vernon was done, he took Harry’s limp form back into his room, and bolted the door from the outside. He walked away without another glance, but did remember to wake Petunia, who had a right fit. Harry was oblivious to it all. 

In fact, he was close to death. Perhaps he knew, but he didn't feel the blows - which was a mercy. When his uncle threw him against the wall, his partially healed concussion from the last bout was further antagonized when Harry’s head hit the exact same spot. It was so bad, he had cerebral hemorrhaging. At this point, both his magic and the nearby mask took over, stripping away everything, and re-laying the foundations all over again. They also took down the blood wards around the house, causing mayhem on the other side of the British Isles. 

********

Albus Dumbledore was out of his mind. Or so it seemed to Severus. He had bagged Minerva, Severus, and Filius to go “rescue” the Boy-Who-Lived. Why Severus? Oh, yes, that oath he swore to protect the boy. He and Severus had exchanged several heated words (or, rather, Severus had), but in the end, Minerva had snapped at the both of them and reminded them that Potter’s life was in possible danger. As if. If he was, Severus would be the first to know. After all, he was on both sides. He would always be the first to know. 

They quickly Floo’d to Arabella Figg, who hadn’t seen to notice anything next door. As usual, she was cuddling her kneazles, and staring at the telly.  She jumped, when she saw her guests. “Headmaster, Professors!” 

“We’re just here to get Harry, Arabella,” said Dumbledore calmly. “We’ll be back in a bit.” 

He turned to the other three, and told them quietly, “Keep your wands out.” 

Severus kept his face impassive, but inside, he was rolling his eyes. Really, melodrama, was it now? The other two followed Dumbledore through, with Severus bringing up the end of the line. They made sure to make themselves invisible to Muggles, and walked towards 4 Privet Drive. There, they saw someone very unlikely standing in front of the house, seemingly waiting for them. 

“Lupin,” Severus growled. “What are you doing here?” 

“Now, now, Severus,” said Dumbledore. “Remus, thank you for responding so quickly.” 

“I came as fast as I could,” gasped Remus. “There aren’t any suspicious people around, and I’ve even been inside. I can’t find Harry.” 

“Are you sure?” asked Dumbledore, concerned. 

Severus laughed. “The spoiled brat must have decided to run away. I remember specifically telling you that there was no urgency in the situation.” 

“Nonetheless, that does not explain why the blood wards have fallen, my dear boy,” said Dumbledore. “Remus, is anyone inside at the moment?” 

“Harry’s family seems to be out,” said Remus apologetically. “Or else I would have knocked.” 

“We should go in and check, Albus,” suggested Minerva. “Just to make sure Harry is all right.” 

Filius squeaked his agreement. All five of them proceeded into the house, only hearing the breeze rustling the curtains. Dumbledore, Minerva, and Filius searched the main living area, to no avail. They went down to the basement. Remus and Severus, on the other hand, had made their way to the stairs. 

“Wait, wolf,” said Severus. “Let me check here.”

He had paused right at the cupboard. Remus looked at him in puzzlement. “Why would you want to look here?” 

“It has the capacity for a thirteen year old to hide in, does it not?” asked Severus, raising his eyebrow in question, or as a sardonic expression. Remus couldn’t tell; instead, he nodded. Severus opened the cupboard door. No one there, but what they saw shocked them anyways. 

Harys’ Rume

There was dried blood on the floor, on the small mattress. Severus and Remus both knew whose it was: Harry’s. The sign on the wall explained as much. Remus and Severus stared at each other in shock. They quickly clambered up the stairs (well, Remus did, Severus glided). There were four rooms. They didn’t even have to pause. There could only be one room that was Harry’s, considering the condition of the cupboard downstairs. The smallest, locked one. 

“Alohomora,” whispered Severus. Remus fainted dead away.  Severus immediately ran over to Harry’s side and felt for a pulse. He almost fainted too, from relief. He pulled himself together, however, and managed to call down to the other three. 

“Professors!” Severus called. “Assistance required here immediately!”

The three of them ran up the stairs, panting, with joints creaking audibly. Minerva, Dumbledore, and Filius froze in shock. 

Minerva was the first to recover. “What have they done?!?” 

“We can deal with that later,” said Severus grimly. “We need to get Mr. Potter back to the Infirmary now.” 

He placed Harry in a stasis spell, made sure his spine was stabilized, and ran out the door with Harry in his arms. 

“What have I done?” Dumbledore sank to his knees in shock. Minerva moved immediately to his side, placing her hand on his shoulder. 

“You couldn’t have known, Al,” said Minerva. “You couldn’t have known.” 

“But I should have!” Minerva had never see Albus lose control in all the years she had known him. He had been there for her…now, it was time to pay that back. Filius noticed the intense moment, decided to give them a bit of privacy. He moved Remus down the hall, and into the next door room, where he tried to wake Remus.   

An hour later, the Dursleys had still not come home, but it was all right. The four wizards left Harry’s room and cupboard closed and locked. No one would be able to get in, except the appropriate authorities. A police report was filed, and from that day on, Harry’s life would no longer be the same – in more ways than one.

 

********

Sirius Black awoke in Azkaban with a jolt. For the first time in years, he felt alive – and ready to leave this godforsaken place. He had a plan. A desperate one, but a plan nonetheless. He had felt magic flowing in, a pure, unblemished magic. He marveled at it for a while, being in a dream-like state, eventually latching on to it. Salvation had come. 

 

Earlier, he had been unable to transform into his Animagus form, his magic having been so dirtied by the Dementors. But with this added boost, anything was possible. He willed his magic to come forth again. Years ago, he had been taught wandless magic, but had never really applied himself. Now, his brain called all those memories to the front, and magic was unleashed. The prison was subjected to a great white light, which shone like a beacon on the outside for hours on end. Sirius reached his Animagus form, and ran like hell for the outside. Dementors were confused, inmates blinded, and Aurors stunned. He took advantage of this, and swam as fast as he could to the other side. 

His muscles had deteriorated in his stay in Azkaban. Even his resolve would not save him. Finally, as he began to give up, a hand reached into the water and pulled him out.

“Laddie, what ye doin on a strange nigh as this,” a jolly voice boomed out. “’Tis quite strange, indeed. Let’s get ye on to dry land, shall we naw, lad?” 

Sirius was elated. He hadn’t been caught! The old fisherman regaled him with tales of the sea, and when they reached the shore, Sirius barked his thanks, and made for the woods. His direction? Hogwarts. 

“Naw tha’s a strange wee pup, I say.” The old fisherman scratched his head in puzzlement. A Muggle, he didn’t understand. Perhaps it was better that he didn’t. Made for a whole less bit of trouble, anyways. “Ah, well. A good deed’s alway returned, yah?”

He turned back and headed into his cottage, wondering about the strange dog. It would haunt him for the rest of his days…but not without some gain.