"It's my turn," Harry whispered to himself, his voice filled with resolve, as he stuffed a few changes of clothes and his potions kit in a duffel bag. He winced with each movement and blood dripped from the welts on his back that his uncle had so graciously gifted him with. He didn't stop though, determined as he was.

He had finally decided enough was enough! He was leaving; the old coot's blood wards be damned! A sneer passed over his face, he'd show them! He shoved his photo album in the bag and his face hardened when a shard of mirror fell out.

He had begun the summer mourning Sirius, but upon the realization that he barely knew him; he just couldn't bring himself to truly grieve the man, only the shadow of what could have been. Sirius had been the adult, a foolhardy and reckless one at that, and it had been his choice, not Harry's to go to the Department of Mysteries. Harry was done being reckless, he was done having his life controlled, and done being Gryffindor.

He had gone the caring, hotheaded, and so-called-noble-and-righteous-route, and look how that had turned out. He was going to embrace his Slytherin side and, for once, put himself first. That was why he was leaving, he had no specific goal. All he wanted was to find a place where it didn't hurt anymore, where others respected him, and he had a semblance power.

So, he grabbed his bag and wand before heading downstairs. He headed into the living room where his family was seated like lumps on a coach that looked like it would collapse from the strain and watching the telly. They all turned to stare at him and he gave them a cold smile that madeDudley shudder before he spoke, "I'm leaving and I'm never coming back, I'll send a house elf for my trunk once I settle in. I would thank you for your hospitality, but you've never been hospitable."

Then he made his exit quietly, holding his head high and never looking back. He heard his uncle begin to shout after him, but by the time the obese man looked outside, Harry was gone, underneath the invisibility of his cloak. He didn't know where his final destination would be, but he knew his first stop: Spinner's End. He had a debt to collect.

"Damn them both," Severus Snape muttered to himself as he poured himself a generous glass of firewhisky before downing it in one gulp and pouring himself another to sip. He smiled cruelly to himself as the alcohol burned his throat. He was unsure which of his masters was worse.

Dumbledore was a sly bugger, catching you in his little guilt trips, and the Dark Lord just tortured and threatened. At least the Dark Lord is straightforward, Severus mused, a smirk playing his lips as he ran a tired hand through his long hair and stared into the flames of the pathetic little fire place in his pathetic little home. Then his arm began to burn.

As soon as Father is out of prison, Potter and his little friends won't have to worry, I'll kill him myself, Draco Malfoy thought darkly before shoving the thought into the back of his mind and bowing to his useless father's Lord. Malfoys were not meant to bow, people should be bowing to them or, better yet, not at all, Draco's teeth clenched.

"Young Malfoy, letsss hope you can do better than your fool of a father," a bone chilling voice hissed.

"Of course, My Lord or I will die trying," Draco choked out, barely concealing the tremble in his arm as he held it out to the snakelike man.

"Yessss, you will," Tom Riddle chuckled before pressing his phoenix feather wand much harder than necessary into Draco's left arm, "Morsmordre!"

Screams of pain filled the clearing.

A raven haired boy muttered as he tossed and turned in a troubled sleep in his seat in the back of the city bus. An elderly woman looked at him worriedly, but he was otherwise ignored by the occupants of the other seats. One hand reached up to clutch a lightning bolt shaped scar,; revealing a frayed leather journal clutched to his chest in the other.

The journal's pages had turned yellow with age and on the cover there was a beautifully drawn flower. It was obviously a woman's journal, but the young man clung to it like a life line. The boy was jarred as the bus made a sharp turn and the cover flipped open to reveal an inscription written in a nearly unreadable scrawl.

Lily,

Happy Birthday Flower! Don't let Tuney's grumpy attitude ruin your day. She's just a jealous prude! I found this potion for her; I think it will definitely help. It makes the drinker speak the opposite of what she thinks. She'd probably tell that lump Dursley something so horrible, he'd never come around again. I know you'd like that.

Love from your best friend for eternity,

Sev Snape

Draco nodded curtly to his godfather before apparting out of the clearing and back to Malfoy Manner. He swallowed back tears of anger and shame as his arm twinged, rubbing against his black cloak. He quickly made his way to the Manor's dueling room where he threw his cloak and mask in the corner and ordered the Dummies to begin. He was going to kill his father if it was the last thing he ever did.

Harry's mouth curled in disgust as he walked down the deserted street. It was littered with rubbish and many of the shabby houses had broken or boarded up windows. He could hear shouting coming from many of the house along with crashes and bangs. He tried to restrain himself from flinching, but it was instinctual after living with the Dursleys for so long.

He knew what house it was without even reading the address. If you looked for it, magic practically rolled off of it in waves of power. He walked up to the dark and dreary house that looked identical to the others to any passerby. Harry wasn't intimidated.

It had missing grey shingles and holey, mud brown siding. The white paint on the shutters was peeling and the top window had a large, rock shaped hole in it. All of the frayed, cream curtains were drawn and it looked just like his mother had described it when she was fourteen.

He made his way up the walk way, a slight smile briefly crossed his features as he felt the familiar tingle of magic he missed during the summer. The green-eyed boy knew Snape would be alerted to his presence by the wards, but took out his wand and gave two confident raps on the door anyway.

Severus grumbled as he made his way to the door, his limbs still shaking slightly from last night's Cruciatus. He was completely at a loss as to who it was. The last person to know his residence had died almost sixteen years ago and his house was warded against muggles.

He quickly pulled on a green sweater to cover his scarred upper body and opened the door with a scowl on his face. His jaw almost dropped at who he saw and it was only his years of composure that saved him the embarassment. He looked the boy over and was stunned into silence. Potter looked more like a refuge than the spoiled boy he remembered.

The boy had a black eye and a newly healed scar that spanned from the corner of his forhead down to the opposite cheek. He wore baggy clothes that had a suspicious stain on them and carried a duffel on the shoulder of his left arm, an arm that was held as if it was broken. His right arm leveled a wand at Snape's heart as the boy's bright green eyes squinted out from chin-length black hair, struggling to see clearly without glasses.

Snape just stared until Harry raised an eyebrow and his face gained a feral smile. When he spoke, his voice was steel, "Aren't you going to invite me in Sev? We have soo much to discuss."