Fic - Dursleys' Demise (Snape, Harry)
Nov. 15th, 2004 08:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
order_of_chaosTitle: Dursleys' Demise
Characters: Snape, Dumbledore, Harry, Dursleys
Rating: R (for character death, just in case.)
Summary: Snape meets the Dursleys, kills them, and Harry is delighted and loves him forever. Fun, albeit somewhat sociopathic, crack.
AN: Snape-meets-Dursleys. It's a cliché I'm rather fond of, but the more of them that I read, the more it baffles me that whenever Snape rescues Harry from the Dursleys he nobly refrains from killing them.
Edited: January 2012.
“Lemon drop?”
“No. No way. I won’t and you can’t make me.”
Albus twinkled infuriatingly at him.
Severus sighed, admitting defeat with resigned familiarity. This was Dumbledore after all - what else did he expect? “All right. I’ll go. But I’m not gonna be nice to him, understand?”
“Of course.” Twinkle.
“Gah!”
Twinkle.
Severus left.
It was in a cloud of irritation that Severus apparated to Privet Drive later that day. Blistering criticisms lined up in the back of his mind, left unsaid only for lack of a target on which to vent them.
Privet: Bushy evergreen shrub with small small white flowers and small shining black berries, much used for hedges.
The small white flowers, Severus recalled, were prone to causing allergic reactions, not unlike that caused by the small minded muggles that inhabited the street for which the wretched plant was namesake; Severus, at least, was rapidly discovering himself to be allergic to them.
Four Privet Drive exuded the same petty minded identicality that had caused his trademark Snape-sneer to deepen the moment he had set foot on the miserable road. Nothing in particular set it apart from the other houses, and Severus wondered for a moment if Albus was irritated with him for some reason. It would be just like the old man to send him to the wrong address. He couldn’t recall anything he'd done to deserve it off the top of his head, but that didn't rule out the possibility - twinkling, always the twinkling. Sighing slightly, Severus put the idea aside for later consideration.
He rapped on the perfect door irritably, taking care to chip the paint. Petty vindictiveness was, after all, one of his specialities - the others being better not spoken of.
The door was opened before too long by a fat... Severus assumed it was a boy. The fat... didn’t give him time to double check. “I’ll get daddy,” it said quickly and disappeared, to be replaced by someone who could comparatively be considered a stick figure but was nevertheless quite a large man.
Potter’s uncle stuck out his hand. “Vernon Dursley. What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to check on Potter.”
Vernon froze. “Potter? What Potter? I don’t see any...”
Severus Looked at him.
“Oh, you mean that Potter.” Vernon fidgeted uneasily for a very short period of time. “Well. Um. You wait right here and I’ll fetch him.”
True to his word, the man returned shortly, dragging a boy behind him by his untidy black hair. Young man, Severus corrected himself, for there was nothing in Potter’s bearing that suggested childhood. Potter seemed resigned to the treatment - in a patient, rather than a defeated way - the expression mingling oddly with surprise at seeing him. Severus watched Potter wait until his uncle released his hair before straightening cautiously to look up at him.
“Well, happy birthday to me.” The voice was familiar, but the sarcasm that dripped from it was not. The words earned Potter a vicious backhand from his uncle, and he moved with the blow, crumpling strategically into a corner with the ease of long practise.
Severus took in the situation at a glance - glance in this case referring to his usual glare. Potter, complete with bruises and broken arm and broken glasses, scowled back at him, silent and Gryffindor stubborn, as if defying him to comment.
It’s his birthday?
“I apologise for his condition, sir. As you can see, the ungrateful brat needs to be taught some respect.” Vernon did not look particularly regretful.
Severus did not curl his hands into fists. He didn't reach for his wand. He was... familiar... with being taught some respect.
“Indeed," he replied. "I have often thought so myself.” He kept his tone neutral. “And you are the one I have to thank for this?” Inwardly, tiny curls of magic began to escape his control.
In the corner, Potter's scowl froze, eyes flat with extinguished hope. Hearing Severus' words, obviously, and not the undercurrents - he had thought him more observant than that. Oh well. Unlike his sycophantic worm of an uncle, that could be fixed.
Vernon Dursley puffed himself up proudly. “Yes I am. The little freak won’t forget his place in this household again.”
Freak.
The windows shattered. So did the remains of Severus' self-control. “I always thought Potter’s relatives spoilt him,” he snarled. “I detest being wrong.”
Severus had been a fully fledged Death Eater for many years. Some of those years were as a spy in their midst, but that did little to counteract the instictive reactions that - out of necessity - went with the job. Restraint towards muggles was not a survival trait.
“Crucio.”
Vernon screamed.
Severus sneered. “So. Give me one good reason why I should not kill you.”
Dursley, busy screaming, didn’t answer. Someone else did for him: Petunia, defending her small world to the last, her son a quivering lump of lard behind her.
“That damn freak deserved what he got and more. After all we’ve done for him...” The shrill voice was tainted with fear, sharpened by bitterness and entirely misplaced courage.
Severus was in no position to appreciate it. Instead, he laughed. “Foolish Gryffindor. You desire to be exterminated also, I assume? I can arrange that.”
Dudley whimpered.
Potter smiled, unnoticed by his Professor.
Vernon continued screaming.
Petunia met the deatheater’s eyes coldly. “Why on earth would you? We never did anything to you. And the freak boy deserved what he got.”
Severus saw red, a single voice of memory the only thing even remotely holding him back.
You are not the one wronged, Severus. You don't have the right.
He felt sick, amidst his fury. Gryffindor. He'll never let me kill them. But I can't not ask.
Slowly, he turned. “Potter. Will you speak for them?” His voice was calm, almost formal.
“I...” Harry’s voice cracked, then hardened. “I will not.”
Shock.
“Very well. Avada Kedavra.” The familiar flash of green light flashed from his wand. Once more, then once again. The muggles had barely enough time to look surprised before they stopped looking surprised in order to look dead.
Harry smiled for the first time since the beginning of the holidays. As his defences dropped fractionally, he was suddenly aware of the vast extent of his injuries. His eyes slammed shut against the pain, and he was unconscious before he would have hit the floor. Before a certain black-eyed wizard caught him instead, shielding him from the impact with previously mentioned horizontal surface.
Two hours later, an average brown owl arrived with a letter for Mr H J Potter. Finding nobody to receive it except the house, empty and spotless, the bird finally dropped it on the elegantly polished table and left. Had Harry been present he would have been dismayed to learn that his irresponsible and illegal behaviour regarding underage magic had merited his expulsion from Hogwarts. As it was, the table - being a muggle table and therefore inanimate - couldn’t have cared less.
~ End ~
Characters: Snape, Dumbledore, Harry, Dursleys
Rating: R (for character death, just in case.)
Summary: Snape meets the Dursleys, kills them, and Harry is delighted and loves him forever. Fun, albeit somewhat sociopathic, crack.
AN: Snape-meets-Dursleys. It's a cliché I'm rather fond of, but the more of them that I read, the more it baffles me that whenever Snape rescues Harry from the Dursleys he nobly refrains from killing them.
Edited: January 2012.
“Lemon drop?”
“No. No way. I won’t and you can’t make me.”
Albus twinkled infuriatingly at him.
Severus sighed, admitting defeat with resigned familiarity. This was Dumbledore after all - what else did he expect? “All right. I’ll go. But I’m not gonna be nice to him, understand?”
“Of course.” Twinkle.
“Gah!”
Twinkle.
Severus left.
It was in a cloud of irritation that Severus apparated to Privet Drive later that day. Blistering criticisms lined up in the back of his mind, left unsaid only for lack of a target on which to vent them.
Privet: Bushy evergreen shrub with small small white flowers and small shining black berries, much used for hedges.
The small white flowers, Severus recalled, were prone to causing allergic reactions, not unlike that caused by the small minded muggles that inhabited the street for which the wretched plant was namesake; Severus, at least, was rapidly discovering himself to be allergic to them.
Four Privet Drive exuded the same petty minded identicality that had caused his trademark Snape-sneer to deepen the moment he had set foot on the miserable road. Nothing in particular set it apart from the other houses, and Severus wondered for a moment if Albus was irritated with him for some reason. It would be just like the old man to send him to the wrong address. He couldn’t recall anything he'd done to deserve it off the top of his head, but that didn't rule out the possibility - twinkling, always the twinkling. Sighing slightly, Severus put the idea aside for later consideration.
He rapped on the perfect door irritably, taking care to chip the paint. Petty vindictiveness was, after all, one of his specialities - the others being better not spoken of.
The door was opened before too long by a fat... Severus assumed it was a boy. The fat... didn’t give him time to double check. “I’ll get daddy,” it said quickly and disappeared, to be replaced by someone who could comparatively be considered a stick figure but was nevertheless quite a large man.
Potter’s uncle stuck out his hand. “Vernon Dursley. What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to check on Potter.”
Vernon froze. “Potter? What Potter? I don’t see any...”
Severus Looked at him.
“Oh, you mean that Potter.” Vernon fidgeted uneasily for a very short period of time. “Well. Um. You wait right here and I’ll fetch him.”
True to his word, the man returned shortly, dragging a boy behind him by his untidy black hair. Young man, Severus corrected himself, for there was nothing in Potter’s bearing that suggested childhood. Potter seemed resigned to the treatment - in a patient, rather than a defeated way - the expression mingling oddly with surprise at seeing him. Severus watched Potter wait until his uncle released his hair before straightening cautiously to look up at him.
“Well, happy birthday to me.” The voice was familiar, but the sarcasm that dripped from it was not. The words earned Potter a vicious backhand from his uncle, and he moved with the blow, crumpling strategically into a corner with the ease of long practise.
Severus took in the situation at a glance - glance in this case referring to his usual glare. Potter, complete with bruises and broken arm and broken glasses, scowled back at him, silent and Gryffindor stubborn, as if defying him to comment.
It’s his birthday?
“I apologise for his condition, sir. As you can see, the ungrateful brat needs to be taught some respect.” Vernon did not look particularly regretful.
Severus did not curl his hands into fists. He didn't reach for his wand. He was... familiar... with being taught some respect.
“Indeed," he replied. "I have often thought so myself.” He kept his tone neutral. “And you are the one I have to thank for this?” Inwardly, tiny curls of magic began to escape his control.
In the corner, Potter's scowl froze, eyes flat with extinguished hope. Hearing Severus' words, obviously, and not the undercurrents - he had thought him more observant than that. Oh well. Unlike his sycophantic worm of an uncle, that could be fixed.
Vernon Dursley puffed himself up proudly. “Yes I am. The little freak won’t forget his place in this household again.”
Freak.
The windows shattered. So did the remains of Severus' self-control. “I always thought Potter’s relatives spoilt him,” he snarled. “I detest being wrong.”
Severus had been a fully fledged Death Eater for many years. Some of those years were as a spy in their midst, but that did little to counteract the instictive reactions that - out of necessity - went with the job. Restraint towards muggles was not a survival trait.
“Crucio.”
Vernon screamed.
Severus sneered. “So. Give me one good reason why I should not kill you.”
Dursley, busy screaming, didn’t answer. Someone else did for him: Petunia, defending her small world to the last, her son a quivering lump of lard behind her.
“That damn freak deserved what he got and more. After all we’ve done for him...” The shrill voice was tainted with fear, sharpened by bitterness and entirely misplaced courage.
Severus was in no position to appreciate it. Instead, he laughed. “Foolish Gryffindor. You desire to be exterminated also, I assume? I can arrange that.”
Dudley whimpered.
Potter smiled, unnoticed by his Professor.
Vernon continued screaming.
Petunia met the deatheater’s eyes coldly. “Why on earth would you? We never did anything to you. And the freak boy deserved what he got.”
Severus saw red, a single voice of memory the only thing even remotely holding him back.
You are not the one wronged, Severus. You don't have the right.
He felt sick, amidst his fury. Gryffindor. He'll never let me kill them. But I can't not ask.
Slowly, he turned. “Potter. Will you speak for them?” His voice was calm, almost formal.
“I...” Harry’s voice cracked, then hardened. “I will not.”
Shock.
“Very well. Avada Kedavra.” The familiar flash of green light flashed from his wand. Once more, then once again. The muggles had barely enough time to look surprised before they stopped looking surprised in order to look dead.
Harry smiled for the first time since the beginning of the holidays. As his defences dropped fractionally, he was suddenly aware of the vast extent of his injuries. His eyes slammed shut against the pain, and he was unconscious before he would have hit the floor. Before a certain black-eyed wizard caught him instead, shielding him from the impact with previously mentioned horizontal surface.
Two hours later, an average brown owl arrived with a letter for Mr H J Potter. Finding nobody to receive it except the house, empty and spotless, the bird finally dropped it on the elegantly polished table and left. Had Harry been present he would have been dismayed to learn that his irresponsible and illegal behaviour regarding underage magic had merited his expulsion from Hogwarts. As it was, the table - being a muggle table and therefore inanimate - couldn’t have cared less.
~ End ~
