HARRY POTTER :Dark Kingdom

Emily glowered at the dark man, but her posture was more wary than aggressive. She looked quite prepared to stay exactly where she was, and Harry pondered if she wasn't a bit spoiled.

"Now Ms. White!" the man snarled, making both children jump.

Harry, seeing that Emily was now stuck out of genuine fear and not just stubbornness, took her by the hand and walked her over to the desk. Snape sneered, and both gave him twin glowers.

"Drink this." He handed Emily one of the blue vials.

"What is it?"she asked.

"Even if I explained it to you, you would be too ignorant to understand. Now, stop wasting my time and drink it."

"It could be poison."

Snape smirked at that. "Yes, that's true. Now drink."

Emily turned to Harry, who could only shrug. Reluctantly, she uncapped the vial and took a swig. And just as quickly, spit it back into the vial.

"UGH! That's awful!"

"Oh for the love of Saint Francis, why do I work with children? You have to SWALLOW it, Ms. White. Imperio!"

Harry bolted out of the way as Snape lifted his wand, shouting out his spell at the girl. Emily jerked once, stiffened, and then relaxed. Her dark brown eyes turned glassy and when she drank the potion a second time she did not even grimace. Snape nodded in approval, apparently to himself, and glanced over at Harry.

"Pay attention, Mr. Potter, this is one of the most notorious spells of the wizarding world. The Imperius curse. A spell so powerful it can subvert the will of almost any it is cast upon. I say almost any, because the ironic truth of the matter is that if a witch or wizard is powerful enough to cast it, they are powerful enough to fight it off. Ms. White, clearly is not powerful enough. Ms. White, blow into this."

Snape handed her the recorder-like instrument, and she did as she was instructed. The instrument gave off a dull whistle, and small white peg popped out of one of the key holes. Snape took the instrument, and smirked.

"As I thought, a low 4th level ranking. Barely more than a squib. Finite incantatem!"

Emily let out loud gagging cough, and Harry rushed back to her side to see if she had been hurt. She didn't seem any worse for ware, although she seemed desperate to get that awful taste out of her mouth.

"What happened?"

"As much fun as I am sure Mr. Potter is having witnessing the assortment of spells I have been casting on you, it is his turn, and I recommend you go sit down quietly over there."

Emily gave him a nasty look, but then she was already looking green, and did as she was told without protest. Harry looked towards her and then back at Snape, who held out another blue vial. He briefly considered refusing, but the thought of being under the other man's control- literally and not just figuratively- prompted him towards obedience. He accepted the bottle, and plugging his nose he swallowed it quickly.

It tasted like spoiled milk and kool-aid. He started to gag immediately, but nothing would come up. After a few moments, he regained control himself. Snape handed him the instrument and he blew into it. Once again a white peg appeared, this time in a key hole farther up. Snape regarded it critically for a moment, and then turned his dark glare towards Harry. The boy felt a surge of panic, wondering what he could have possibly done wrong and what sort of curse the greasy bastard was going to throw at him because of it.

"Mr. Potter, have you ingested any potions recently? Perhaps some given to you by the medi-wizard? Or picked something up, a curious bauble or unusual plant from one of the parties?"

"...I don't think so... Why?"

"Your magical reading is unusually high."

"So... the Imperial curse won't work on me?"

"Don't flatter yourself. And it's the Imperius curse, not the Imperial curse. The Imperial curse involves a generational contraction of very unpleasant venereal disease."

"..."

Snape let out a frustrated sigh and threw his instruments and empty vials back into his bag with enough force that something should have broken, but didn't. He reached in and pulled out two pieces of parchment. He handed one of the letters to Harry and then thrust the other in Emily's hand. He then stalked towards the door, his black robes billowing out like a malevolent shadow. Just before he stepped out of the room he turned sharply to Harry.

"Congratulations on your acceptance letter, Mr. Potter," he snarled, "I look forward to seeing you at the start of term!"

The door slammed shut.

The room fell into a deep silence, a calm in the wake of Hurricane Snape. With a vaguely horrified expression, he turned to Emily for some sort of sanity. She gave him a tired, sickly grin.

"Better you than me."

It turned out Harry had just over a day and a half to get ready. The letter Snape had given him had been an acceptance letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and summer classes he was required to take before the start of term began that very Monday. Miss Marilyn had been ecstatic when she heard the news, and had been brimming with tears she was so proud of him. It had been really embarrassing as far as Harry was concerned.

Emily had also gotten a letter, but it was for a place called Fellshire Magical Craft and Trade school. Harry worried about her. After Snape had left she had fallen into a depressed silence. He had tried to explain to her as much as he could about WYRA and how to avoid the memory spells, but he did not think she was listening or even cared. Once one of the nurses took her off to see the medi-wizard, Harry never saw her.

As much as Harry wanted to find her, and make her feel better, he was suddenly much too busy to do anything but look after himself. While Miss Marilyn puttered away about what a prestigious school Hogwarts was, how it was every parent's dream to have their child attend there, and how proud she was of 'Harold'; Harry was dragged from corridor to corridor and room to room, gathering up familiar and strange items as they went. His usual trunk was replaced with a larger, black standard school trunk and all the usual blue toned nic-nacs he had taken for granted like his toothbrush and notebook where all replaced with brand new black versions. His clothes were replaced too, with normal- as normal as wizarding clothes got- slacks, button up shirts, belt, vests, ties, and blessedly shoes and underwear all in an assortment of mix and match colors. Additionally, he was given a set of plain black student robes, and was told he would get a school badge once he was assigned to a house. Even his awkward, thick glasses where replaced with a set of elegant gold rims.

When Harry finally got a look at himself in the mirror he barely recognized himself. Gone was the poor waif in his baggy, thread-bare clothes and paint smeared hands, sulking in his room. Gone was the disoriented boy, clean and well kept like a pet dog, pacing the night away between the rows of peaceful children. Now he stood, dignified if a little rough around the edges, preparing to move towards an unknown future in an unknown world. Suddenly, he could see the man he wanted to be, and would become. He was terrified, but couldn't even fathom returning to what he once was.

When he returned to his room for the night, all the other boys were fast asleep. He wandered up and down the room, memorizing each of their cherubic faces and offering silent prayers that they would leave WYRA and find memories worth keeping and futures with families as loving, if not more so, than their old ones.

He woke in a chair at the work table before the other boys, startled out of dreams of life in Cologne with his parents and wizards and Emily and Snape. Miss Marilyn stood at the door, eyeing him with an unreadable expression.

"Harold, did you sleep there all night?"

Silently, Harry berated himself. He had fooled everyone for almost a month, why was everyone finding him out now? "Er... sorry, I-I-I was just ...so excited and nervous. I couldn't bring myself to lay down, ya know?"

She nodded, but her expression was just as unreadable as before.

"We'll be leaving in a few minutes, Harold. Your first summer class at Hogwarts starts at eight-thirty sharp and you'll need to meet with Headmistress Lestrange and get your books before that. Go wash your face and brush your teeth, and try your best to tame that wild mop of yours."

Harry did as he was told, thankful that she had apparently dismissed her suspicions in favor of staying on schedule. When he left the bathroom, his bed was gone and only his new black trunk remained.

"Can't I say goodbye to the others?" he asked.

"It would be better if you just let them sleep. They're so used to goodbyes they don't mean much anymore," she said dismissively, leading him out into the hall.

Harry knew she was probably right, but only because of those blasted memory spells. He prayed that the school beds weren't similarly cursed or that he would soon learn the counter spell to override it. What was it Snape had used to end his silencing spell? Finite Incatem? Incantatemum?