The Struggle, Chapter 1.

Scenario: Harry has been abused at his aunt and uncle's house for some time before anyone at the school comes to take notice. When Dumbledore sends Severus Snape to check on Harry, how will he react when he discovers Harry's terrible past years? What other surprises will happen along the way when Snape and Harry are forced to bond more?

I'm not very familiar with the terms on here, but this takes place the summer before GoF, and is somewhat AU.

Please rate and review!

Harry was awoken suddenly by the loud rapping of his cupboard door. He shot up, opened his eyes weakly and rubbed the sleep away from them. He could hear his uncle shouting already.

"Up! Potter! Up! I've got your list of chores drawn out!" Harry scrambled to his feet and pulled open the door to find his uncle, plump face as red as a tomato, with a long piece of paper in his hand.

"Petunia, Dudley, and I are going out. You are to complete this before we get back, or no food for two days! Do you hear me!" his uncle screamed loudly, despite being mere inches from Harry's face.

"Yes," Harry muttered. He hadn't slept well at all, his entire body was sore and it was difficult to find a comfortable position.

"Yes?" Harry could see his uncle's face swelling up even more. He recovered quickly with a, "Yes, sir," but it wasn't nearly fast enough.

Vernon reached out and smacked the boy twice across the face. Harry gasped, but stood standing. This was nothing compared to what he'd received last night which left his body aching and bruised nearly everywhere. Vernon cleared his throat loudly.

"Now, you listen to me right now, boy. One of your kind wrote to us and said that a wiz—teacher from that bloody school is coming down to check on you. He will be dining with us at eight o'clock sharp. Understand?" Harry nodded calmly, although his stomach did back flips. Would Dumbledore be here? Maybe Hagrid? Would he have a chance to leave?

"I expect you to clean up that rat-nest on your hair the best that you can and wear something to cover your...marks," his uncle pointed lazily at some purple bruises on his forearms. Harry nodded slowly.

"We will be back at seven thirty, have dinner ready by then. You'll be allowed to eat with us, do not take advantage of that, boy, it will not be happening again," his uncle remarked at Harry's excited face, "Oh, I doubt I should tell you this, but if you dare say anything except positive things about your summer here, or give them anything to be suspicious about, you will regret it, boy! Understood?" his uncle shouted, huffing and puffing in front of him, worked up simply by talking for too long.

"Completely understood, sir," Harry replied, and waited until his uncle walked away to glance down at the paper in front of him. Feminine handwriting was scratched across the top, he immediately knew it as his aunts.

Harry: there is chicken and green beans in the fridge. We will be home at seven thirty, have the following chores done by then, be reasonably cleaned (we will know if you use the shower, don't even think about it), and have dinner prepared.

Below was a list of seven or eight different chores his Aunt had assigned him, including cleaning and organizing Dudley's room, trimming the weeds and refreshing the garden, and as his aunt had written it, 'making the house look like a comfortable, lovely home'. Harry snickered under his breath and walked into the kitchen, where Petunia was adjusting Dudley's shirt, already stained with cereal milk.

"Dudders, this is brand new, and already stained!" she scolded, her eyes flickering to Harry only for a moment while he reached across the table to pick up the family's empty bowls and cups.

"We'll be going now, Harry. I expect everything on that list to be done, no exceptions," his aunt hissed. Harry needed no further warning of the consequences, he simply nodded and washed the dishes, while he watched from the corner of his eye as the Dursley's left.

Harry sighed and looked out the window. The weather was absolutely perfect. There was not a cloud in the sky and only a light breeze, just enough to ruffle your hair. If only I had my broom, I could prehaps ride for a bit, Harry though to himself. What he would give to glide across the sky, swooping down inches from the ground, then back up, again and again...

Harry shook the thought from his head as he dried the final glass and placed it in the cabinet. He looked down at the list and scratched off dishes with a pen off the counter. Only seven more to go, Harry thought, and then I can eat a full meal tonight. With a Professor! He smiled widely and quickly got back to work.

–

Several miles from Hogwarts, or where Harry was diligently working, Severus Snape sat at home, stirring a potion in one of his many cauldrons. He was always alone for the summer holiday, so when Albus Dumbledore suddenly appeared in the fireplace across the room, it came as quite a shock, causing him to drop a handful of a brownish black weed.

"Hello, Severus!" Dumbledore said cheerfully, walking out of the fireplace as the flames resumed to a bright yellow with sparks of orange.

"Hello, Headmaster. What, may I ask, do you require of me? I'm quite a busy man," Severus replied slowly through gritted teeth. He wasn't really busy, but he quite preferred to have his Manor to himself over the summer, the only guests being house-elves and the occasional visit from his Godson, Draco.

"Can't I visit one of my friends to see how he is? Never the less, I do require your assistance today, Severus. But first, what are you brewing in that cauldron?" Dumbledore inquired, his eyes twinkling mysteriously at the bubbling liquid.

"It's a healing potion I've been working on, Sir. Especially good for deep scars. I've been tweaking it for a couple hours, I've almost got it, though," he replied, picking up the dry weed and sprinkling it slowly into the cauldron. He picked up a glass spoon and stirred it three and a half times counter clockwise. The color changed from a dark blue to a bright, sparkling yellow. Snape smirked.

Dumbledore sat down on a couch next to the fire place and settled his hands in his lap. "Severus, I require a favor," he said simply. Severus looked up, his eyes meeting Dumbledore's.

"What may that be, sir?" he replied, trying to keep his voice as monotone as possible. Severus was not interested in socializing, he wanted to get back to the potion and his solitude.

"Well, Severus, I've been worried about a certain student. Harry Potter, that is," Severus suddenly looked up more interested, his eye's widening ever so slightly. Snape and Harry never got along well, so he was always happy to see the young boy getting into some type of trouble.

"We haven't heard from Harry for nearly a week. All his letters prior to that were short. I have spoken with Arthur and Molly Weasley, who said Ron only received three letters from Harry since the start of summer, each one simply saying that he was fine and not to come looking for him," Dumbledore cleared his throat and then frowned a bit.

"Severus, did you notice anything...strange, last year? With Potter?" Snape thought back to the previous year, Harry's third year at Hogwarts. Harry was never a stellar student in his class, and he noticed his performance slipping quite a bit last year, but Snape knew that was just from Potter being Potter, thinking he was above everyone else.

"No, sir. He was just being Potter. Slacking up on work, missing classes, messing up potions, trying to sleep through vital lessons...like his father, sir," Severus sneered at the very thought of James Potter, one of his worst memories from Hogwarts.

"Would you say his performance in your class had worsened from prior years?" Dumbledore questioned, his eyes hinting at the slightest bit of concern. Severus reached across his potions table for a vial of something blue and thick, shrugging.

"He was never good, to say the least. Perhaps a tad worse last year, yes, I would say he was," he said coolly, pouring a quarter of the vial into his cauldron, which now smelt like gasoline and was giving off heat.

Dumbledore remained quiet for several minutes, watching the potions teacher stir in different liquids, break twigs, and finally empty the contents of the cauldron into several medium sized containers, sealing them with cork lids. "Severus, I'd like for you to check on the condition of Potter, this evening. I have alerted his aunt and uncle that a Professor will be joining them for dinner at eight o'clock, and because everyone I have other obligations this evening, I would like you to go," Dumbledore carefully looked up from his lap at Snape.

Snape snorted under his breath as he cleared the table using a swipe of his wand. "Me, Headmaster? Why not Hagrid? Or, that man you've decided to hire for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post...Mad-Eye?" Snape snapped back, his hands beginning to quiver with anger. The last thing he planned this summer was to have to go visit Potter during his holiday.

"Severus, I believe that it would be best if you went. I trust in you completely that you actually have the best intentions of Mr. Potter in mind and you will protect him, if something seems to be off at his relative's house," Dumbledore said, and then quickly stood up, moving towards the fire place.

"Number Four, Privet Drive, in Little Whinging. They will be expected you at eight o'clock. I request that you make sure the boy is safe, that is all. Do not depute me, Severus," Dumbledore said quickly as Severus opened his mouth to protest, "I would do this myself, but I have the serious task of finding a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Snape bit his inner lip and sneered at Dumbledore as he turned around and threw a handful of black Floo powder in the fireplace. "Just make sure he is safe. Talk to his Muggle family, talk to him, and report back. Good bye," he said cheerfully, his eyes still sparkling as the old man stepped into the fire and disappear.

Snape sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no doubt that Potter was most likely his least favorite student, tying with almost all the Weasleys' and the Longbottom boy. He glided back into his bedroom, where he changed into the only set of Muggle clothes he had, plain blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Checking the clock, it was nearly seven fifteen already.

The tall man did what he could with his limp hair, parting it down the center and patting it flat, to look reasonably presentable to Harry's aunt and uncle. The dinner will only take a short time. I will eat fast, exchange a few words with both Harry and his family, and then leave. The Potter boy, once again, getting extra attention just because he is the boy who lived. Probably pampered by his Muggle aunt and uncle, Snape groaned at the thought.

Snape stepped into the fireplace and checked his watch. Seven thirty, he still had a half hour. "Privet Drive," he announced loudly after throwing down a handful of powder.

–

A loud clunk of the bird hitting the window awoke Harry with a startle. He opened his eyes and checked the time. Seven twenty. He cursed loudly and shot up. After he had finished all his chores, he had decided to put the chicken in the oven and rest his eyes, daydreaming of Quidditch and casting spells. Harry burst into a sprint at the kitchen, opening the oven and pulling out the chicken.

It wasn't completely burnt, but still mostly black on the outside. He scrapped away at the worst parts of it as fast as he could, then stuck the chicken back in the oven, turning it down, just enough to keep it warm. He checked the time. Nearly seven thirty. He still hadn't started on the green beans, and needed to wash up and change. Harry decided that covering the bruises and wiping the dried blood off his face was more important than a side dish.

He slid into a long sleeve shirt and old, ripped jeans. Everything fell loose on him, but he managed to keep his pants on with a belt, and the ends he had cut long ago. Harry dashed into the bathroom, remembering his aunt's warning about the shower. He opted for a sink wash, what he had been doing most summers since he had started at Hogwarts, for his uncle rarely let him shower.

Harry took an old towel and wet it down, wiping vigorously at the blood on his face from his uncle's beating last night. He cringed when looking at his hair. It was slightly greasy, lacking volume, and sticking limply to his head. He blamed it on the usual humidity and lack of proper shower. Harry dipped his head in the sink, rinsing it with water and scratching at this scalp to remove dead skin. When he came up, he shook his head like a dog until it wasn't dripping, and ran downstairs, three steps at a time. The clock read seven thirty, but the Dursley's were known to arrive several minutes late.

Until the front door open and his uncle stepped in, Harry worked quickly on the green beans, hoping that the smell and sounds of butter in a pan would conceal the scent of the burnt chicken.

"BOY! DID YOU DO YOUR CHORES?" his uncle screamed, slamming his eyes down on the kitchen table. Harry didn't dare turn around from the oven, adding salt and pepper to the nearly cooked green beans.

"Y-yes, sir. Just finishing the green beans, didn't want them to be cold for our guest," he replied softly, turning down the heat on the stove and finishing up the vegetable. He turned around to see Petunia, Dudley, and his uncle standing at the table. They were all wearing nice clothes, obviously to impress whichever Professor showed up.

"It's seven thirty five, he will be here in twenty five minutes. Set the table, Potter. Get the chicken out. Make sure to set two extra places, there will be five tonight," his uncle reminded him, a tad bit of anger in his voice already. Harry cringed, knowing what was coming.

Harry completed the table by putting the chicken out in the center. His uncle stopped and eyed it curiously. Harry cringed. He knows, dammit, he knows. He can see the burnt spots. Vernon took the carving knife and sliced a piece off the side, taking a bite out of it like an animal, no silverware, no manners.

His uncle swallowed it but glared at Harry. Before he knew it, a hard fist impacted his stomach roughly. Once, no, twice. Then again. Harry gasped for air and his knees buckled, falling down to the rough kitchen floor. "YOU BURNT THE DAMN CHICKEN! IT'S OVERCOOKED! CAN YOU NOT COOK A DAMN CHICKEN, YOU WORTHLESS BOY?" Vernon shouted, continuing to bombard Harry with insults whilst kicking and punching him hard.

After what seemed like a life time, but turned out to be only a few minutes, Vernon stopped and lifted Harry up by his shirt collar. Inspecting him, he had managed to miss the boy's visible skin; his face, neck, and hands. Harry was panting, his eyes watering, his entire body begging for relief. The pain would mull over, but not soon enough.

Vernon dropped Harry and stomped away, murmuring about what the boy would get after the 'wack-job' of a teacher showed up. After a couple minutes, Harry stood up and noted the time. Seven fifty. Only ten minutes, and then a Professor would be there to save him. He winced as he stumbled towards the bathroom. Petunia was standing right outside, looking carefully at him. He noted a small key of pity in her eye.

"There's dirt on your face. I've put out bandages and gauze, wrap up what you need to get through the dinner," she murmured, and then walked away. Harry stumbled in and pulled up his shirt. He choked on his appearance, then proceeded to lean over the toilet and vomit.

In several minutes, he emerged from the bathroom. He used a swish of mouthwash so his breath was presentable and some of Dudley's old cologne which he was permitted to use by his aunt. It didn't smell nice, but it was better than body odor. He had wrapped his arm in a few places, bandaged most of all his body to stop the bleeding, and suspected broken bones, maybe a few ribs as well. If Dumbledore arrived, he could say he was fighting and ask him to repair them, perhaps. Harry managed to keep all his injuries covered.

His aunt, uncle, and cousin were already sitting at the table. Dudley looked nervous, he didn't interact well with wizards. Vernon looked up, a vicious smile was already creeping across his face. "He, or she, should be here soon. Answer the door, enter them in, and smile. Welcome them. Introduce us. Sit beside Dudley. I will do the rest of the talking," Vernon barked loudly. At that moment, the door rang. 7:58, the Professor was early.

Harry limped down the hall as best he could, trying to look like he was well. His stomach hurt miserably, his legs were wobbly and weak, his arms ached, and the rest of his body was in a constant state of shaking and throbbing. He reached for the door handle and opened the door, a smile across his face, hoping to see Professor Dumbledore.

"Potter," the voice greeted him. Harry's smile vanished and he returned the sneer the Potion's teacher gave him.

A/N: I've already got most of this story written, so just rate and review and I will release more! The story gets better, I swear! Should I shorten the chapters? Make them longer? Is this easy to read? Thanks!