Happy Days in Hell

Chapter 1 - The Bastards' Game

When Snape Apparated into the circle of Voldemort, he was really surprised. Even though he had to cross the Anti-Apparition Wards of Hogwarts, he was one of the first Death Eaters to arrive that afternoon.

There were only Avery and Rome, a young man from France, a new follower of the "Dark Arts" - as he liked to use this expression. Snape sneered. He couldn't help but think that all this massacring and terrorising they did was anything but 'Art'. He hadn't thought that, not in the very beginning... However, he didn't know if there had been a beginning of all this. From his early childhood, Dark Magic had always been present in his life. He had always been drawn to it like almost every member of his family except for Quietus, who... No. He didn't want to think of him. Not here. Not now.

Instead, he should figure out why he was summoned again. It had to be something important, and surely not anything to do with potions. Yesterday evening he had received the list of the potions he had to prepare for the next weeks. If the Dark Lord wanted another urgent potion, he simply would have sent an owl and that was it. So this meeting would be about something darker and more horrible than potions for killing and torturing.

Suddenly, he spotted other Death Eaters appearing in the nearby forest, next to Nightmare Manor where the meeting was taking place this time.

Being a Death Eater meant that he never knew where he would Apparate in the request to the Dark Lord. When he felt the summoning and Apparated he always found himself in the circle without knowing the place in advance. This was very safe for Voldemort against the occasional spies among his followers, who this way weren't able to inform the ministry or other wizard authorities like Dumbledore, or the Aurors about the hidden meeting points. Now the meeting point was Nightmare Manor, one of the most hidden places of the dark wizards. Snape didn't know where it was precisely; although he had been there many times. It had to be somewhere in North England or Scotland. He and Dumbledore had tried desperately to find it many times during the last 14 years, but their researches were unsuccessful, though knowing the precise place would have been very important for many reasons. Nightmare Manor was the main prison of Voldemort and all the enemies he didn't want to kill immediately were brought here to have some sadistic fun with and be tortured.

Snape was sure that after the little Potter had defeated the Dark Lord 14 years ago, many people had remained in Nightmare Manor and had died there helplessly even though there had not been anybody to torture or kill them. They had been left there because nobody was able to find the place.

The place of fear, pain, screaming, crying, trembling and dying. The place of the most dreadful tortures that had ever existed in the world.

He hated this place. He hated it from the bottom of his heart, hated it more than any other place. He loathed it more than the ministry's dungeons, the place of the 'Light' tormenting, more than... 'Stop,' he said to himself. 'That's enough.'

All in all it possibly meant that this meeting would be one of the torture sessions, and Snape hoped strongly that he would be able to slip away before it would begin. He didn't want to participate in it. He detested and feared it, and, fortunately, he wasn't usually compelled to participate in it for various reasons. One of them was that he was the Dark Lord's personal Potions Master and, generally, that was enough for escaping.

There were times when even he was compelled to join to these "games" nevertheless. Whenever Voldemort decided to test their loyalty or when the victim was a very important person. His loyalty, however, had been already tested (he didn't allow himself to remember that test); so today, most likely, he would have to face an important enemy of the dark side. Who on earth could be so important? He would have to warn Dumbledore as soon as he got back to Hogwarts.

In ten minutes, the full inner circle (almost 20 people) was present. Everybody stood in place waiting for the Dark Lord to invite them inside the building. 'Very strange, why the full circle? Did Voldemort take Dumbledore?' he wondered. No, impossible. When he had left Hogwarts Dumbledore had been still there, unharmed. Then again... who on earth had been taken then? The idiot Fudge? Or some important Auror? Perhaps Moody?

Oh it would be fun. He would be able to cast some nasty spell on the man after all things he had done to him. The trials in the Ministry's building... Moody's 'light arts' torture sessions... The forced Veritaserum, the Tormenta curses (the Light version of Cruciatus, forgivable, yes, but not at all better than its unforgivable twin tormenting curse, the Cruciatus) thrown on him because he hadn't been considered a man, just a filthy Death Eater... Those days and nights without sleep, just to break him, and after that the six months in Azkaban... Six! It had seemed to be a lifetime. He hadn't been able to feel anything after it all. Anything. His feelings had left him there, perhaps forever. Moody had done it to him, the paranoid old bastard. He shuddered. If the new prisoner was indeed Moody, he wouldn't show mercy towards him. No. Never.

When he had seen him last September entering the door of the Great Hall, he had almost lost consciousness. No, Albus couldn't be so heartless towards him to allow the Auror to be in the same building he had been!

He shuddered again. No. It had been Barty and not the old bastard. Yes, bastard but not old. A young and dark-versioned bastard, now worse than dead. Kissed by a Dementor. Ugly way to die.

And about bastards: he was now waiting for the Greatest Bastard of the present world to introduce his new captive to his loyal servants - bastard-servants.

Yes, he was a bastard too. Everybody on this earth was a bastard, except for Dumbledore.

So, let the Bastards' Game begin!

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At that moment Voldemort exited the Manor and approached his patiently waiting servants.

"Come. Join me in the Main Hall!" he yelled theatrically. "Our guest is waiting for all of you now!"

Something in the air was so cold... Severus pulled his cloak tighter around him and shuddered. The big, black open gates of the Manor were like an enormous mouth trying to swallow everything and everyone entering them. Severus most definitely wanted to be at home.

Their expressionless masks were flickering in the torchlight as they finally entered the Main Hall.

In the centre of the immense room was a child. Quite a small child with thin, messy dark hair, and round glasses.

Snape froze in the doorframe.

No. A child. No. He loathed torturing a child. In classes yes. With words, sarcasm, detentions, taking off house points why not? But. But physically? Or with curses? The mere idea made his stomach churn in unease, and he had to struggle against his attacking memories too.

He realised in an instant that all the others were now standing in a circle around the boy, he was the only one missing from the circle, as he stood frozen in the open door. He sighed deeply and approached the circle with steadied steps. As he stood in his place, the boy lifted his head.

Snape froze again.

No. It could't be true!

The boy was Harry Potter.

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Damn it!

How?

Why?

What?

Damn it! Damn it, damn it...What the hell was the boy doing here? He should be at home with his family watching the telly or playing idiot games with his friends or anything... He stared at the prat in total disbelief, his thoughts were racing in his mind.

'It cannot be true. Just cannot. I am dreaming. I will wake up in ten minutes screaming in my dungeons and I can have a glass of whisky to calm down after this nightmare...' he hoped as he repeated it again and again. A glass of whisky? No. It wouldn't be enough. He would have the whole bottle after he awoke!

But the awakening didn't want to arrive.

For an instant, he thought that the boy recognised him, as their eyes locked. But after a moment the boy turned his face from him to Voldemort.

Snape was slightly surprised. He did not see fear in those green eyes. He did not see horror. He could see only pain and resignation.

He was shocked. He didn't understand what was going on. The boy had been captured by Voldemort or by his Death Eaters, it was clear. But how? When? And why didn't Albus know it?

What could he do in this situation? How could he let the boy escape? There were Anti-Apparition Spells around Nightmare Manor too. He couldn't simply take the boy and Disapparate. It was impossible. But he had to find out something to save this foolish child that was mixed up again in an impossible situation.

He sighed. Whatever he would do his role as a spy would be over. This thought suddenly caused him great relief. He felt himself free at once. But what could he do with this newly found freedom in this damned situation? There was no hope for them at all.

Perhaps he would leave the boy to be tortured and killed. If he got involved in this mess, they would die together without any benefit. If he didn't do anything, he could retain his role and help the Light Side and Dumbledore.

Then again, he couldn't believe there would be any hope for the Light Side if Potter died. No. Potter must live. There was Lily... and his oath to her... and Quietus's name... It all meant that he had to help the little bastard. Yes. Potter was a bastard too because he got himself involved in this damned, bloody situation. It had been hard enough to keep up the façade of a loyal Death Eater without causing too many troubles with his conscience and now...

All in all it meant that the turncoat-time would be over for him. But he had to be wise. Potter would have to live. Therefore he had to save him by finding the proper way to get him out of the Anti-Apparition Wards of the Manor, and he had to care for himself too. The boy didn't know how to Disapparate and Apparate. He needed him.

Snape's eyes began to look over the Hall: the doors, the windows. He knew the building pretty well, he had a little room there to make potions. His laboratory was not in the dungeons but on the third floor - how ridiculous. He and the third floor! Here the dungeons were the prison.

The prison. The most loathed prison in the world. Or at least one of them. Cells and torture chambers with endless pain. He knew them. He knew how an imprisoned person looked like after some weeks spent in there. Life was like an extended Cruciatus there. If it seemed to be a pleasurable thing to Voldemort to torment somebody there for months, he did. He liked breaking people before killing them. He didn't care if it took a lot of time or not. The Dark Lord always seemed to have lots of time.

But how could he rescue Potter from this damned building?

Suddenly, he realised that Voldemort was speaking and noticed that the boy's legs were bound. He could not run away as he did in the graveyard a month ago when he had escaped the Dark Lord after his 'resurrection.' His wand was missing too.

And now Potter was just standing there, like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered, and he had seemingly accepted his fate. Snape could see in his eyes, that were locked on his again, pain, there was only pain in those green eyes nothing more. Pain. Pain like in those black eyes... Pain in these green eyes... Just pain...

As if they were the same eyes. But how? How could a pair of green eyes seem identical to a pair of black? And then again... they seemed identical, or at least their expression seemed identical.

He was terrified. The boy felt just pain.

The resemblance... standing in the circle without fear, looking at him with endless pain caused not by the torture, but the disappointment, and Snape wanted to scream as he remembered somebody else.

A boy standing in the very same place, in the centre of the circle without fear and weakness. Just in pain... like it was so long ago... but it was so clear... those black eyes... He could never forget them. Nevermore said the raven in his head. Nevermore.

But the Greatest Bastard was still speaking.

"You have three rounds to have fun with him. After that I will kill him. I, alone. So you have to be very careful not to kill him before my turn!" the reptile-like monster said smirking in satisfaction.

'Three rounds. It is at least two hours if I know them,' Snape thought. He saw Voldemort drawing back to sit in his dark throne-like chair.

"Let the show begin!" he yelled for his Death Eaters.

And the show began.

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Snape tried desperately to find some solution to save the boy, but as the minutes flew by, he could not find any. Any at all. The boy would die and he would die too. The temptation came again. He could leave the boy to be killed. He had no other real choice anyway: the boy would die alone or they would die together. But the latter was meaningless. Albus, the Order needed him.

And then again they need the boy too. And he took an oath to that damned girl!

What a mess... What a bloody situation! Worse than the nightmares he'd had to face almost every night for about two decades. He wouldn't have believed it could be worse. Never. And now, this situation was worse than every other situation or nightmare he had been mixed up in his life!

He was almost shaking as he watched the show. Many shouts in Latin: Seco! Frango! Contundo! Flagello! Diffringo! Uro! Accompanied with supplements in which the others specified the part of the body they wanted to harm.

Potter screamed and writhed and jerked and shrieked and winced, he had only short pauses between, which the Death Eaters gave him. His pain-filled voice seemed to fill the whole building. This was just the first round... And there would be the second, the round of physical abuse. The mere idea made Snape sick.

His turn was near. His turn to torture the prat he had hated for years, the prat he had humiliated, ridiculed and shamed before his mates. The prat he had tried to get expelled in every way he had known.

The boy he had protected without thinking, the boy he had wanted to survive every year in that damned school because he was the boy he had sworn to care for. Perhaps it hadn't been the most willingly given care, but it was the best care he could manage nevertheless.

When his turn arrived, that very moment, he realised that he was petrified, unable to lift his wand, to speak, to open his mouth. Unable to move. To breathe.

The boy lay on the floor bleeding. Suffering. But he didn't cry. He didn't plead for mercy. He seemed exhausted but he was not broken. Suddenly, Snape felt respect for the boy. He had been sure that Potter would break. He was just a 14 or 15 years old boy, wasn't he? Boys like him were expected to break, to give up, weren't they? Then again, Potter was not broken. At least not yet. And his gaze...The Potions Master shuddered. This gaze was again too familiar. He had seen that gaze years before... Tears filled his eyes.

What was he supposed to do now? He desperately needed time. If he really intended to figure out something, he had to curse Potter. Now. Immediately.

Snape turn his head away and whispered "Tormento" pointing his wand to the boy.

"Good idea using the Light Side curses," Voldemort laughed. "Let's show Mr Potter how a Light Torment Session looks like!"

Snape loathed himself. His feelings suffocated him.

The screams of the boy filled the Hall. Again and again. Snape wanted to die, right then and there. No, he couldn't do this for the second time. No. Impossible.

He knew precisely what kind of pain filled the boy's body.

As he lowered his wand, the screaming stopped. He turned his head again back to the boy, and their gazes locked again. And the damned prat nodded. Snape's heart sank. Now, he was absolutely sure the boy had recognised him. He felt sick at this realisation; he felt dizzy and nauseous. He did not want the boy to die with the thought that he had betrayed him.

Well. He really hated the little prat. Before, in the school. But during the moments of torment and screaming his hatred had dissipated, and had gone for good. He was not able to hate him any more.

He too wanted to scream aloud as the torture went on.

The second round... Whips, kicks, fists... After the first ten Death Eaters he was barely able to recognise the boy. Bruises, wounds, blood, broken bones - only the green gaze locked to his black after every turn showed him that the boy was conscious, he was still alive. Why did Potter do the same as that black-eyed boy so long ago? Why?

Why did the boy look into his eyes again and again? He wasn't pleading for mercy, for pity, for care. He seemed nevertheless searching for Snape's eyes. Just as... NO!!

Snape desperately wanted this whole Bastard's Game to end, he wanted to go home, to lock himself in his rooms and to drink whisky until he passed out, and after that ten litres of Dreamless Sleep potion and to sleep and sleep and sleep and not to wake up ever again. Never.

He wanted to run away. But... but...

What would he say to Dumbledore? How could he enter his office to tell the Headmaster the truth? 'Potter has died and I was one of his tormentors, his killers, so sorry,' he would have to apologise. Would he say to Albus, 'Oh I used only forgivable light-sided curses, like Tormenta'?

How could he continue his life after this event? How could he teach other children? He had always been terrible towards them, an insufferable, mean git, and a real bastard, but at least bearable. If Potter died he would be thousand times worse. How could he teach Weasley and Granger? How could he look into their eyes afterwards?

What would the broken oath do to him? Would he be able to sleep any more? To eat? To breathe? To think?

He could never escape from his past. Almost twenty years were not enough to repent for what he had done before. If he let Potter be killed he would never be able to live. He was sure.

It was his turn again. The brat, the insufferable, little, damned brat was again searching for his gaze; although Snape was not sure if Potter was able to see any more.

He lowered his head and took a tiny bottle out of his pocket. Fortunately, he was not expected to use his fist, leg, or fingers or a twig, lash, belt, knife, razor, dagger, or cane for physical abuse. Rather, he was expected to show them an interesting potion, but it had to be something spectacular for it was a show directed and enjoyed by the Dark Lord himself. The Bastards' Game. And Voldemort wanted to see the pain it caused.

For an instant, Snape thought that he would drink the potion rather than give it to Potter. It was a new and immensely painful potion. He always carried torturing potions with himself for occasions like this. But he had never meant the boy to suffer it. But he needed time, more than anything, so he had to do it.

He stepped next to the boy, kneeled and opened Potter's mouth with his left hand. With his right, he suddenly poured the contents of the vial into the boy's mouth, forced him to swallow it and stepped back into his place in the circle.

For a moment there was deep silence. Then the boy's eyes widened at the extremely harsh pain and began to scream so loudly that everybody had to cover their ears.

The Bone Game Potion. In that moment Snape loathed himself more than any other time in his life. And it was not an easy feeling considering the fact that he had always deeply loathed himself.

The Bone Game Potion was a perfect part of the Bastard's Game. It crushed all of the victim's bones into tiny pieces, causing insufferable pain with every little movement, like breathing, and afterwards, turned them back into their normal state with the pain of a specially painful and rapid Skele-Gro. It didn't cause any irreparable harm, but it was as painful as the Cruciatus. Snape did know. He had tried it himself.

The boy would never trust him after that. But then again, there would be no time to forgive and forget, nor for apologies. Potter would die. And he, Severus Nobilus Snape, would die with him. It would be a very amazing and spectacular performance, in which he would play the part of the bad guy and Potter would be the good guy. But it wouldn't matter. Not at all.

As the screaming halted in the hall, the boy's eyes remained firmly shut. Only his chest showed that he was still alive.

"Wonderful, professor, I am amazed!" Voldemort's eyes glittered in satisfaction. "I can't believe that your imagination has so evolved during the years you spent with that Muggle-loving old fool."

For a short instant Snape was sure he would point his wand at the bastard and kill him immediately. No! But before he could move his hand towards his belt the show went on.

The third round arrived. And Snape didn't know yet what to do, how to save the torn child.

And he had to think about another curse for tormenting. The Dark Lord would punish him with a well-pronounced Cruciatus if he used the same curse again, he didn't like to get bored. But what could he use? He didn't want to hurt the boy more. But he had to say something. Perhaps the Knife Curse? It hurt a lot but its effects didn't last for long. Ten seconds, no more. Or twenty at the very most.

It was his turn again.

"Culter," he said turning his gaze again from the boy and his wand trembled in his hand.

The screaming was higher and harder than before. It lasted for almost a minute. How? Why? WHAT IN THE HELL was going on? He attempted to stop the curse but he couldn't. And then he recalled that the Knife Curse together with the Bone-breaking Curse used by Nott before would cause serious after-effects for hours. Dear Merlin, he could not do this any more! He wanted to die in shame. Right there. In that moment. He felt as if he was dying with every millisecond of the endless screaming.

"Snape! You are really... excellent today," he heard Voldemort's words through the still loud screeching. "Better than ever."

He nodded as he stared at the little, writhing body in front of his eyes.

Abruptly, the boy's voice quieted. Potter didn't move.

'Oh, no,' whispered Snape as the next Death Eater lifted his wand.

"Stop!" Voldemort yelled. "I want to kill him," he added as he stood up and stepped forward.

In that moment, Snape was absolutely desperate. Voldemort would kill the boy, he knew, and he just couldn't let him.

Voldemort stood next to the lifeless body and with a kick turned Potter onto his back.

"Ennervate," he pointed his wand to the boy.

He didn't move. Snape was frozen. What did he do to him?

"I know that you are conscious, Potter," Voldemort said in a cold, ruthless voice. "And I want a short talk with you before I kill you."

The boy opened his eyes. Snape was relieved for an instant. He was alive!

"But I do not intend to listen to you, Tom. I don't care what you want to say. Not at all. Kill me and let's finish this show."

Snape could hardly hear the boy's words. Potter's voice was totally hoarse after two hours of screaming. It was weak. But he was not!

"As you wish," Voldemort smiled evilly and lifted his wand. But Snape was faster.

"Stupefy!" he yelled pointing his wand at the Dark Lord and stepped closer to the boy to help him up as fast as he could.

But the curse was blocked by the Dark Lord's shield. Shield? Snape froze. SHIELD? Oh, no...

The next moment he lay on the floor, stupefied by his ex-fellows.

"So, Professor Snape! What an expected surprise!' the Greatest Bastard smirked viciously with an inhuman twinkle in his eyes. "Finally, I have found the leak - you as I suspected it too. Didn't I, Lucius?"

One of the Death Eaters nodded and Voldemort went on.

"I suspected that it had been you, faithful servant of the mudblood-lover Dumbledore, the stupid follower of the Light Side after a little torture by the Aurors and six months in Azkaban... I can't understand you," Voldemort lifted his gaze from him in thought. "You were always so strong. And you betrayed me nevertheless. I am amazed. Today for a short time I believed I had been wrong. Those curses and the potion! Have you enjoyed them, Potter?" he turned his eyes to the boy.

Potter didn't seem to notice the man's words and as the Potions Master looked at the child, his eyes again locked on Snape's. The man felt a sudden urge to say something to the boy before dying. He reached his hand to his face and took off the mask. They were just staring at each other without a word for long moments. Snape heard Voldemort's words but couldn't understand them.

He just watched the boy, his eyes were filled with obvious pain.

The boy would die. Snape was sure. And he would die alongside with Potter, with The-Boy-He-Hated-For-Long-Years. And now he couldn't understand his previous feelings. Why had he hated him, how could he hate this boy? How could he be such a stubborn, bloody idiot to hate him just because of some old, stupid pranks made by his father and his mates? His already dead father. Who had saved his life. Well, it had been a self-saving action too, regarding all the facts, but then again, James Potter had saved his life years ago. And Lily... He had hated the son of Lily for four years. Why? How? He couldn't answer his own questions.

He was staring at the boy, the torn, dying boy and felt ashamed. Tormenting curses thrown by him... Bone Game Potion... and Potter didn't seem to be angry with him. He seemed to accept him as he accepted his fate, his impending death.

Snape couldn't help but reach out his hand and touched carefully the boy's face with his fingers.

"Sorry... So sorry... For everything," he said.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment.

"Thank you," he muttered.

Thin cords shot from Voldemort's wand this time, and in next moment Snape was bound.

"Snape, your time is over. I think it is your turn Mr Potter," the Dark Lord said and muttered another command. "Erecto."

The next moment Harry stood on his feet, though a little bit dizzily, face-to-face with Voldemort.

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Snape just stared at the boy who was standing in front of his enemy calmly, without fear. Voldemort seemed angry as he examined the young man standing before him without horror, humility or pleas for mercy. Without showing weakness!

Yes, the boy wasn't broken. He had been tortured and physically abused but his soul had remained his as he had accepted the fact that he was going to die.

Snape, again, felt ashamed. The boy was very brave. As brave as his father had been. As brave as that black-eyed boy, who had been in this very same place. Braver than he had ever been at Potter's age.

"I think it's time to kill me, isn't it, Tom?" he asked suddenly in a stern but quiet voice. "You can finally terminate the work you failed at 14 years ago. Now, there isn't any weak muggleborn woman to prevent you from doing it."

Silence fell in the hall. The wrath of the Dark Lord became almost tangible in the very air, but the boy didn't become scared.

Then Voldemort calmed himself suddenly. An evil grin appeared on his face.

"Very brave, Mr. Potter. Really, very Gryffindor of you. But now, I won't kill you. No, I have another idea for you to die. A longer way of dying. I have time. I'll wait for you to beg me to kill you without stupid observations. Or... perhaps I will give you another choice, a way to live instead of dying. I'll give you the time and the chance to think about it. And naturally I will... help you in my own way to reach the right decision."

"I will never trade my soul, Tom," Harry answered firmly. But Voldemort didn't care about his words.

"We'll see, Mr. Potter," he turn around and glared at Snape. "And what shall I do with you my dear professor? If I remember correctly you are not as brave as this young man next to you, are you? So what about joining him for a while? Two-three weeks, perhaps more? It depends on... you know what. Perhaps you can convince Mr. Potter of the real wisdom of giving up."

Snape's eyes widened.

"The dungeons..."

"Precisely, professor. And" he lifted his gaze to his followers "I think we can begin, but be careful! Do not to kill them. Not until I give you permission," Voldemort smirked and turned away leaving the room.

The circle of Death Eaters tightened around them. The boy collapsed next to Snape as the Erecto was over. He couldn't catch him because of the bindings. They lay there helplessly. And Snape knew that this was only the beginning.

When the bindings were taken off of him he checked Potter. He was again unconscious. So - this would be his turn. Probably longer and harder than the boy's had been. He was a traitor after all.

Unfortunately, it took one and a half hours to lose consciousness. His ex-fellows were really cautious about it.

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"Vernon, the boy hasn't arrived yet!" Petunia said nervously to her husband.

They were watching the telly after dinner.

"Ummm..." Vernon muttered, his eyes were fixed on the screen.

"Vernon!" Petunia repeated.

"Well... what am I supposed to do then? He will arrive in the middle of the night, I am sure. He is ashamed," Vernon responded calmly. "Or his freak friends took him away again. Fortunately. Oh, see that dog!" he pointed abruptly at the screen. "It's just like Marge's!"

Petunia shuddered. She hated animals, especially Marge's old, ugly, mean dog. And she was worried.

"Vernon, every time they've taken him they've always informed us... somehow. But today... It's midnight and..."

"And...?" Vernon felt angry. He was not interested in the boy's stupid disappearances. "If he wanted to go away, he did. And I want to see the film."

"But we are his guardians, Vernon. If anything happens to him they'll punish us!" she cried the last word loudly.

Vernon jerked and sighed.

"Right. But I don't want to look for him all over the whole city. You can do it if you want, but I won't!"

"I think we should call the police," Petunia whispered.

"Oh! A good idea!" said a grinning Vernon. "I hope if they find him they'll keep him for some days, don't you think?"

"I don't know," she answered hesitantly.

"What's the matter?" Vernon asked suddenly as he noticed Petunia's strange tone.

"I don't know," she said again but after a while she added. "I have a very strange feeling. A very bad feeling, you know... I felt it long ago..."

Vernon stared at her. Petunia was beside herself. Her hands were shaking, her face was pale.

"What... are you all right?" Vernon asked cautiously.

Petunia shook her head.

"No, something has happened. Something like on the day I first went to the cinema with you..."

Vernon's voice trembled as he managed to speak.

"Do you... do you think that...?"

Petunia nodded.

A long silence fell in the room. They stared at each other in horror. Finally, Vernon stood up.

"I will call the police. Now."