"Potter," the letter began, Snape's awful tone of voice making it sound worse than it probably was. Almost as soon as he had begun, though, the Potions Master broke off from reading the text. Aloud, at least. Harry was glaring so hard by then that his vision was coming and going in waves, but he was sure... well, almost sure... that Snape had swept his eyes over the rest of the letter before he folded it, the sound crackling in the dungeon, and shoved it back inside the stained envelope.

Harry's glare changed to a stare, then. An incredulous stare. What, Snape was going to pass up an opportunity to humiliate Harry Potter? Of course, Harry reflected, he didn't know what the letter said. Maybe it was something Snape couldn't read out loud in class no matter how much he could hurt Harry with it. Maybe it was from Uncle Vernon and contained some of the foul epithets Harry had grown used to hearing over the years. Phrases like "you goddamned fucking little freak" weren't exactly appropriate, were they? Not even in the dungeons.

At any rate, Snape appeared to have gone off the idea of reading the letter out loud. "Resume your tests!" he snapped as he sat behind the potions counter up front and stared at them. After that, not a sound did they hear except the scratching of quills until one more barked command came ringing through the air. "Pass in your papers!"

Harry's lips twisted as he complied. Of course his grades in Potions were almost always awful, thanks to Snape hovering over him like a crazed bat, taunting him until he could hardly remember which cauldron was his. But this test was bound to set a new record. Could you get a score below zero? It shouldn't be possible, but if your answers were stupid enough, Harry reasoned, Snape might take off sufficient points to manage it.

He began to pile away his schoolwork, wondering why he was even bothering to continue in Potions, anyway. So what if his O.W.L., graded by an unbiased scorer, had been Outstanding? That didn't make any difference to the likes of Snape, and if Harry had thought that past years were bad, well, he just hadn't known how mean and awful Snape could get, had he? Now he did. Snape was determined to get even with Harry for that pensieve incident; it didn't even matter to the man that Harry had apologised at the time, and meant it, or that he'd never breathed a word of what he'd seen to anyone... well, except Sirius.

About the only reason he was still in Potions was because he needed it to enter the Auror's programme, and whatever Snape wanted to do to him in class, he couldn't mess up Harry's N.E.W.T. scores. Unlike class tests, official wizarding exams were graded by somebody other than hook-nosed, greasy-haired, just plain mean Potions Masters.

He was just turning toward the door, his school bag draped over one shoulder, when the summons came. "Stay behind, Mr Potter."

Harry reluctantly turned back, catching Ron and Hermione's glances. He shook his head a bit when they looked as though they might hang back to be on hand. Snape was wise to that trick. Might as well just face him down and get the whole thing over with.

"Sir?"

Snape looked up from the exams he was stacking, his features unreadable for all his dark eyes remained intense. Before he spoke, though, he warded the doors with a hissed Silencio, waving his wand in an arc that encompassed all the cracks around the heavy wooden frames. "Aren't you forgetting something, Mr Potter?"

Harry could have scratched his head, he was so baffled. Then it came to him. "Oh, you mean the letter?"

The Potions Master's gaze grew even more intense, if such a thing were possible, but strangely, his voice went soft, and not in that menacing way he sometimes used. He sounded almost... sympathetic, though Harry was positive that couldn't be the case. "Yes, I mean the letter, you idiot child. Why haven't you asked to see the Headmaster about this?"

Harry swallowed, not really knowing what to answer. See the Headmaster? Why on earth should he do that? What did the blasted letter say, anyway?

"Er... I didn't really feel that was called for, sir," he finally offered, then stepped back suddenly when Snape stood to hover over him.

"What did you say?"

"I... er... well, it just seemed like, er..."

"Stop your blathering," Snape suddenly commanded, staring straight down into his eyes. "You're making less sense than usual, Potter, and believe me, that is saying something significant."

Harry just stared back, determined not to admit to the truth that he'd never even read the stupid letter.

Snape gave a long-suffering sigh, and only then did Harry recall what a skilled Legilimens the man was. Even without a wand, or a spoken spell, he'd caught enough of Harry's thoughts to draw his own conclusions. Unfortunately, those conclusions were all too accurate.

"What an ungrateful brat you are," Snape remarked, the comment delivered with level precision, not the biting sarcasm Harry usually got from him. Snape didn't sound like he was trying to make him angry now, he just sounded like he was stating facts. Depressing facts. "A letter from your relatives delivered on Tuesday, and here is it Friday, and you've yet to so much as read it."

"How do you know when I got it?" Harry hotly demanded. "For all you know, it came at lunch today and I haven't had time."

"Credit me with some powers of observation, Mr Potter. You were holding it in your hand the day you commented that I was a 'slimy excuse for a teacher.'"

Harry gaped, then recovered himself enough to hold his hand out. He wished it wouldn't shake. It was ridiculous that he could single-handedly defeat a Basilisk, yet quail before this man. Then again, words could cut deeper than fangs, especially Snape's poisonous words. If there was one thing the Potions Master knew inside and out,  it was the art of the insult. "Can I have my letter back, sir?"

"An apology is in order, first," Snape imperiously commanded, crossing his arms. "For that remark."

"Oh yeah, right," Harry murmured, his back taut with resentment. Snape insulted him all the time. When had the professor ever apologised? But if it would get him his letter back, he could do it. "Sorry, sir."

"Like your potions, barely passable," Snape commented. "Ten more points from Gryffindor. All right then, about your letter,  Potter. Do you ever plan to read it?"

Harry didn't see what business that was of Snape's, but he also didn't see the point of another argument, or losing more points. "Yeah, right. All right, yes. Fine, whatever."

"I don't believe you," Snape announced, those eyes that could see right through minds piercing him with some sort of dark anger that Harry really didn't understand. "You may have it back on condition that you read it now, in my presence."

Harry clenched his fists. "What's it to you, sir, whether I read my mail or not?"

"Disappointed it's not fan mail, Potter?"

"So much for your powers of observation," Harry retorted, "sir. If you had significant ones, you'd notice that I hate that vapid stuff people send me."

"Let's be clear, Potter. If you won't read your own post, I shall read it to you."

"Oh, just give it over," Harry sighed, feeling defeated. If he wanted anything less than to read the Dursleys' letter, it was to listen to Snape's sarcastic commentary about it. "Fine, all right? I'll read it."

Snape handed him the inky envelope then, and sat down and watched carefully as Harry wandered to a free desk and dealt with the letter.

His hands shook as he took the letter out and smoothed it flat. Even when it was lying there before him, and he was staring at the words, he had the devil's own time getting started reading. Deep down, he didn't want to know what the Dursleys had in store for him, but there was no avoiding it, now.

Sighing, his brows puckering with reluctance, Harry began to read.

Potter,  the letter began.

Petunia says she doesn't know where your freak school is, or we'd have sent this the way normal people send post. Arabella Figg heard us talking about needing to reach you, though, and offered us an owl. We never knew she was one of those. Bet you knew, though, and didn't tell us, did you, boy? There ought to be a law.

Get back to Surrey, Potter. Your aunt's much worse. She's in hospital now; the doctors say it doesn't look good. I don't care if you come on that freak train, or if you have to ride a damned broomstick or something, you get yourself back here. If you know what's good for you, you'll make it fast, and you won't bring a single one of those freaks you associate with along. Petunia doesn't need to see anything like that. It's bad enough she has to see you.

Vernon Dursley

Harry looked up then, not knowing what to feel. It was probably wrong to be glad that Aunt Petunia was ill. Yeah, it was definitely wrong. He was supposed to be upset, at least. But he wasn't. Well, at least he hadn't sunk so low as to be happy about it. Not even the littlest bit, he told himself, swallowing back a rush of something horribly shameful.

Snape drew in a sharp breath, then it seemed he deliberately steadied his breathing. "Just how ill is your aunt, Mr Potter?"

"Don't know," Harry admitted, shrugging. "First I've heard of it."

Snape began speaking in his I-can't-believe-a-human-can-be-so-dim voice, each word delivered slowly and enunciated with maddening precision. "What does she have?"

"I told you, I don't know!" Harry retorted, a little impatiently. "Listen, sir, I'm going to be late for Transfiguration if you don't dismiss me, now. May I leave?"

Snape looked absolutely thunderstruck, just before all that astonishment converted itself to burning rage. "Transfiguration! You're still not going to ask to see the Headmaster, you gibbering fool? You don't have the slightest idea what's at stake here, do you? You should have been gone on Tuesday; it may be too late already."

Somewhere in the middle of all that, Snape had grabbed his forearm. Harry tried to shake him off, but Snape only gripped him all the more fiercely. Fed up, Harry finally yelled, "What do you care if I go see her or not? It's my own personal business if my family doesn't give a flip if I live or die and I feel the same--"

Snape leaned down, practically spitting with fury. "Your personal business, is it? If your aunt dies, the wards protecting you fall, Potter! We might like to at least be aware that such a thing has happened, you selfish brat, so that we can make other arrangements to keep you safe and sane. Or do you really think that Neville Longbottom is going to rid the world of the Dark Lord?"

Harry felt like he would fall over, but that Snape's fierce grip kept him upright. "Dumbledore told you about the wards, about the prophecy?"

"The Headmaster and I have few secrets. Now, as I don't trust you further than I could throw you, Mr Potter, I believe we'll both go the headmaster to arrange your departure."

"But if the wards are in danger of falling, surely I should stay right here?" Harry pleaded desperately.

"I do believe you are the most spoiled, egocentric, thoughtless child I've ever had the misfortune to know," Snape replied. "Your aunt is dying, Mr Potter. Apparently that means less than nothing to you, but your family has requested you go see her, and that you will do, like it or not."

"I can't believe you care if I see my dying aunt!"

"Quite correct," Snape confirmed, finally letting go of Harry's arm. "What I care about, Mr Potter, is that you don't irrevocably alienate what little remains on this earth of your mother's blood."

"You mean my cousin Dudley?" Harry gasped. "But you know what he's like! I mean, you saw, over and over, last year! You know, during the Occlumency lessons--"

"Do not call to mind any incidents of last year, Potter, particularly not those incidents!"

Harry mentally stepped back, realizing that it wasn't such a good idea to bring up anything that might remind Snape about how Harry had sneaked a look in that pensieve. "All right, sorry," he muttered, then spoke louder. "But Dudley? You have to be joking. He's not going to participate in any warding, I can tell you that. He'd like to see me dead, him and my uncle both. God only knows why my aunt went along, she hates me just as much--"

"You're hysterical," Snape announced. "Enough, Potter. We're going to the Headmaster to show him this letter, is that clear? And you're going to go to Surrey and beg your family's forgiveness for whatever you did to offend them, is that clear? I don't care if you have to plead on bended knee, Potter, you will be warded by your mother's blood, and if that means making peace with your cousin, then so be it! Now, come along!"

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, but he might as well not have bothered. The dungeon doors were flying open by then, the Silencio spell sizzling as its vapours dissolved, and Snape was dragging him down the hall toward the stairs.

From behind a carved granite column, Draco Malfoy smirked.