Uncle Vernon cracked open first one eye, then the other, and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, saved his talking until he was fully awake. Even then, all he said at first was, "Took you long enough, boy."

Harry flushed, unwilling to admit that he'd ignored the letter. Instead, his glance passing over Aunt Petunia again, he quietly murmured, "How long has she been... er, how long has she had...?"

Uncle Vernon stared at him like he'd grown six heads overnight. "How long?" he gasped, lumbering to his feet and marching over to tower over his nephew. "How long, indeed! Are you blind and deaf as well as just plain stupid? You sound as though you don't even know what ails her!"

"But I don't," Harry quietly pointed out, rising to his own feet. Some part of him was aware of Snape getting up, too, but that only made the sensation of being threatened even worse. Bit stupid, really; he knew Snape was there to protect him. He even knew that Snape had saved his life, way back in first year.

Trouble was, Snape had never once acted like he was glad he'd saved Harry at all. In fact, Harry suspected he deeply regretted it. Or would, if not for the prophecy. Yeah, that awful prophecy did make Harry sort of necessary to the wizarding world, but it still didn't mean Snape was happy Harry hadn't fallen to his death.

"You don't know what's wrong with her, you say?" Vernon spat. "I suppose you're going to claim now that you don't remember this past summer at all!"

"I remember that we stayed out of each other's way for once," Harry returned in level tones. He thought better than to add that it had been his best summer yet.

"Hmph. Well, there is that, I suppose," Vernon admitted, rubbing a fat hand against the back of his neck in a seesawing motion. A series of loud creaking noises ensued as he stretched his neck first one way, then the other. "Maybe I didn't tell you at that. We were all of us just so upset, and we didn't know what you might take it into your head to do if you knew Petunia was under the weather. Don't think I've forgotten Dudley and the python, or the damned car that broke the bars off your window, let alone the time you blew up your aunt or when your stupid friends messed with Dudley's tongue or you summoned demons to kill him--" For a moment, he appeared to have lost his train of thought.

One more glance in Harry's direction gave Vernon renewed focus, though, because he'd finally noticed Snape. "Who's this, then?" he snarled, grabbing his nephew by the forearm and roughly shaking him. His voice became a low, furious growl. "I told you, I was clear as day, no freaks, you worthless little snot! Just seeing you will probably be the end of poor Petunia, the shape she's in, but it better not be, you hear me? 'Cause you'll be next, boy. Don't think I don't mean it!"

Harry saw Snape stiffen slightly, but all he did in reaction was extend a hand in greeting. "This is Remus Lupin, Uncle Vernon," he rushed to say, wiggling his arm a bit until it was let go. "And he's not... well, he's not like me, all right? He's a Muggle. I mean... he's a normal person."

"Didn't know there were any normal folk up at that school of his," Vernon muttered suspiciously, though he did take the other man's hand and pump it up and down as though testing Snape's mettle.

"He's a full professor," Harry interjected, knowing that his uncle had a tendency to respect titles. "Of, er..." Here he lowered his voice a bit and launched into his plan. "They call it Muggle Studies. See, he's supposed to help people like me learn to act, er... less weird. That's actually a huge part of the curriculum at my school," he added, deciding that he might as well lay it on thick. The whole idea here, after all, was to placate the Dursleys. Oh yeah, and putting on a bit of a contrite expression wouldn't come amiss, either. Harry opened his eyes wide and let his lips quiver a little as he went on, "See, they know we're all... well, they know that kids like me need help. Er, controlling ourselves, like with Aunt Marge. I'm loads better now, thanks to Professor Lupin. I'm really, really sorry I've been so awful, Uncle Vernon."

Remus' clothing rustled beside him. Harry glanced swiftly to the side and noticed Snape staring fixedly into Vernon's eyes. Uh-oh... Legilimency, and without a wand. It didn't last long, though, so Harry wasn't sure how much Snape might have learned.

Oblivious to the fact that magic had been at play, Vernon was giving a definite nod. "Highly approve," he commended Snape, bobbing his great weight up and down on the balls of his feet. "First time I've heard the boy apologise for what he is. So what's your connection with Potter here? Just have him in class?"

"The headmaster didn't trust the boy to travel down alone," Snape flatly offered, his gaze deliberately seeking out the window. "He's a troublemaker."

Uncle Vernon smiled in an oily, satisfied sort of way. All it took to improve his uncle's mood was for someone else to badmouth Harry, apparently. Well, that figured.

"Troublemaker. Yes, he is that," Vernon echoed, sighing a bit as he went to sit down, again, the padded metal chair straining under his weight. He waved Harry and Snape back to their seats, then glanced at Petunia. When he saw that she was still asleep, he went on talking. "We took him in as a baby, you know. Had to. His wastrel father got himself killed in a car crash. Him and his wife, both. Driving drunk, he was. James Potter never was worth a wad of spit, and that one's even worse. Sure as I'm sitting here, he'll never amount to anything. My sister Marge knew it the first time she saw him, she did. Bad blood will out, she said, and mark my words, truer words were never spoken."

So much for meek. Harry felt anger washing over him in waves. He tried to control it, tried to build walls in his mind to hold the roaring tide back, but it kept seeping through the cracks, demanding an outlet, and the longer his uncle talked, the worse it got.

"Had to teach him a lesson more times than I can count," Vernon went on, convinced that anyone who taught Muggle Studies --at least as Harry had explained it-- would see eye to eye with him on all matters Potter. "Not that the boy ever learned. You'd think a whole month of weeding twelve hours a day would make him think twice about sneaking his books up to his room so he could learn more spells to curse us with, but no. I had to get out the strap before we were through, and he still insisted he needed to do his homework, he did. The nerve. One summer we actually had to burn his books to put an end to it. Can you believe what he said then? Claimed some great ugly twit of a teacher was going to make fun of him in Potions class!"

The vase holding the posies abruptly cracked clean through.

Snape gave him a warning glance. Harry stared stoically back.

Dudley, finally fully awake, had flinched back a yard at the noise. "Dad..." he ventured, shaking and pointing at the broken pieces on the nightstand.

Vernon's eyebrows drew together as he rounded on Snape. "Looks to me as though he needs a few more lessons in self-control!"

"He'll get them," Snape promised in a tone Harry recognised even through Remus' voice. It was intent. Cold, merciless intent.

Vernon wasn't through, though. "Now, where'd those damned flowers come from, boy? You'd better tell me the truth, or by God I'll have a thing or two to say about it! Did you--" Vernon halted, and continued the rest of the question in a low, thoroughly revolted tone. "Did you magic them here?"

"No, I bought them in the gift shop downstairs," Harry said, trying to make it sound gracious. It was difficult when what he really wanted to do was pummel somebody. "I thought they might cheer up Aunt Petunia."

"And since when do you have money to cheer up anybody, boy?" Vernon ground out, leaning forward as far as he could over his massive rolls of fat. "It's not like your worthless father had any to leave you, is it? No, you were left to burden us, weren't you, and you've done your best to be a burden--"

"Professor Lupin lent me some money," Harry interrupted, rather desperate to cut off his tirade. He should have known better than to have bothered.

"Oh he lent you some, did he! So how do you think you're going to pay him back, eh? We've fed and clothed you all these infernal years, much against our will, I might add. You think we wanted our sweet Dudley exposed to the likes of you? Well, boy? Where're you going to get two pence to rub together? You're just like your father. He never did a lick of work, either, just sat around boozing. Unemployed, you know," he added to Snape, who made a noise that could be interpreted as concurrence. Vernon turned his attention back to Harry. "You're a waste of space, but you'd damned well better learn to do some work sometime in your life. Money doesn't grow on trees, you know, and we don't just hand it out like sweets!"

"When did you ever give me a sweet?" Harry erupted. Oops, wrong tactic. "Sorry, Uncle Vernon, that was rude. What I meant was, I already promised Professor Lupin that I'd scrub his floors every weekend for a month, to pay him back. He thought it was a fair trade."

"Make it two months," Vernon advised Snape. "He's a slacker, that one."

Mention of sweets had got to Dudley, who said he was going to get something from a vending machine down the corridor. Harry repressed an urge to roll his eyes.

"Wipe that smarmy look right off your face, boy!" Vernon rebuked him. "Dudley's been wasting away with worry for his mother. Didn't you see how his clothes just hang on him, now? He needs to keep his strength up. Hell, he's only eating now because he's relieved you're here. We've been waiting for days and worrying ourselves silly that that stupid owl wouldn't know a letter from a field mouse. Owls, honestly! It's an outrage, and I'll have a thing or two to say about that Figg character when the neighbourhood council meets, just see if I don't!"

Harry knew from long experience how best to reply to rants like that. "Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Snape broke into the conversation again. "Mr Dursley, I'm afraid that Harry didn't explain very well when the headmaster instructed me to come along. May I ask about the situation with your wife? I'll need to notify the school if Harry will be here for an extended time."

"Ach, maybe Harry couldn't have known what to say," Vernon gruffly admitted, seeming to calm again. Snape was having that effect on him, Harry realised. He wondered how much of it might be due to a subtle spell. Or maybe it was the tone of voice he'd used: one of Remus' very softest ones. "This past summer's just one long blur of worry to me. I can't remember telling him. Course, how could I have? The boy made himself scarce, and I wasn't in any mood to seek him out, not after that creep with the bulging eye told me I'd get what-for if I so much as looked at him cross-eyed."

Snape waited patiently for Vernon to get to the point, which was more than the Potions Master had ever done for his students. Except maybe for the Slytherins.

"Anyway, it's leukaemia," Vernon glumly admitted, making it sound as though the word itself was strangling him.

Harry could see Snape trying to decode the word, break it into Latin parts perhaps, to glean some meaning from it. He could also see him failing to truly understand. In that, the professor wasn't alone.

Leaning forward a bit, Harry quietly asked, "Leukaemia? Is that um.... some sort of cancer?"

"Blood cancer," Vernon sighed, looking suddenly so weary that it was a wonder he stayed awake. "Add that to your course outline, professor. The stupid boy doesn't even know basic facts about how normal people live and die. Anyway, she's on the waiting list for a bone marrow transplant. Dudders and I applied to be donors, but we weren't compatible." His voice caught on the last word. "It's a long list and the doctors say she might not be able to make it until..."

Vernon abruptly stopped talking and closed his eyes, his hands clenching on the arms of his chair, his whole body shaking slightly.

"I'm sorry," Harry offered, wishing he had the kind of family relationships where he could at least lay a hand on someone's arm as he said that. But he didn't, and he knew better than to try. The few times when he'd hugged his aunt's or uncle's legs --three-year-olds couldn't reach up much farther than that-- he'd been shoved unceremoniously aside and screamed at. We don't like your kind, so keep your distance. Now, back in your cupboard until you learn to keep your grubby hands to yourself... Harry flinched slightly, remembering the awful click of that bolt sliding shut, remembering the stifling air inside.

"You should be sorry," Vernon balefully returned, recovering, a glare growing in his eyes despite his obvious exhaustion. "This is your fault, boy, every last bit of it! All those years of worry, of having to put up with you, Petunia reminded of her freakish sister at every turn! The outright lies you told us! Floating puddings, indeed! I thought I'd be able to beat the dishonesty out of you, but here you sit, still exploding vases without so much as a by your leave! Is it any wonder she's fallen ill? The sheer stress of raising you is like to kill her!"

That time, Harry had Occluded his mind in time to better tolerate Vernon's barrage of abuse. Or at least he thought he had. It was hard to tell Occlusion from stoicism. Maybe they were the same, Harry thought. Maybe he just needed to feel less. About everything.

No amount of stoicism, however, could have prepared him for the next outrageous words that came spilling out of his uncle's mouth.

"You can pay her back, now, though," he said, lowering his voice to a pitch that Harry could barely hear no matter how he strained. "You know we don't like this funny business you're always up to, and no wonder, but if you've learned anything at all up at that school of yours, you must have learned to do some good with it, eh? That's why we called you back here. You didn't think any of us wanted to see you, did you? We want just one thing from you, and it's to make Petunia well again."

Harry swallowed, hoping he'd misunderstood. He had to have, right? "You... er, you actually want me to do magic, Uncle Vernon?"

"Yes, boy! Are you simple? You twiddle your wand over her, or whatever it takes, and get her blood back to normal! Well? Get on with it!"

Horrified, Harry couldn't help what he did next.

He looked to Snape for guidance. Snape.

But he had to; there was no one else.

The Potions Master looked to be deep in thought, and it was a long moment before he spoke. "Mr Dursley. That is... an unusual request. Harry's not been trained to heal. Perhaps you'd allow me to look into the matter?"

Vernon's eyes narrowed still further. "You look into it all you want, Mr Lupin, but when all's said and done, the boy had damned well better save my Petunia."

"I understand," Snape murmured, his voice still that one that vaguely reminded Harry of a calming draught. "I must point out, however, that it may well be beyond his capabilities--"

"Ha!" Uncle Vernon shouted, unwilling to concede that. Whatever spell Snape had been using on him, it certainly wasn't working now. "I've put up with his freak magic for years! Awful things he's done to me and mine! If he can't use his abnormality to do one single thing I request, well then, he can just starve on the streets for all I'll care! You got that, boy? It was Petunia took you in, and Petunia who insisted you stay even after you cursed Dudley with those whatever-you-call-'ems that live in... what did she say, Bazakan! It's been Petunia sticking up for you all along. Now you'll do what's right for her, or I'll chuck you out on your ear, and good riddance!"

Harry cleared his throat, began to croak out some sort of reply, only to feel Snape's hand abruptly catch his fingers and give them a tight squeeze. Well, that was just as well. It wasn't like he had the slightest idea how to reply to his uncle's insane demand. Truth to tell, by then his vision was starting to tunnel in.

Panic, he recognised, as his legs tried to buckle.

And it was Snape, of all people, who was holding him up.