Harry had been at the Dursleys for six days now. And though he despised every minute he was in his aunt and uncle's home, it was certainly not the worst time he had ever had.

This time, it was not he who was going around the twist, it was Vernon and Petunia. They absolutely loathed being related to a wizard, just as they loathed the wizard himself. They detested having to give Harry living space, but they would have been overjoyed if things could have gone back to the way they used to be.

Just Vernon, Petunia, Dudley and, if it had to be, Harry. That at least would have been bearable. They were used to that. They wanted nothing more than to live in a world where they could pretend that they were like every one of their neighbours-those neighbours who knew, as did the whole world, that there was no such thing as magic!

They had always been able to keep up the pretence of their little world being as normal as everyone elses by making it known that Harry was a dangerous delinquent, and as a result, no-one in their oh, so respectable neighbourhood had wanted anything to do with the boy. They had all steered well clear of that strange Harry Potter.

People had actually admired the Dursleys for having the courage to take in their nephew and at least try to teach him some values, rather than put him in an institution. For goodness sake, they had a young son of their own who could have been negatively influenced by his rebellious cousin. But the couple at Number Four had continued to try and tame their wayward nephew.

Yes, the Dursleys were wonderful, compassionate people.

The owners of Number Four had lived in this fantasy world quite easily by keeping the boy totally subjugated. It was only when those bursts of that unnaturalness happened that their cosy little world was threatened. And when they had occurred, they had punished him, made life even more unpleasant for the little freak; they had restricted his food and his freedom. And they had set him to work so that he had no time to indulge his unnatural talents.

Of course, brighter or kinder people might have realised that if Harry was happy and content, those wild outbursts might just not have happened. Unfortunately, no-one had ever accused either Petunia or Vernon of being overly intelligent or kind.

But life had been tolerable for the Dursleys, despite the burden of having to bring up Petunia's sister's son. They had had control until that pestilential school had started its efforts to contact the boy. That was when their comfortable, suburban existence had gone to hell in a hand basket.

The neighbours could not have helped but notice the invasion of owls that Privet Drive had been subjected to that July, five years ago. For heaven's sake, most of neighbours had spent weeks either scrubbing their windows and brickwork to remove the bird droppings or having professional cleaners in to do it for them. Several had even had their rooves professionally cleaned.

But no discussions over garden fences had ever taken place about the fact that the majority of the owls had roosted on or very near to Number Four. Nor had anyone ever thought it relevant that the day the Dursleys and their nephew had left for a short holiday, the owls had disappeared.

Perhaps no-one noticed, as the other residents of Privet Drive, much like the Dursleys, were really only interested in their own humdrum lives. As long as they were not affected by the happenings throughout the rest of the world, they were content. Of course, a good scandal was always worthy of comment but the Dursleys and their wayward nephew did not come under the category of salacious news, especially as the boy had never affected any of them personally with his lawless ways.

If there had been any "twitchers" in the area, they might have been interested in the fact that no owls had ever been seen in Privet Drive before the summer invasion of 1991, but since that time, especially in the summer, owls of all sizes and colours would occasionally be sighted flying around Number Four. There was even a huge, white one that was seen rather more frequently than any of the others. But as the residents of Privet Drive and it's environs were too busy earning and spending money to be interested in birds of any sort, this phenomenon just passed them by.

Of course, the owls had just been the beginning of the Dursley's misery. But fleeing to the luxury accommodations of ‘the Hut on the Rock' hadn't done them any good that summer, five years ago; the freaks had still won the day and Potter had headed off to the freak school to learn more unnaturalness.

The Dursleys had their explanation for Harry's absence all thought out though, just in case anyone thought to ask. They were going to say that all their efforts had been for naught and they had eventually had no other recourse but to send the wayward child to a fine institution for delinquent children.

The best, in fact. St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.

Now everyone felt sorry for the Dursleys. They had tried. No-one could say they hadn't tried. For heaven sake, they were still trying. They still brought the boy home for the summer holidays.

Not that the neighbourhood had been particularly thrilled with this development. After all, the boy was an adolescent now. He could cause a lot more trouble now that he was grown than he had as a small, skinny child.

But the neighbours hadn't seen Harry Potter so far this summer. And that was a very good thing, particularly where the Creightons at Number ten were concerned. The couple were older than the Dursleys, and they had a granddaughter who was sixteen years old. Last summer she had stayed with her grandparents for a couple of weeks while her parents went on a cruise.

One day, to their horror, they had found Alyssa talking to the Potter boy over the front fence and even after they had warned her about his delinquent propensities and told her to keep away from him, she had ignored them and continued to fraternise with him whenever she had seen him out and about. She had told them that there was nothing wrong with him and that she thought he was cute! She had also informed them that the only delinquent in the Dursley family was their pig of a son, Dudley.

Yes, the rest of Privet Drive might have been happy that the Potter boy was not in evidence, but the Potter boy himself was far from thrilled. Even though the weather was far from perfect-who ever heard of such cold mists being a regular occurrence in the middle of July-Harry would have liked to get out for a decent walk. He had been cooped up for far too long.

But Snape had forbidden him to set foot out of the house. Certainly out the front of the house. He had finally conceded that Harry could go into the back garden, as long as his current bodyguard was out there with him.

Harry had argued the point; had said that he didn't need a body guard every second of the day and he was sick and tired of trying to ditch his ‘tail' so that he could go to the loo without an audience! As was to be expected, Snape had blown a gasket and told him that if he continued to act like a two year old, he would put a Silencing Charm on him and put him in a Full Body Bind until it was time to go back to Hogwarts.

Harry had been tempted to ask who had made Snape supreme ruler of the universe, but had thought better of it, considering the man looked like he had just taken a potions class made up entirely of Neville Longbottoms and each and every one of the Nevilles had melted his cauldron.

*

Harry had been tiptoeing around Snape since he had awoken the first morning after arriving at his aunt and uncle's home. He had awoken curled up under the new Gryffindor duvet, as comfortable and warm as he had ever been back in Snape's room in the dungeons at Hogwarts.

He had never really been comfortable in Dudley's second bedroom before. It was not only the fact that he was never really comfortable in this house, but also the fact that his miserable bed was the cause of him waking up most mornings with a sore back.

That morning, he had lain quietly for many minutes, his mind processing all of the events of the previous twelve hours. He had recalled his reunion with Hedwig under the owlery at Hogwarts after their ten or eleven day separation, and then how she had been sent to him here in Surrey by Dumbledore. A quick, blurry glance across the room had shown Harry that Hedwig was not on the desk. She had probably gone out to hunt in the early morning because even though Snowy Owls were diurnal, Hedwig still preferred to sleep the main part of the day away.

Harry had thought back to his reunion with a very contrite Hagrid and then his talk with Professor Dumbledore and their return to the dungeons. He had remembered his delighted surprise when he had been shown his new room in Snape's quarters and then his disappointment when he had been told he had to go back to the Dursleys.

And after his arrival here, things had veered into the realms of fantasy with the appearance of a radically changed Dudley. The last time Harry had seen his cousin, he had been practically incoherent, nauseated, sweating profusely and was the colour of putty. Harry knew he must have looked exactly like that after his own run ins with the dementors. He definitely knew he had felt faint and nauseated.

Six days ago, Harry had lain under his warm duvet and he had finally allowed his thoughts to settle on the event he had deliberately pushed to the back of his mind...specifically, the happenings of the very early hours of the morning. He remembered the crippling pain he had experienced in his scar and the vague recollection of a worried Snape appearing in his room and attempting to help him.

Harry's face had reddened as his thoughts had dwelled on Tonks and how she had fussed over him when she had revived him, apparently hours later. That hadn't been too bad-he liked Tonks-but then Snape had come back from his meeting with Voldemort and Harry had lost it completely after waking from a nightmare, and he had punched Snape in the face.

Amazingly, this contretemps had not bought the wrath of Snape down on his head. That would probably have been better than what had actually happened. He had broken down and bawled like a baby...he had practically become hysterical.

And Snape...instead of sneering his disgust and berating Harry for the weakling he was...instead of mocking the fact that he was not living up to his Gryffindor expectations, Hogwart's dreaded potions master had actually comforted Harry. Comforted him in much the same way a father might comfort a distressed son.

Snape!

Looking back, Harry realised how surreal the whole episode had been, but at the time, he had actually welcomed the soothing touch. Instead of trying to chivvy Harry out of his misery with terse instructions to pull himself together, Snape had instead allowed him to sob into his shoulder. He had tentatively rubbed soothing circles on Harry's back and the couple of times Harry had tried to pull back, Snape had stilled his efforts by the simple expedient of keeping his hand on the back of Harry's head and exerting a small amount of pressure.

Harry had exhausted himself; he had not been able to stop the tears. All of the nightmare events from throughout the whole of his crap life had suddenly coalesced into a huge leaden ball that had lodged in his throat. The only way he had been able to ease the pressure had been with the release of tears and for the first time in his memory, he had succumbed to his misery.

The Dursleys had never stood for the infant Harry and his slightly older self to cry. He would be punished and locked in the cupboard under the stairs until they could bear to look at him again when he had cried.

Harry didn't know how long he had wept for his mother and father after he had first arrived at the Dursleys...and he couldn't remember how old he had been when he had decided that he wasn't going to cry any more. Many times he had come close, but he had not given in until that early morning, six days ago.

It had nearly happened when Mrs Weasley had hugged him in the hospital wing after the horror events in the graveyard a year ago, but he had swallowed it down. In the back of his mind, despite his tiredness and his pain and his misery, was the fact that Ron had been standing right there and would have seen him. Harry didn't want Ron being embarrassed by any overt displays of emotion, and he certainly didn't want his best mate feeling sorry for him. So, he had forced all the misery down and had taken the rest of his dreamless sleep potion instead.

And so, what had he done that night, six days ago? He had finally broken down. That time, he would have been pleased for Ron to witness his embarrassment, but not being given a choice, it had been cousin Severus who had seen his mortifying display

And amazingly, cousin Severus had not sneered or ridiculed or laughed. Instead, he had comforted, and Harry, supremely uncomfortable in Snape's arms, had finally surrendered to the comfort offered and eventually cried himself out. Unconsciously, he had relaxed against the man who had just returned from an assignation with the evil wizard who wanted Harry dead above anything else.

He had relaxed against the man who had hated him since the second he had set foot inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had relaxed against the Head of Slytherin house, the training ground for young Death Eaters in waiting, specifically, Draco Malfoy, his, Harry's most vocal schoolyard enemy and seemingly, Snape's favourite pupil.

But he had also relaxed against the Order of the Phoenix's spy in Voldemort's ranks and he had relaxed against his cousin. He had relaxed so much, he must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew it had been morning and he had been warm and comfortable under his duvet and Snape had been nowhere in sight.

All of these memories had run through Harry's turgid brain within seconds of his waking that first morning. He had been relieved to find his room empty of Snape's presence, but perversely, he had also felt let down.

Harry had dived out of bed as soon as this extraordinary notion had morphed into thought. God, there was definitely something wrong with him that he could have come over all gooey just because someone who had always treated him like an arse, had done an about face and had been nice to him.

Harry had scrambled into yesterday's cargo pants and, with his thoughts in turmoil, he had delved into his trunk for a jumper. As he had pulled Mrs Weasley's latest Christmas present over his head and shoved his glasses onto his nose, he had wondered where Snape was. If he felt as appalled and embarrassed as Harry did, he would have hightailed it back to Hogwarts just as quickly as he could.

Descending the stairs, Harry had wondered who Snape had left on duty and whether they were in the house or outside. Apparently, he needed protecting from his relatives just as much as he needed protecting from Voldemort. Though presumably, the relatives were the greater danger at the moment because his having returned to live under Aunt Petunia's roof had reinforced the protection that his mother's sacrifice had activated fifteen years ago.

It was such a pity that his mother's death had not activated some sort of latent feelings of affection in Aunt Petunia for her sister, and hence her sister's son. It saddened Harry more to think that his mother had probably known how much Petunia had hated her than it upset him to know that that hatred had transferred to him.

It had still been fairly early when Harry had woken that morning and he had planned to follow his usual habits when he was at Privet Drive and start breakfast. But when he had pushed the door to the kitchen open, he had stopped dead just inside the room and his jaw had hit the floor.

Harry had thought he had entered the twilight zone. Snape had been sitting at the kitchen table in his Muggle attire, sipping a cup of coffee and reading the ‘Daily Telegraph', Uncle Vernon's preferred newspaper. The gentle sizzle and pop of cooking bacon combined with the sound of disapproving sniffs had Harry spinning on the spot to find Aunt Petunia looking as sour as day old milk left out in the sun, standing over the cooker.

Harry had not had to cook breakfast that morning, nor indeed any morning since his arrival. Other than to eat, Harry's presence in the kitchen had been forbidden. Snape's orders.

In fact, Harry had not had to lift a finger around the house or in the garden. For the first time in living memory, he was allowed to be the last person out of bed in the morning.

Uncle Vernon had left for work after hastily gulping down a cup of coffee every weekday morning, casting askance glares at whichever witch or wizard was taking up room at his kitchen table. If he had felt guilty about leaving his wife in the company of freaks, it did not move him enough to come home early to offer her his support. He had rung from work on the first and second afternoons to inform Petunia that he had to work overtime.

But when the phone had rung on day three of Harry's incarceration, Harry had heard his aunt screeching like a banshee that if he did not get his fat arse home for dinner, he would be more than sorry. Petunia was ready to tear her hair out-or perhaps to kill someone. The looks she kept on shooting at Harry made him the likely target.

Petunia's summer was not turning out to be the idle time she had grown used to. She was used to having what amounted to a slave in her home, and now, she was the slave! Her husband had turned out to be a blasted coward when their home had been invaded by adult wizards and her son...her beautiful Diddy-the boy she had worshipped since the day he had been born-had turned against her. He was actually interacting with Potter. They talked together, played games together and watched television together.

She had come out of Dudley's bedroom one morning and had been shocked to hear Harry explaining the rules of "Quidditch" to her son. Petunia had a vague memory of Lily explaining the same rules to their mother and father when she had first started at that freak school. The memory had made her blood boil-indeed, it seemed that her blood had been boiling for days now-and she had stormed into the bedroom with the intention of ordering Dudley out.

She had panicked when she had found her son sitting on that new bed holding a strange looking broom in his hands. Harry had stood up quickly, but Dudley, after casting a quick glance at his livid mother, had returned his attention to the Firebolt.

‘Put it down, Diddy!' Aunt Petunia had screeched. You don't know what might happen.'

Dudley had looked at his mother sadly and Harry had been amazed anew at the change in his cousin.

‘Nothing will happen Mum. Harry flies this. Apparently he's a really good flyer. He plays in his house's team at school.'

Petunia had shot Harry such a look of hatred, he had actually recoiled a step. ‘Mum!' Dudley had said through clenched teeth, but Petunia had ignored him to concentrate on her nephew.

‘This is all your fault, you little freak,' she had spat. ‘What have you done to him?' Dudley had tried to take his mother's arm to try and pull her away but Petunia's rage had been all consuming. She had continued to berate a stony-faced Harry until Kingsley Shacklebolt had entered the room and Petunia had screamed-a combination of fright and absolute fury.

That had been the first time that Kingsley had been on guard duty and though Harry had been happy to see him, Petunia had been on the verge of hysterical tears. It had been bad enough that witches and wizards had been appearing at all times of the day and night, but to now have a wizard who was so very...black, standing blatantly in her house was just too much to bear.

Kingsley had greeted Petunia politely in his very deep voice but she had glared and pushed past him, trying to pull Dudley out of the room with her. Dudley had rolled his eyes behind his mother's back but had gone with her just to try and calm her down.

Harry had thrown himself down on his bed with his hands behind his head and had told Kingsley that if he wasn't allowed out of here soon, he would end up in St Mungos as a ward buddy of Gilderoy Lockharts. Kingsley had looked sympathetic but had not offered any hope of an early release.

Instead, he had produced a wizard chess set and they had played several games before Kingsley had told Harry that Severus had suggested he get some homework done, and that he would be checking it when he next dropped by.

It had been Harry's turn to be absolutely livid. Where was this all coming from? It was total crap! Why was Snape suddenly so concerned about Harry's schoolwork? It had started back in the dungeons of course. Perhaps it was just that Snape wanted to keep Harry's nose to the grindstone because what Snape did best was drive Harry demented. Yeah, that was definitely the most likely scenario.

8888

Harry, Dudley and Tonks were in Dudley's room on this wet and cold Saturday. Harry was lying crosswise on Dudley's bed, with his legs hanging over the side and his head resting at an awkward angle against the wall pushing his chin onto his chest. He looked supremely uncomfortable. His hands were folded on his concave stomach and he was thoroughly bored. Dudley and Tonks were playing "Worms" on the PlayStation and even though Harry's eyes were following the action his brain seemed to be mired in quicksand.

He was so sick of being stuck indoors. But even if he had been allowed to roam about Little Whinging as he had done in the past, (when the chores were done) he really would have needed his head read to be out and about on a day like today.

It seemed that summer had passed Britain by.

Harry rubbed viciously at his scar, knocking his glasses askew so that the nosepiece dug painfully into the side of his nose. He straightened them with a slightly shaking hand. He was still feeling a bit out of it because Snape had given him such a strong dose of pain relief potion last night. Lord Voldemort had been on the rampage again.

Even with the potion, Harry had had nightmares about fires-dozens of fires-about which men in hideous hooded cloaks had cavorted and which had interwoven with the fire in his scar. The potion had not entirely eliminated the pain and it had stopped him from being able to drag himself out of the dream. His scar had still seared but Snape had also supplied a salve which he had instructed Harry rub into the lightning bolt-shaped ridge of tissue. It had acted like a local anaesthetic, but much like the potion, it had only muted the pain-he had felt it even through the fog of his drugged sleep.

Hestia Jones had been his babysitter last night and unlike Tonks, this member of the Order had decided that a young man needed his privacy and she had conjured her comfortable chair out on the landing with a little table and lantern. She had several editions of ‘Witch Weekly' for perusal as well as a puzzle book to keep her occupied.

Hestia had been there when Harry had clapped his hand over his scar and groaned aloud. They had been partaking of dinner, seated at the table with Dudley, the increasingly sour-faced Petunia and an inebriated Vernon.

Petunia had cooked dinner; in fact, she had been a slave to the kitchen since Severus Snape had invaded her world. The sinister looking wizard had made it perfectly plain that first evening that whilst Harry had to stay at Privet Drive, she, Petunia would be expected to provide meals for Harry and his guards, as well as her own family.

Petunia had not submitted easily to this edict. She had raged at Severus that it would be a Dark day in hell before she catered to the likes of them. Severus had pointed out that that could easily be arranged if the Dark Lord continued in his rise to power. He had also informed the apoplectic woman that she could have a dose of what Harry had had to do for practically every meal since he had been tall enough to reach the cook top.

Severus had looked so menacing when he had said this, Petunia had shut up, but she reserved her most vitriolic glares for the potions master-a fact that Severus was completely indifferent to because when it came right down to it, Petunia Dursley's vitriolic glares were not in a league with his own.

Vernon had decided that if he had to come home to a houseful of freaks, he would blur the reality of this unhappy situation by consuming his own weight in lager and brandy whenever he got the chance. Dudley had looked as miserable as Harry at the dinner table that evening, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that the antics of his parents were causing him a great deal of dismay and embarrassment.

When Harry had staggered from the table, when the pain had struck, Hestia had produced her wand and cast her "dove" Patronus and sent it urgently on it's way to summon Snape. Of course, all the Muggles had seen was another burst of blinding white light, the same as the one produced by that Snape character on the first night. The lines around Petunia's mouth which were beginning to resemble the Grand Canyon, had become deeper as she had pursed her lips even more. Her mouth now looked like what Harry referred to as "Aunt Petunia's cat's bum mouth".

Hestia had never questioned her orders. For some reason or other, Severus Snape seemed to be in charge of young Harry's welfare whilst he was at his aunt and uncle's home. Dumbledore had reiterated the orders and Hestia did as she was told, without question. And so, it was Snape she summoned, not Dumbledore.

Though Petunia had seen a few spells cast in her home since this terrible ordeal had begun, no-one had been quite so blatant about using magic as that horrible man with the long black hair who was always dressed like an undertaker-the one who had taken it upon himself to dictate terms in her home. He seemed to have taken it upon himself to thrust upon the Dursleys, the fact that Harry was indeed a wizard, and that he would be able to use his own wand with impunity when he reached his majority in the wizarding world. The horrible man had made that sound like a threat.

After the Patronus had been cast, Petunia had thrown her napkin down in disgust and begun to noisily stack dishes under Hestia's disapproving eye. Up to now, the witch had not had much interaction with Petunia Dursley and so she had been appalled when the woman had not shown one iota of concern when her nephew had obviously been in pain. Petunia had stalked into the kitchen with her load, as indifferent to Hestia's disapproval as she was to Harry's distress.

Vernon had not even been aware of what had happened, so deeply was he in his cups, but Dudley had followed his cousin into the living room where he had perched on the arm of a chair and watched Harry worriedly. Harry had collapsed onto the sofa where he had grabbed a cushion and pressed it over his face to stifle his moans.

This attack had been the second since the one on the night he had first arrived back at Privet Drive. None had been as devastating as that first one, but they were quite enough to be going on with.

Five minutes after Harry had staggered from the table, he was still curled up on the sofa trying to stem the nausea that was threatening to overflow. He had wondered where Snape was? He had never taken this long to come after he had been summoned by Harry's guard. Harry had wished he would come. He had wanted him there immediately! Snape would set things right.

Harry's pain had intensified and he had clamped the cushion more firmly over his face. Through the red haze of his pain, he had realised that Snape must also be suffering. Surely, he was being summoned. But even so, the last time, Snape had still come to him before Apparating to his boss's side. He had been here within a couple of minutes of his Dark Mark starting to burn. Was something different that night?

Then, from behind the cushion, Harry had heard an unmistakable crack, a split second before Aunt Petunia's scream had rent the air. Harry had pulled the cushion away and stared at Dobby the house elf through streaming eyes. He remembered what had followed, though the last part before he had been put to bed had been very hazy...

8888

‘D...Dobby! What are you doing here?'

‘Isn't it bad enough that I have witches and wizards invading my home all hours of the day and night,' screeched an hysterical Petunia, ‘without filthy creatures like that popping into existence on my living room carpet.'

Dobby's ears drooped a little as his big, sad eyes moved from the very angry human female to the wizard who had set him free and whom he adored. ‘Harry Potter, sir. I is coming with a message from Professor Snape, sir,' squeaked the little elf, looking around warily at the Muggles. He had, of course seen them before and he wasn't sure if they knew he was responsible for the exploding pudding or not.

Harry mashed his scar with his fingertips, unable to respond straight away. He swallowed and took deep breaths through his nose.

‘Dobby, what di...'but it was no good. Harry could no longer hold it back and he leaned over the side of the couch and emptied his stomach on the carpet. Petunia screamed again but she fell silent as quickly as she had started when Dobby leapt forward and banished the vomitus and produced a bucket into which Harry finished heaving.

When he had finished, he lay back against the sofa arm and groaned. Hestia picked up one of the table napkins and transfigured into a damp, cool wash cloth. She draped it over Harry's sweaty, pale brow and he sighed gratefully and pushed it down hard, over his hot, painful scar.

Dobby, his expression tragic as he gazed at his hero, took off the tower of hats that he always wore and which Hermione had knitted. Beneath the bottom-most one was another hat, resting upside down like a purple bird's nest on Dobby's large head. The little elf lifted this down carefully and plucked a tiny vial and an even tinier glass pot out of it's depths where they had been carefully swaddled.

‘Harry Potter, sir. Professor Snape is sending me to give you these, sir. Professor Snape is saying that Harry Potter is to take all the potion and rub the salve into his scar, sir.'

Harry sat back up and reached for the containers that Dobby was holding out. Dobby, Hestia and Dudley watched with worried frowns as Harry broke the wax seal with shaking hands and downed the potion. Petunia stood with her arms crossed over her bony chest, her extreme distaste of Dobby still apparent on her face. She was completely indifferent to her nephews plight. Vernon had missed the whole of the events since Harry had staggered from the table because he had fallen asleep with his many chins resting on his chest.

Harry expected to bring the foul stuff back up straight away, but as soon as it reached his stomach, his nausea subsided.

His scar was another matter. Though the headache that always accompanied these severe bouts of scar pain had eased to almost nothing, his scar still seared pitilessly. Opening the little pot Harry found just enough salve to rub into his scar. The pain was muted immediately. The salve felt icy cold against the heat generated by the pain and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned back against the couch back and closed his eyes.

‘Thanks, Dobby.' said Harry and he struggled to open his eyes again when he found that he had trouble articulating. His mouth just wouldn't form the words properly. He wanted to ask if Snape was all right but all that came out was a garbled sound. Everything in the room was weaving in and out of focus and with a groan he allowed his eyes to flutter shut again.

‘Harry Potter, sir,' said Dobby, and his voice sounded far away to Harry. ‘Harry Potter sir, Professor Snape is also saying that you is to go straight to bed.'

Harry tried to say "fine" but nothing came out and he waved his hand in the air to let Dobby know he had understood. But his hand flopped down onto his stomach and it was obvious to all that Harry wasn't going anywhere.

8888

Harry's introspection came to an end when Tonks let out a whoop of victory.

‘There you go Dudders. Beat that my fine young friend, she said with a triumphant crow. She threw the control onto the bed and reached over and patted Harry's knee. ‘Feel up to the challenge, Harry?' she grinned. ‘Keeping in mind that I have beaten Dudders three games in a row.'

‘Twice,' contradicted Dudley, but he was grinning. ‘You're really good Tonks. I can't believe that you've never played before.'

‘PlayStations are a rare commodity in the wizarding world, Dudley, and my Muggle grandparents have enough trouble with their video machine. Pa's favourite sport is golf and Nanna does needlework. "Worms" would be a little beyond their ken, I'm afraid.'

Dudley rolled his eyes when his mother shrieked up the stairs for him. He lumbered to his feet and left, looking as if he was heading to his execution.

‘She could cut glass with that voice,' muttered Tonks.

She plonked herself down on the bed next to Harry. He hadn't moved since Tonks had challenged him. She rolled halfway onto her stomach and reached up and pinched Harry's cheek, shaking his head backwards and forwards gently with a pincerful of his abused flesh. ‘You're very quiet, young Harry.'

Harry pulled his face out of the grip and levered himself into a more upright position. He grinned half-heartedly at his bodyguard. As much as he liked Tonks, Harry was getting sick and tired of having someone constantly near at hand. He felt like a prize specimen in a zoo that always had someone peering at him. The potion hangover wasn't improving his state of mind either.

Severus had enhanced the potency of his painkilling potion and the salve for Harry's scar. It was a fine balance between what was going to be efficacious and what was going to be too dangerous. The addictive propensities of both the potion and the salve were a problem and Severus was far from happy with the potency. But with judicious care, Harry could use both-but no more than once every second day. Thankfully, the attacks had not occurred anymore frequently than this, but Snape knew things were probably going to get worse now that the Dark Lord was back to full health. Now that his rebirth had been accepted by the ministry and he no longer had to lie low, he was eager to accelerate his reign of terror.

Severus was worried about Harry. The boy was depressed about being back in his aunt and uncle's home anyway, and it was Severus's opinion that this blasted connection between Harry and the Dark Lord was more potent when the boy's emotional state was so, for want of a better word, "needy".

‘Sorry Tonks,' Harry said, not sounding particularly sorry at all. ‘I'm not really in the mood for "Worms".'

Tonks studied the young boy closely. He looked totally miserable. The poor kid just never got a break. Hestia had relayed the events of the previous evening to Tonks when she had arrived for her shift.

‘I think I know what's the matter with you,' she said, her head tilted to one side.

Harry raised his eyebrows in question.

‘You're missing a certain pretty little redhead, aren't you? And maybe Ron and Hermione as well.'

Harry looked away, his eyes following the figures flitting backwards and forwards on the screen waiting to be properly activated again. Tonks was right. He was missing Ginny and his two best friends. It had only been about two weeks since he had discovered that Ginny still harboured feelings for him and that he reciprocated those feelings. And for half that time, he had been unconscious!

This whole situation of having a girlfriend-of being half of a couple-was kind of surreal because he had only seen said girl once since the day he had been poisoned. But that meeting had been unreal! One look at Ginny had made him realise just how much he did feel for her. It had been like he was seeing her for the first time. Seeing her, not Ron's little sister or the youngest Weasley child-but Ginny...pretty, clever, feisty, and ever loyal Ginny. She had always been loyal to him even when he had been fantasising about Cho...all the time he had been too thick-headed to see what was right under his nose.

Now, she kept on popping into his head when he least expected it, but that was fine because usually what was going on in his head left a lot to be desired. He did feel a little guilty though, because usually when he couldn't stand being in his own head anymore, his thoughts had always reached out to his best friends, Ron and Hermione.

They were still there of course, and always would be. He needed them...he needed their friendship and company and he needed their advice and support. He knew Hermione wouldn't mind Ginny's inclusion within their circle-she and Ginny got on really well and Hermione would probably see it as evening up the odds with another girl in the ranks-but he wasn't entirely sure how Ron would react to his little sister being around all the time.

And she would be around. Harry was determined on that. He didn't want Ginny to just be his girlfriend when he decided he felt the need of her company for a few minutes or when he felt like a snog-which he had to admit, could be fairly frequently. Even though the experience was new to him and virtually untried, Harry had discovered that he really liked snogging. Well...snogging Ginny anyway. The one time he had snogged Cho, it had not been enjoyable. Confusing, yes...mortifying, yes...enjoyable, no.

Also, after the happenings at the ministry, Harry had become aware that Ginny was a very handy person to have around in a crisis. It had been very wrong of him to assume that she would be a liability if he allowed her, to accompany himself, Ron and Hermione on their rescue mission.

Harry snorted silently. Hell, he hadn't even wanted Ron and Hermione to accompany him. He had not wanted to put anyone in danger. So what had he done-put his friends and six members of the Order in danger and gotten most of them injured and one of them killed!

Harry shut his eyes as the pain of Sirius's Death washed over him anew. Harry supposed that his up and down emotions with regard to Sirius's Death could be compared to a swimmer in the sea. He was quite resigned being three-quarters immersed in the water while being fully aware that it was wet, but every now and then, a big wave would crash in and totally cover him before rolling away again; he was always aware that Sirius was dead, but every now and then, it hit him anew and totally immersed him in his grief again.

The figures continued to flicker on the TV screen and Harry's thoughts continued to flicker also. Ginny, Ron and Hermione were definitely there just as Tonks had said, but there was another figure that was encroaching on the territory always inhabited by his friends...a figure whom he had always before tried to force to the back of his mind.

Truth to tell, his torpid brain just would not stop conjuring thoughts of Snape. He had not seen him since his scar had burned last night and there was no getting away from the fact that he was worried.

As soon as Tonks had arrived this morning, he had confronted her. Had she seen Snape? She hadn't seen, nor heard from him. She had not even gone to headquarters because she knew she was on duty looking after him today and she had come straight here from home.

Harry had squirmed when Tonks had said that, annoyed and frustrated in equal measures. It made him feel like a three year old, for God sake. Like someone who is totally incapable of looking after himself. Obviously, that was how Snape saw him. He was going to turn 16 in just over two weeks time and it was like he was going backwards, not getting older.

Dumbledore had always known the contents of the prophecy and he had quietly gone about protecting Harry, enhancing his mother's sacrifice to produce the powerful wards that were supposed to keep him safe from Voldemort's henchmen who had been out for his blood since he, Harry had destroyed their boss.

It seemed that most of them had believed that Voldemort was dead, but the fact remained that these Death Eaters had been almost as brutal as their boss. In fact, after the apparent demise of the Dark Lord, these men had been the wizarding world's most dangerous inhabitants. They would certainly not have baulked at snuffing out the life of a baby boy. What made that thought even more abhorrent was the fact that many of these men had had babies of their own around the same age as Harry.

But of course, the events at the end of Harry's fourth year had pretty much made his safety paramount. They had no more time. Voldemort was already showing the world that he was back and he was as big a danger now as he had been back before Harry was born.

He Harry was the one who was the last hope. Voldemort had made his own worst enemy. Every time Harry thought of it, he wanted to laugh hysterically at the ludicrous notion that Harry Potter could even bring his wand to bear before Voldemort blasted him into the middle of next week, and he wanted to vomit because he was so bloody scared. He didn't want to die. Not at sixteen, or seventeen, or even twenty-seven.

He wanted a life. He wanted to graduate Hogwarts. He wanted to get a job like most kids did after they finished school. He wanted to get married one day and maybe have kids. He didn't want the rest of his life to be lived under the suffocating threat of an early demise at the hands of Tom Bloody Riddle.

He knew that he needed the protection of the members of the Order because wards or not, Voldemort was also an extremely powerful wizard and no-one really knew exactly what he had up his sleeve in regards to Harry.

Although he had said in that graveyard that even he couldn't touch Harry at his aunt's house because of the ancient protection activated by his mother's sacrifice, perhaps he had been working to find a solution since his rebirth. Snape might be a spy, but Harry was sure Voldemort would keep certain things close to his chest until he was able to put them into effect.

If Dumbledore didn't think it was possible, why would he have had guards keeping watch all last summer? The guard had been increased this summer, but apparently that was to protect him from the Dursleys as well. Snape, it seemed was in charge of the logistics of this monumental operation to keep "the Boy Who Lived", living. Within Dumbledore's formidable wards.

Sometimes, he felt like making a run for it to the park in Magnolia Road, just to see how many Death Eaters appeared. But as soon as the thought materialised, he wanted to kick himself because it was an indication of just how reckless he could be. Even if it was in his own head and he would never really be that stupid. Well, Snape definitely thought he could be that stupid. He was always making disparaging remarks about Harry's intelligence.

Harry wondered if that would change now that Harry knew that he and Snape were cousins. Would Snape make an effort to pull his head in a bit. Or would he still insult Harry at every turn.

Harry shut his eyes. Snape hadn't insulted him the other night. He had come back from what could only have been a horror evening with his boss's-the Evil Boss's-company and he had found a cowering, snivelling Harry. The sneers hadn't materialised (at least not that Harry had seen) and the insults hadn't been given voice.

And Harry had not been able to get the scene out of his mind since.

Harry blinked his eyes open when he felt Tonks lean up against him again. She cupped her hand over his opposite cheek and pulled his face around, moving closer so that they were practically nose to nose.

‘Earth to Harry,' she said with a grin. ‘Where were you? I've been trying to get your attention for ages.'

‘Perhaps if you climbed right into his lap, Miss Tonks, you might have a bit more success!'

Tonks and Harry both shot off the bed so fast, their limbs became entangled. Tonks grabbed Harry's jumper to try to save herself, but she ended up on the floor at Severus's feet with Harry on top of her.

Harry was back on his feet so quickly, if Severus had blinked at the wrong time, he would have missed the almost balletic moment. However, he didn't miss how Harry's face turned almost purple with embarrassment, nor his agitated movements to try and straighten his glasses and flatten his impossible Potter hair.

Severus turned back to watch Tonks clamber to her feet with much less finesse than his son. She didn't go quite as red as Harry but she was still mortified. She straightened the ridiculously short tartan, Muggle skirt that she had chosen to wear today. A different coloured tartan waistcoat over a black high necked ribbed jumper, black tights and hideously ugly lace up shoes finished the ensemble. Her hair was red with black highlights.

Knowing that she had been coming to keep an impressionable 16 year old boy company, the outfit was quite unsuitable.

‘We were just playing the PlayStation,' stammered Harry, his high colour not having receded one jot. Tonks nodded her agreement.

‘You were certainly playing something, Potter. I am not sure a station comes into the equation though.'

‘No...that...' Harry waved his hand at the television screen. ‘..that's a PlayStation. We...we were just sitting on the bed.'

‘You were recumbent Potter. Recumbent is not sitting.' Harry sputtered incoherently.

‘Go to your own room. I will be there in a moment. When I have dealt with Ms Tonks.' The last was said in a very sinister tone indeed.

‘Look,' said Harry a little desperately. He looked at Tonks who was looking more than a little apprehensive. ‘We...'

Severus pointed out the door. ‘Now!'

Harry didn't want to leave Tonks to face the music alone, but Snape was obviously not in the mood for more prevarication. He shot a regretful look at Tonks and left the room. When he entered his own room, he slammed the door-hard-to convey his annoyance.

He threw himself onto his bed but just as quickly, jumped up again. It wouldn't do for Snape to see him recumbent again, after all. He began to pace backwards and forwards so that Hedwig, who was asleep on the desk with her head tucked under her wing, opened one amber eye and glared at him balefully. Harry ignored her.

It was five minutes before Snape joined him and Harry had worked himself up into a fine snit. He attacked straight away. ‘What did you do to her?'

Snape raised that supercilious eyebrow, but Harry was too incensed to heed the warning. This was just so typical. He had been in that room just keeping Dudley and Tonks company while they played "Worms". He had been too worried to even think about playing. And what had he been worried about?

This pompous git, here! That's what he had been worried about. Harry knew Snape had been summoned last night, but had he come and let Harry know that he was OK afterwards? No! That hadn't been an important enough consideration, had it?

‘Mind your tongue, Potter...'

‘No,' stormed Harry. ‘You had no right to go off at Tonks. We weren't doing anything wrong.'

‘Do you consider lying on a bed with a young woman when you are alone together, appropriate behaviour, Potter? Because I am here to tell you, it is not.'

Harry gaped at him. ‘It's 1996!' he yelled. ‘Not Victorian England.'

‘That's enough. There are certain standards that I insist you adhere to and being alone with a young woman, in a bedroom is not acceptable behaviour.'

‘We weren't doing anything,' bit out Harry, throwing his arms out. ‘And what are you anyway, the morality police?'

‘You're overstepping the mark, Potter,' said Snape, leaning forward with a very ugly look on his face. I have told you what I expect in the future. You will comply with my wishes.'

‘Screw your wishes!' Harry turned on his heel and strode to the door. No-one had the ability to infuriate him in such a short time as this man did.

‘Don't walk out that doorway Potter, or the Dark Lord will be the least of your worries.'

Harry spun back around. "Oh, you mean like he was the least of my worries last night? Was he the least of your worries last night Snape? I wouldn't know, you see, because you never bothered to contact me. I was in agony and chundering all over the place, but you just sent your little messenger in your stead. Not that that was a problem really. I like Dobby.

‘And he likes me too. He doesn't accuse me of being amoral! He wouldn't accuse Tonks of being a loose woman! That is what you accused her of, isn't it? Corrupting the morals of a minor!'

Severus stood, unable to move as Typhoon Harry raged around him. Severus would have had to stun him to get him to stop. It was like a boil that was long overdue for lancing, and now that it had been, the torrent of invective was never ending. This was the anger. The despair had found release the other night.

‘Well Professor Snape. Can I tell you what I was doing while Tonks was corrupting my morals! I was lying there, suffering a hangover from your bloody potion, which, by the way kept me asleep so that I could suffer the vision of your boss and your mates attacking and burning down a whole village and murdering the inhabitants by the most gruesome means imaginable.

‘And when I finally did manage to wake, what did I do? I sat and worried about you...about whether you were with that lot last night. About whether you had been involved, about whether that madman was torturing you to within an inch of your life.

Severus still remained silent, his face almost waxen, but he unconsciously shook his head.

‘Maybe I wouldn't have had to worry if you had come, either before or after your party...if you had come to let me know you were all right, Cousin Severus!

‘But hey, family members are a bloody nuisance, aren't they? I can honestly say that I have never had one-since I was a baby, anyway-who gives a stuff about me oR MY PATHETIC WORRIES!' By the end of this tirade, Harry was red faced again and he was yelling. He stood for several seconds staring at the target of his rancour and the red drained quickly from his face to leave it almost as waxen as Severus's.

The look on Harry's face would once have been fodder for Severus's biting tongue, but he had never felt less like berating the boy. He had definitely needed to vent-had needed to get all that bile out of his system. There was something much deeper there than just the fact that Severus had not turned up last night.

Nor, he was sure, did it have anything to do with Tonks and the bedroom situation, which in retrospect, had been truly ridiculous. It had started off with his sardonic comment and then the guilty faces and the panic had set in and things had escalated from there.

Severus focused again when he heard Harry groan and before he could do anything to prevent it, the boy had bolted from the room.

‘Harry! Come back here. We have to talk.'

Severus heard him thundering down the stairs and he groaned. This boy was going to be the death of him, one way or the other. Oh, for the good old days when he could just hate Harry because he was James's son but also secretly protect him because he was Lily's son.

If it wasn't for Theodore Nott, Severus would still be none the wiser about this new connection he had with the boy. But even he, Severus couldn't have come up with the punishment the Dark Lord had meted out on the boy. It had been cruel and inhuman and Mrs Nott had been totally innocent of any crime.

Nott was almost in a catatonic state. He had still been staring at his mother's body in utter disbelief when that maniac had grabbed the boy's arm and branded him just as he had Draco, a few minutes earlier. It had been too much too soon and the boy had passed out. Voldemort had left him slumped on the floor.

Severus shook his head and sighed. He would have to go and find the boy. Things had been improving between the two of them. Open warfare had been suspended, at least it had been before today. Neither one was totally comfortable in the others company, but it was getting better. Severus knew he had to talk to the boy about last night. He had had not idea that Harry would worry about him. Nor had he thought that the potion would be so unsuitable.

The thought that Harry had actually dreamed of the revel and had not been able to fight his way out of it was a worry. He had more work to do obviously and somehow, he had to find a way to be around to observe the effects.

Petunia Dursley's high pitched screech floated up the stairs and Severus, who had just taken a step to follow Harry, stopped short when he heard Harry's agitated cry. The stairs took too long. Severus turned on the spot and Disapparated, appearing a split second later in the kitchen.

He turned around to face the still screeching woman who had a hold of Harry by the arm. He was struggling to get away but the woman seemed to have the strength of the deranged.

Severus pulled his wand, but not fast enough. Petunia continued to scream while pushing Harry back to an arms length away whilst holding onto a fist full of jumper and, putting the full weight of her body behind the blow, she swung her arm back and smashed her hand against Harry's cheek.

Harry tumbled sideways and landed on the floor, hitting his head on the cooker as he went down, at the same time as Severus roared ‘impedimenta,' blasting Petunia backwards and then, with deadly intent, ‘incarcerous,' watching with narrow eyed satisfaction as thin ropes shot out of his wand and snaked around Petunia, binding her firmly. When she continued to screech like a banshee, spitting out swear words that would have made a wharfie proud, Severus pointed his wand again and hissed, ‘silencio!'

Severus knelt next to Harry who was conscious but a bit dazed. His glasses had flown off. The side of his face where the blow had connected was very red and a great lump, covered by his hair was already blooming on the side of his head.

Without conscious thought, Severus gathered Harry into his arms and carried him through to the living room where he placed him on the sofa. Harry groaned as the bump pressed against a cushion. He opened his eyes and blinked myopically at Severus's face.

‘Lumos!' Severus lit his wand and moved the tip from one of Harry's eyes to the other, checking his pupils.

‘I'm all right,' said Harry, turning his head away.

‘No dizziness?' Harry shook his head. ‘Follow my finger...' and Harry did so as Severus moved the finger across his line of vision.

‘I told you, I'm all right,' repeated a frustrated Harry. ‘Can you see my glasses?'

‘Accio, glasses.' The glasses flew from where they had lodged under the refrigerator and Severus checked them before handing them to Harry, who hastily put them on. Severus stood up from where he was sitting on the edge of the sofa.

‘Stay here,' he ordered in a dangerous voice that defied disobedience.

He strode back into the kitchen and advanced on Petunia who was still spitting out invective, even though she couldn't be heard and struggling hopelessly against her bonds. Severus grabbed a handful of the ropes at the front and pulled the wide eyed woman up so that their faces were level.

Petunia stopped mouthing and her eyes widened as she looked into the pitiless face of the enraged wizard.

‘You are lucky that I am in a good mood, Petunia, because you wouldn't like to know what I would do to you for a lesser crime than the one you have just committed.' Petunia's eyes widened even further.

‘Would you like me to grab your son by the scruff of the neck and slam him halfway across the room?' Petunia shook her head frantically.

Severus put his face even closer to the woman and his hissed words were delivered quietly. ‘I give you fair warning now, Madam, if you ever touch my son again, I will make both you and your husband wish that you had never been born.'

A quiet footfall behind him had Severus spinning around, his hand still bunched in the ropes around Petunia. Harry was standing in the entrance to the living room. He was staring at Severus through shocked green eyes, his face pale except for the red hand print.

Severus stood frozen for a split second and then his anger found a new target. ‘I thought I told you to stay on the sofa,' he bit out through clenched teeth.'

Harry ignored him. ‘What do you mean by, "my son"?' he asked in a flat voice. ‘Why would you say something like that?'

Severus was at a loss. He became aware that he was still holding Petunia, so he dragged her across the room and thrust her onto a dining room chair. He pointed his wand at her bonds and they fell away. Petunia opened her mouth in what was obviously a moan and she rubbed her arms to try and get the circulation back.

Harry and Severus ignored her. They continued to stare at each other. Harry had a genuinely perplexed look on his face.

Severus closed his eyes and rubbed the fingertips of his right hand over his forehead as if he had a headache brewing. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Harry had not moved.

‘We need to talk,' said Severus and he swept passed Harry and headed for the stairs. Harry turned and watched him for several seconds and then he followed.