For a long moment, Harry merely stared at Mr. Lawson, wondering why he was there, too. But, as it turned out, there was no “too” – Severus Snape’s billowing black robes were not standing next to Mr. Lawson. Nor behind him. Or anywhere within Harry’s sight, for that matter.

Before Harry’s brain could catch up to the situation, Mr. Lawson spoke. “I asked you a question, Potter.” In Snape’s voice. Snape’s unmistakable – and impatient – voice.

“Uh…”

Mr. Lawson’s lips tightened beneath the drooping blond moustache. His icy blue eyes narrowed. He glanced quickly over his dove-gray shoulder at the sound of Marge’s loud laughter drifting in through the doors to the garden.

“Explain yourself, Potter. Immediately.”

Harry finally found his voice. “Professor … Snape? What are you doing – “

“I asked you first, Potter.” The unnerving blue eyes scanned the inside of the cupboard under the stairs. They took in the lumpy mattress and bedraggled bedding, Harry’s school trunk, a few random remains of childhood toys carefully arranged on the far ends of the shelves of cleaning supplies. “Why did you put this mattress in here? And the blanket. And the pillow. Explain yourself.”

Heat flooded Harry’s cheekbones, heat that had nothing to do with the stuffiness on the inside of the cupboard. Of ALL people to discover him in here… But the boy’s chin went up. He could only brazen it out and hope for the … well, hope that all of Slytherin wouldn’t learn of this humiliation, come September.

“I sleep here, Professor. When Aunt Marge comes to stay.” No need to tell the blond git that he’d actually lived in the cupboard for ten whole years. “There’s not a guest room, so she sleeps in my room, and I move in here for a few days. It’s no big deal,” he added as off-handedly as he could. “Though I’ll admit it was easier before I had my school trunk to contend with. Before I went to Hogwarts, I mean.” Better stop before he began babbling. “So, what’s YOUR story, Professor? You’re not – you COULDN’T be interested in … her?” he finished in a whisper, his green eyes as round as saucers.

Snape’s smirk was unmistakable, despite his disguise.

“Perish the thought, Potter,” he muttered, his sharp gaze examining the broken toys thoughtfully. “I’m here strictly on Dumbledore’s orders.” His icy glare bored into the boy’s wide eyes. “Although, if it were up to me, you would have remained unaware of my identity.”

Harry waited for some elaboration, but when none came, he asked the obvious, “But it’s not up to you? Sir?”

The blond man’s lips tightened again as he knelt down to peer back under the stairs. His wand appeared without warning, casting a bright Lumos into the cobwebbed depths of the cupboard, beyond the feeble reach of the low-wattage bulb just inside the door. The intricate webs shivered as a couple of spiders scurried from the onslaught of brilliant illumination.

Harry shuddered slightly. As long as he couldn’t SEE the spiders…

“How long do you stay in here?” Snape asked quietly. Surprisingly, there was no detectable sneer of disdain or amusement in his voice.

“Um … until Aunt Marge leaves,” Harry answered, refusing to look at the cobwebs.  “Maybe if you broke up with her, she’d leave faster. You know – go home to recover from a broken heart.”

Snape snorted, causing his blond moustache to quiver.

“Mr. Lawson?” Aunt Petunia’s voice trilled from the garden. Her call was repeated a few seconds later. “Mr. Lawson?” Closer this time.

“She’s coming in,” Harry whispered, not realizing that an expression of trepidation had crept across his features, or that Snape had seen it.

“Long story short, Potter, I am here to examine the efficacy of the wards. It may take several days. You will not leave the boundaries of this property in the meantime. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded, even though he didn’t comprehend the reasons behind Snape’s orders. Not that they were really Snape’s orders. Obviously, Dumbledore was lurking in the background. And for Snape to put on the “Mr. Lawson” act, there must be something truly important in the offing. After the Ministry … after the Veil … Harry would have done ANYTHING to thwart Snape himself, but he would obey Dumbledore’s wishes in the end. But only for Dumbledore’s sake. Not Snape’s. In any case, he’d have to play along with the git. And besides, it might be interesting to see just how far the man was willing to play Marge for a fool…

“Mr. Lawson?” In the kitchen now.

As he stood up, Snape shoved a cold metal object into Harry’s hand. “Canary cream,” he whispered, “at any sign of trouble. Tap it once. Keep your wand on your person at all times.”

A Portkey, Harry realized.

“Mrs. Dursley,” Snape said smoothly as Petunia entered the hallway. “I was just getting acquainted with your … nephew, did you say?”

Petunia’s mouth twisted, an automatic reflex to any mention of Harry, the boy knew.

“I’m so sorry that he bothered you, Mr. Lawson. I do apologize.” She tucked her manicured hand into the man’s elbow and coaxed him toward the French doors on the far side of the lounge. “Marge is eagerly awaiting your return. May I fix you a brandy?”

Harry stared after them until they had disappeared into the garden. Then he looked down at the Portkey. An old Muggle police whistle, he saw, and he grinned as he wondered if Arthur Weasley had something to do with it. Obviously, Dumbledore must have charmed it, given the Canary Cream password. He wondered where it would take him. Hogwarts? The Burrow? Or – he swallowed hard – Number 12 Grimmauld Place? Or some other Order safe house? He slipped the chain around his neck and tucked the whistle under his shirt when he heard Petunia’s quick steps crossing the kitchen tiles.

“Boy!” she spat, her whisper full of venomous contempt. She grabbed Harry by his hair and pulled him from the cupboard.

“You listen to me and you listen well.” Petunia leant down to glare at Harry where he crouched on his hands and knees upon the hallway carpeting. “Marge finally has the chance for some happiness in her life, and YOU are NOT going to MESS THINGS UP for her! You stay away from Mr. Lawson, do you hear me?”

Harry nodded, rubbing his sore scalp. “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

“You don’t speak to him – you don’t even LOOK at him!”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

The woman exhaled sharply through her pinched nose before standing straight again.

“Good.” She smoothed her skirt, then her hair. “Now, since Marge is busy with Mr. Lawson, you’ll need to take Ripper for his nightly walk.”

“ME?” Harry’s eyes bugged out. “But – but Aunt Petunia, Ripper hates me! He always has!” A fleeting image of being treed by Ripper when he was much younger flashed through his mind, followed by Snape’s warning not to leave the property.

“Nonsense. It’s the least you can do for Marge, to make up for all of the trouble you caused earlier.”

“But – “

“He’s in the garden shed. Here’s his leash. Get to it.”

Harry sighed as he took the length of sturdy leather. “Yes, Aunt Petunia.” How he would ever get out of this jam was beyond him… And with Petunia following upon his heels, he didn’t even have an opportunity to run upstairs and grab his wand from its usual hiding space under the floor of his bedroom. He couldn’t help feeling that he was leaping from the frying pan into the fire…

All four of the Dursleys were in the garden with Mr. Lawson when Harry quietly walked from the kitchen door through the dusk to the garden shed. He could sense Snape’s eyes following him as he frantically tried to come up with a plan. Dumbledore must have a reason for not wanting Harry to leave the property. If Harry took Ripper – if he succeeded in taking Ripper – for the dog’s usual stroll around the neighborhood, Snape would assume that Harry was deliberately defying Snape himself. And if there truly WAS danger lurking beyond the boundaries… Well, after the debacle in the Department of Mysteries, any of the Death Eaters who had not been captured there – or even Voldemort himself – might decide to show up on Privet Drive, seeking revenge against the Boy-Who-Lived. Given Dudley’s and his experience with the Dementors last summer, Harry simply couldn’t discount any possibilities.

The leather leash tapped against his leg as he stopped outside the shed. He could hear shufflings and snufflings from just behind the metal door. If only Ripper had been tied up! But Marge had insisted that her cutesy-wutesy have the run of the shed, if he had to be confined to accommodate Mr. Lawson’s wishes.

Taking a deep breath, Harry lifted the latch and opened the door just enough to slip in. It spoke volumes that even at his age, he could still slide through a smaller crack than the stout dog could. His hand fumbled frantically for the light switch even as he slammed the door shut with a flat, metallic slap.

Grrrrrrr … grrrrrrr … grrrrrrr…

Ripper’s fangs glimmered in the light of the bare bulb.

Harry wished he could just hex the stupid dog once and for all. It would almost be worth an owl from the Ministry of Magic.  At the very least, one little Petrificus Totalus until he could get the leash on… But he didn’t even have his wand.

Grrrrrrr … grrrrrrr … grrrrrrr…

“Hey, Ripper, want to go for a walk?” Harry tried to sound bright and eager, forcing himself to smile encouragingly at the fierce dog.

GRRRRRRR… The shed’s metal walls actually vibrated with the deep growls emanating from the short, round mass of fur quivering threateningly in the middle of the floor.

Well, the invitation would have worked with Fang, Harry sighed morosely. Too bad Hagrid wasn’t here. Surely, the gentle half-giant would have had SOME sort of effect on a growling Muggle dog, even if only to cow it into submission with his own impressive size.

Harry screwed up his Gryffindor courage and snicked open the hook on the leash. “See, Ripper? LEASHIE. Nice WALKIES. GOOOOD doggie.”

GRRRRRRR…

Okaaay, so the dog wasn’t as stupid as Harry had hoped. Or sounded.

“C’monnn, Ripper…”

GRRRRRRR…

Slowly, slowly, slowly… The hook approached the metal loop on the collar under Ripper’s chin. No fast moves…

Ripper lunged.

“YOW!” Harry’s yelp was an automatic response to seeing the teeth-laden jaws snapping shut just short of his fingers.

ROWF-ROWF-ROWF!!!

Backpeddling from the charging canine, Harry tripped over something, which knocked something else over, and that set up a domino effect with the garden tools… Some long-handled tool – rake? hoe? – bounced heavily off of Ripper’s head…

YIIIIIPE!

“BOY!”

It was the only time in his entire life that Harry had been glad to hear Uncle Vernon’s shout. The shed door was suddenly thrown wide open. “BOY! What in heaven’s name are you doing to Marge’s dog – “

Said dog shot through the open door like a Weasley-beaten Bludger, careening around the twilit garden in full voice. Harry scrambled to his feet, stumbling through the fallen tools toward the doorway, leather leash still clutched in his hand. Like a small brown tornado, Ripper spun in tight circles as he rounded the table and chairs, pausing just long enough to wet down Mr. Lawson’s immaculate trouser leg.

“Infernal BEAST!” Snape’s angry shout – the one he habitually used in the Potions Dungeon – shattered the dusk, and lights went on in the windows of the houses on either side of Number 4.

“M-M-Mum!” stammered Dudley, pointing at their outraged guest. “He SPOKE!”

Petunia’s face was a study in horror as her head twisted frantically back and forth between her sister-in-law pursuing the canine cyclone, screeching, “RIPPER-WIPPER-WIPPER!”, and their guest, who stood flicking the reeking fabric of his wet trousers in undisguised disgust.

“Oh, Mr. Lawson!” Petunia’s hands fluttered like drunken butterflies. “I’m so terribly, terribly sorry! It was … it was our nephew’s fault – “

The man scowled at her furiously, his blond moustache quivering at the tips. “Mrs. Dursley, it was hardly your NEPHEW who … ruined … my trousers. I distinctly saw a DOG raise its leg in passing.”

“RIPPER-WIPPER-WIPPER!”

Petunia paled as several neighboring windows were thrown up so as to give the grinning observers a better view of the chaos occurring at Number 4. Ripper spun past, growling enthusiastically now with the sheer exuberance of it all, while Marge charged alongside the neatly-pruned hedge in hot pursuit. “RIPPER-WIPPER-WIPPER!” Her high falsetto echoed off the buildings, causing more lights to go on in the row of houses which backed against the alley beyond the Dursleys’ garden.

Before anyone could speak further, the light in the shed went out, followed by a sharp snap and a started outcry, then several more sharp snaps in the black silence of the shed.

“RIPPER-WIPPER-WIPPER!”

The dog suddenly broke free of his tornadic spin and made a charging beeline for the seated Dudley.

“Agh! Get off!” shouted Dudley, flinging his legs high, bringing his shoes to rest on top of the garden table, narrowly missing the glassed-in candle and brandy snifters.

“Dudley! Put your feet down at once!” hissed Petunia, her eyes flickering toward the neighboring houses with dismay.

“But Mum, I don’t want Ripper to pee on me, too!” Dudley whined loudly.

Petunia groaned as she heard chuckles coming from an overlooking window. And she groaned again when Ripper decided to squat in full view of everyone to finish the other half of his business.

Marge pounced on the dog, grabbing him by the collar while he was busily scratching grass over his odiferous offering. Vernon approached, leather leash in one hand, and gripping Harry by his upper ear. Handing the leash to his sister, he ordered the boy, “Clean up that mess. NOW.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

“Then take that – Ripper – for his walk. Be quick about it.”

Harry opened his mouth to say … something … something to explain why he shouldn’t leave the property, although after what had just happened in the shed, protesting a direct order from Vernon would be a decidedly unwise course of action. But before he could think of anything to say, Snape’s voice smoothly cut in.

“Surely, the animal has had a good run already.”

Harry’s startled eyes met those of his disguised professor. For a brief moment, something whispered across his consciousness … and before he thought to break eye contact, the briefest glimpse of the inside of the darkened shed, Uncle Vernon silhouetted against the faint dusk beyond the open doorway, the swinging leather dog leash…

“Not to mention,” continued the faux food critic, “the dog certainly has no need for further … relief.”

Dudley snickered before Mr. Lawson shot him an icy-blue glare.

“Quite right,” agreed Marge, holding the end of Ripper’s leash in a firm grip. “The boy can clean up the mess and go to bed early. Right, Vernon?”

“Indeed,” Vernon said in a hard voice. “Get to work, boy.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

Harry went for the shovel as the Dursleys began to bid Mr. Lawson a good evening. He found it impossible to believe that Snape would ever return to Privet Drive, the wards notwithstanding, after Ripper had peed on his leg a second time. But as he scooped up Ripper’s deposit, he heard Mr. Lawson agreeing to come to luncheon the next day, followed by an outing in a nearby park with the family (less Harry, the boy strongly suspected), and dinner later on at an upscale restaurant (definitely without their unwanted nephew, Harry knew without being told). He did have to wonder when Snape would even have the time to examine the wards. Oh, well – Harry would be content enough to stay on the Dursleys’ property, as long as they weren’t there! And as long as Marge took Ripper with her…

Back in the house, Harry quickly went through his nightly routine in the bathroom, making a quick trip to his bedroom to extricate his wand from beneath the floorboards before descending the stairs to open his cupboard door. He was just setting a battered plastic pitcher of water on one of the shelves when the taxi pulled up in front of Number 4. Harry knelt inside his cupboard, pulling the door almost shut. He could still see Mr. Lawson standing by the open front door, extending his hand to shake Vernon’s.

“We’ll speak again,” the departing guest said, but his eyes were focused on Harry, just visible through the crack in the cupboard door, not Vernon, and Harry knew the words were intended for him alone.

The cupboard door abruptly slammed shut, banging Harry painfully on the side of his forehead. He heard the bolt slide home as Petunia spoke just inches away.

“Good night, Mr. Lawson. It was such a pleasure meeting you. We’ll look forward to seeing you again tomorrow.”

“Good night, Mrs. Dursley, Mr. Dursley, Master Dursley.”

A chorus of good-byes ensued, followed by a pause. And then –

“Good night, Mr. Potter.”

Stunned, Harry could barely croak a response through the grate in the cupboard door. “Good night … Mr. Lawson.”

“I’ll walk you to the taxi,” Marge announced peremptorily, and Harry could envision her dragging the blond “boyfriend” by his arm down the front walk.

The cupboard door jerked violently against the sliding bolt before the bolt was slid back. Yanking the door open, Vernon glared fiercely at Harry, whose back still burned from the shed.

“WHAT did you MEAN, boy, by saying ‘good night’ to Mr. Lawson?” Vernon demanded.

Harry’s stomach clenched painfully, though he tried to respond reasonably. “But Uncle Vernon, he spoke to me directly. I hadn’t planned to speak to him at all, but when he spoke to me, I was afraid it would be rude not to reply. I didn’t want to offend him – for Aunt Marge’s sake.”

After a very long moment, Vernon slammed the cupboard door shut once more.

Harry slowly exhaled.

Eventually, he stretched out in the narrow space alongside his trunk, pulling the blanket up over his suddenly-chilled body. Breathing the fresh air through the crack under the door, he slowly fell into an uneasy sleep.

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