“How very rude,” Petunia was hissing under her breath as she arranged fresh flowers from the garden in her favorite crystal vase. “He cancelled without saying a word to us, or at the very least to poor Marge, then expected us to eat a late dinner without him.”

Harry stared at her with wide eyes. He’d had plenty of practice acting surprised through the years, and he knew he projected the very picture of innocence, even though Snape had apprised him of his plans for the previous evening.

The Dursleys had barely checked on Harry after returning home, so this was – as far as they were concerned – the first Harry had ever heard of the dinner that never took place.

“So, he just left you stuck at an expensive restaurant, after he’d invited you?”

Petunia snorted in an unladylike fashion. “The maître d’ informed us that Mr. Lawson had prepaid the meal – told the restaurant to charge anything we ordered to his credit card – but that still doesn’t excuse his absence. Marge was beside herself at being stood up in such a fashion, Vernon was furious, and I decided we’d probably better skip the meal altogether.”

That surprised Harry. He hadn’t heard any food preparations after the family had returned home. Were they all so upset they simply couldn’t eat?

“We ended up going to Marge’s favorite seafood restaurant for a quick meal instead. At least she knew what to expect there, unlike with Mr. Lawson. Personally, I think she would be well advised to break it off with him.”

“Oh.” Harry really didn’t know what to say, not being privy to the finer elements of adult relationships, even among normal people, and Marge and the remaining Dursleys never seemed quite normal to him, even if they viewed him as the freak of the family. “Do you think he’ll ring her again? I’d actually thought he was rather nice, if a bit quiet. Maybe something unavoidable came up and he really and truly couldn’t get out of it in time to meet you for dinner. And he was very generous in offering to pay for your dinner, after all. All four of you,” he added.

Pursing her lips, Petunia considered. “Well, if he does ring, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Marge hangs up on him.” She turned the vase this way and that, tweaked a pink rose to the right and a white lily twice to the left. “There. That should do it.” Gathering her floral scissors, she nodded to the remains of several fern fronds and the flower stems that littered the kitchen counter. “Clean up this mess before you go out to weed the flower beds.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.” Harry’s answer was rote as he watched her carry the vase into the lounge. Cheerful sunlight streamed into the kitchen as he tidied the counter. Deciding he’d better use the bathroom before going outside – he never knew when the next opportunity to do so would arise – Harry headed for the stairs.

He’d barely put his foot on the bottom step when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it, Aunt Petunia,” he called.

Twisting the doorknob, Harry opened the door to none other than Mr. Lawson, wearing a navy suit today. The blond man was carrying a smallish box in his left hand, a gift-wrapped box tied with a satin ribbon.

Harry stared at the box. Some inner sense told him this was going to lead to a scene with Marge, and with the mood that the rest of the family were in, it probably wouldn’t turn out well.

Mr. Lawson’s eyes gave nothing away as he studied Harry hesitating in the doorway. He twitched his head slightly to the left, as if indicating the lounge, and Harry finally found his tongue.

“Won’t you please come in?” He stepped aside to allow the man to enter the foyer.

“Thank you,” said Snape’s voice as he stepped over the doorsill.

“I’ll just get Aunt Petunia,” Harry murmured, hurrying toward the kitchen when he didn’t see her in the lounge. Heaven only knew he wasn’t about to call Marge downstairs himself. Let someone else take the blame for bringing her into contact with her Mr. Lawson once more.

Harry stopped short as Petunia exited the kitchen.

“Well, who was it?” she demanded impatiently. “I do hope you didn’t leave a caller just standing on the porch.”

“No, ma’am,” said Harry, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “I asked him in, very politely.”

“Who?”

He swallowed. “Mr. Lawson.”

“What!” Petunia’s face pinched unpleasantly. “Of all the nerve! He shows his face here after last night?” Suddenly, she glared at her nephew. “And you let him in, after all I told you? Where is your brain?”

Harry pointed toward the front of the house. “But he has a box, Aunt Petunia. It’s gift wrapped, like he means to give it to Aunt Marge. Maybe it’s an apology? And what if she wanted to give him another chance? I couldn’t just send him packing, not like that. See?”

Petunia wrung her hands indecisively for a moment. Then she squared her shoulders. “I’d better see what he wants,” she muttered. “And then I’ve got to tell Marge… Oh, dear. Oh, dear me.” She stalked off toward the front door, and Harry thought he caught “… give him hell...” under her breath.

Not wanting to miss any of the action, he crept to the doorway between the kitchen and the end of the foyer.

“I see,” Petunia was saying. “Well, I suppose it’s her decision to make.” She fluttered her hands toward the lounge, as if shooing Mr. Lawson toward the sofa. “Take a seat. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

From the safety of the doorway, Harry watched her trot lightly up the staircase as the blond man disappeared through the lounge door.

After several seconds of tense silence, Harry heard Vernon’s outraged bellow from upstairs, followed by Marge’s strong protest. Then Vernon’s heavy steps thundered down the stairs, shaking the doorframe beneath Harry’s hand.

“I’ll shift him!” Vernon vowed loudly, but his sister was descending hard on his heels, demanding to have her say first. They both vanished through the lounge doorway, followed a few seconds later by Petunia.

Harry jumped when the door behind him from the kitchen to the garden suddenly opened, admitting Dudley, who made a beeline for the fridge.

“What’re you doing, then?” the large boy asked, rummaging through the tray of leftover sandwich quarters to find his favorites.

Harry put a finger to his lips. “Mr. Lawson is here. Aunt Marge is going to give him what for.”

Shocked, Dudley dropped several sandwiches on the floor. “No way! Let’s go see!” He shoved past Harry and started for the lounge, eager to see the next go-round involving the blond suitor. Harry followed quietly, trying to keep Dudley’s body between him and trouble, which could come from any of the four adults in the front room.

“… entirely unavoidable, and I do regret it,” said Snape’s smooth voice, gently entreating an unseen Marge. “I had so been looking forward to your company last evening, and I do beg your forgiveness.”

A silence followed, and Harry leaned sideways to peer past Dudley’s pudgy bicep at the frozen tableau in the lounge. Vernon, his face more purple than red, stood with his arms akimbo, ready for action, if Marge decided not to forgive Mr. Lawson. Petunia had her arms crossed in front of her, her fingernails digging into the flesh above her scrawny elbows. Marge stood slightly in front of them, glaring down at Mr. Lawson, who had sunk to one knee on the thick Persian rug, left hand over his heart, and right hand extended toward Marge, presenting the gift-wrapped box.

Harry’s jaw dropped, even though he knew this had to be an act on Snape’s part, for Snape would never go down on one knee before anyone. Except maybe Voldemort himself, and that only to preserve his cover as a spy.

Marge, for her part, gradually stopped bristling, and she eyed the box with reluctant curiosity. “I … suppose … I might … be able … to … forgive you,” she finally managed.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, my dear,” said Mr. Lawson with a deep sigh, bowing his head over Marge’s hand, which he had suddenly grasped with his empty left hand. His drooping blond moustache brushed her rough flesh. “You are so very gracious.”

“What’s in the box?” asked Dudley. “Is it an engagement ring? Are you going to marry Aunt Marge?”

“Dudley!” admonished Petunia. “Don’t be so presumptuous! You’ll embarrass Mr. Lawson.”

Harry ducked again behind Dudley before his relatives could spot him and somehow blame him for his cousin’s behavior.

Mr. Lawson rose to his feet and, with a flourish, handed the elegantly-wrapped gift box to Marge. “I’m afraid it’s not an engagement ring … yet,” he said with a smile.

Harry shuddered. Only he knew it was Severus Snape, and only years of dealing with Snape allowed him to hear the underlying tone which heralded impending doom for the relentless man’s intended victim. Those icy blue eyes flickered briefly to the Gryffindor, and Harry realized this was Mr. Lawson’s end play.

“Yet?” Marge gasped. “You mean … there’s a future for us?” The solidly-built woman looked ready to swoon at the very thought.

“Oh, yes,” purred Mr. Lawson, his drooping moustache quivering with restrained emotion. “However, we must first attend to one little issue… “

Marge stared breathlessly into his blue eyes, which gleamed with a dangerous light, or so she imagined, having read romances in years past, where the hero’s eyes always managed to gleam with a dangerous light as he regarded the heroine. She had often used to imagine what it would be like to find herself in the role of a romantic heroine. And now, after all these years, it was finally happening to her – really happening!

“An issue?” she whispered.

“Open the box,” her paramour whispered back. “The moment I saw this, I thought of you.”

Marge gave a high-pitched giggle, completely out of character for her. Slowly, drawing out the moment, knowing it was one she would forever remember, she pulled one end of the satin ribbon, teasing it out of its knot. Then, she pulled the other end of the ribbon. She looked dreamily into the sparkling blue eyes, seeing her suitor’s eager anticipation as the ribbon fell away from the box. Carefully, she eased off the wrapping paper, hugging the bliss of her ignorance to her heart for a few seconds longer. In a moment, she would know. She would know what Mr. Lawson thought of her, what made him think of her…

She opened the box.

And stared.

And stared.

Then she glared suspiciously at Mr. Lawson.

“This… THIS reminded you of ME?” she grated. “Dare I ask why?”

Dudley couldn’t contain himself a moment longer. He pushed forward past his parents, and he grabbed the open box.

“A razor?” he squeaked. “Why’d he get you a razor?”

Harry clamped his hands over his mouth to keep from making a sound. He would never have believed Snape would actually do THAT! And the man had been down on his knee to put on his act! Ron and Hermione would never believe this one! Never in a million years!

Even the blond moustache couldn’t hide a decidedly Slytherin smirk.

“Well, there is the problem of your moustache, and I simply couldn’t conceive of kissing a woman with facial hair,” Snape’s voice stated bluntly. “I don’t know if I could even face kissing a woman with razor stubble, but the moustache must go, if there’s to be any possibility of my seeing you ever again.”

Marge’s skin tone abruptly turned from red to plum, nearly matching her brother’s in hue, and she flung the box with the razor at Mr. Lawson’s mocking face. The blond man neatly sidestepped the squared-off missile, which flew across the lounge to bounce off the new mirror.

“What a pity,” Snape sneered. “It was a very fine razor, indeed. Such a shame you couldn’t appreciate it.”

By now, Harry’s jaw had dropped halfway to the floor. The horrible tone coming from the man’s mouth, his choice of words, would have been at home in the Potions Dungeon, when he was flinging invective at his least favorite Gryffindor. Harry had just never seen this degree of Snape’s ire and disgust directed at anyone other than himself, but Marge was getting the full treatment!

“OUT!” shouted Vernon. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” He advanced upon Mr. Lawson, his meaty fists swinging. “GET OUT BEFORE I KILL YOU, YOU SWINE!”

Marge’s ex did not have a clear path to the front door, and Vernon showed no sign of stepping aside to let him pass. In fact, it appeared certain that Vernon was prepared to wallop Mr. Lawson if the man tried to leave by way of the front entrance, a fact which the blond man quickly discerned, and he turned to exit through the connecting dining room’s garden door.

“OUT!” Vernon bellowed, advancing on Mr. Lawson from behind as the blond fumbled with the tricky catch on the door.

The entire family followed Vernon through the dining room, as Mr. Lawson finally worked the door open and stepped quickly into the garden, only to be set upon by Ripper.

“Damn-blasted dog!” came his angry shout as he kicked his leg, trying to dislodge the canine, who had snagged the man’s trousers with his sharp teeth. Ripper gave a sharp yelp as the fabric tore asunder, sending the dog sprawling across the thick grass.

Mr. Lawson didn’t hesitate. He sprinted for the back fence, racing ahead of the four-legged terror, and leapt upwards to hook his fingers over the sturdy vertical boards. Before he could pull himself up and over, Ripper raised his own leg high and soaked the man’s ankles one final time. With a cry of disgust, the blond man hauled himself over the fence, dropping into the alley between the Dursleys’ property and their neighbor behind them.

After quickly looking around to make sure he wasn’t being observed, Severus Snape Apparated away, leaving a pungent whiff of dog urine hanging in the air of the alley.

All of the Dursleys had rushed into the garden to watch Mr. Lawson’s flight, and Harry stood in the doorway, alternating between suppressing a hideous thrill of horror and trying not to give in to wild laughter at Snape’s incongruous exit.

“Guess you were too much woman for him, Aunt Marge,” said Dudley, laughing, catching Harry’s eye, and Harry grinned back at him. “But you’re better off without him. You need a STRONG man.”

“I quite agree,” sniffed Marge, leaning down to rub Ripper’s ears when he returned from chasing her erstwhile love to the fence. “A food critic, indeed! He was far too thin. That should have warned me off him straight away.” Without further ado, she turned to lead the family back into the house.

Harry backed away from the door to allow them room to enter, and he remembered what Snape had told him: focus on the house, not the people living in it. Let the house be his home, or else the wards will fall.

He could do that. The house did not have anything against him. He had a room here, when Marge wasn’t here, and the room had never done him any harm. The cupboard was his other space in the house, and the cupboard had never acted against him. It was only the people. The house he could live with. This house was his home.

And suddenly, Harry felt gratitude toward Snape for helping him to understand that simple fact.

Still, he had to laugh.

Too much woman! Ron and Hermione were definitely going to hear about this adventure! Harry grinned broadly as he closed the garden door.

-:- -:- -:-

Severus Snape landed before the iron gates of Hogwarts castle, still reeking of dog urine. With a sweeping motion, he Tergeo-ed his lower extremities, restoring order to his trousers, socks, and shoes. He then cast a quick Reparo to mend the ripped fabric below his knee. That horrible little beast, he thought with a worse-than-usual glower. He was well rid of Marjorie Dursley and her canine companion.

After quickly unwarding the gates, he entered the castle grounds, closed and rewarded the gates, then set off on his long trek to Dumbledore’s office. He could just see the Headmaster’s triple-appendage abode protruding from a tall tower, washed in warm summer sunlight.

For the life of him, Snape could never understand how Dumbledore could feel at ease living and working in quarters that stuck out into midair, several hundred feet off the ground. Didn’t the old fool ever worry that his aerie would come tumbling down someday? After all, the stonework had been done a thousand years ago, to provide the very first Head of School with a unique retreat, literally above and beyond the rest of the castle.

Snape shrugged. The Headmaster’s quarters was the Headmaster’s problem, not his. He really only worried whenever he had to personally set foot into Dumbledore’s office. Then, Snape was acutely aware that he was standing outside the main walls of the castle, hovering high above the unforgiving ground.

On his walk toward the castle, Snape considered the enigma of Harry Potter. He had already been aware of the boy’s unfortunate tendency to both attract trouble and to engage in it. Reckless Gryffindor didn’t begin to describe him. But now, having seen a more intimate side to Potter, the man began to understand why his young nemesis reacted to situations the way he did. Potter must have been horribly stifled by his relatives growing up, and still was, in fact. If anything, when given his freedom, he tended to overcompensate, throwing caution to the winds as he battled trolls, basilisks, evil Dark Lords and sadistic Defense teachers.

Potter’s fierce loyalty to people he considered his friends and family – like the Weasleys and his late godfather – grew from his being neglected and abused by uncaring relatives who were his genuine family. The boy should have lavished his attention on the Dursleys, but when that proved impossible, he transferred his affections to the other important figures in his life.

Snape sighed. He sincerely hoped that Potter could avoid further blow-ups with the Dursleys, although living with them was literally like living in a powder keg. The boy had walked out on his family once; the next time – Merlin forbid there was a next time – might prove fatal to them all. Perhaps Dumbledore should pay a visit to Number 4 and impress upon the Dursleys that the wards protected them as well as Harry, and the possible consequences for them all, were the wards to fall.

The Potions Master climbed the outer steps of the castle, murmured another unwarding spell before pushing open the grand doors, then closed and rewarded the entrance before ascending to the level of the Great Hall. A quick glance told him that the Headmaster was not enjoying a solitary early luncheon at the head table. Therefore, he would undoubtedly find the wizened Head in his office.

Not relishing the climb up to the seventh floor, Snape pointed his wand overhead as he stood within the massive stairwell and whispered, “Ascendio!”

He suddenly realized he had never Finited Mr. Lawson’s appearance when he felt the blond moustache blowing against his chin as his body arrowed vertically up the stairwell past the astonished portraits, landing at the top of the flight leading to the seventh floor. A quick wave of his wand removed the glamours and restored Snape to his habitual sartorial appearance, from the high-necked collar, down past his trailing robes, all the way to his comfortable boots. He hoped to never again don that blond moustache.

A couple of minutes later, he had reached Dumbledore’s gargoyle, which leapt aside when Snape merely glared at it. He rode up on the spiraling stone steps, and sure enough, Dumbledore bade him enter when he knocked upon the oaken door.

“It’s good to see you, Severus,” Albus Dumbledore greeted him with a twinkling smile. “Have you gotten everything straightened out at the Dursleys?”

“Indeed,” replied Snape. “At least, I hope so.”

Dumbledore frowned. “Do you anticipate further problems?”

The Potions Master collected his robes and sat in the leather chair opposite the Headmaster’s desk. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “All will depend upon Potter, but I believe I have impressed upon the boy the absolute necessity of embracing Number 4 Privet Drive as his home, regardless of how he feels about his relatives. They proved to be the catalysts in the situation regarding the wards wavering during the summer prior to Potter’s Third Year.”

“Ah,” said Dumbledore. “I can imagine.”

“Can you really, Headmaster?” asked Snape with a bit of a sneer. His dark eyes flashed between the hanks of long black hair framing his lean face. “Have you ever attempted to interact with the Dursleys?”

Dumbledore shook his head, his white beard swaying from side to side against his turquoise robes. “No, I have not had that pleasure.”

Snape snorted audibly. “I would hardly deem it a pleasure. If you had checked upon Potter’s situation, you might have discerned that he is treated quite vilely by his relatives, culminating with his fleeing their house at the time the wards weakened drastically three years ago. Quite frankly, I can’t blame him for setting off into the night, baggage in hand.” Snape paused, then added, “He appears to be routinely subjected to both verbal and physical abuse, as well as psychological and emotional neglect. Were you aware that they keep him locked in his room, unless they’re working him to the bone? Not to mention, they put bars on his window.”

Frowning, Dumbledore hesitated, then said quietly, “I see.” He sounded unutterably sad. “I shall have to look into this. Thank you, Severus, for bringing the situation to my attention.” Silence for an extended moment. “But you did complete your investigation, aided, I believe you said, by Miss Marjorie Dursley.”

A decided smirk crossed the dark man’s severe features. “Oh, yes,” he agreed. “Making her acquaintance helped me immensely in gaining access to the Dursleys’ home. And then, in the end, I had the great pleasure of breaking the dastardly woman’s black heart.”

Dumbledore’s grizzled eyebrows rose. “How exactly did you accomplish that, Severus?”

Snape grinned almost merrily. “With a razor, Headmaster. It worked most effectively.”

The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry leaned back in his tall leather chair studded with nailhead trim and regarded his employee expectantly. “Do tell.”

Severus Snape settled back, crossing his legs, and did just that.

High above the castle grounds, amused male laughter peeled out through an open window on a protruding aerie.

-:- -:- -:-