Snape and Dumbledore made their way up Privet Drive in the early evening. The identical cookie-cutter houses with their perfectly manicured lawns defined Muggles for Snape. Did they lack all sense of originality? Walking up to the front door, he noticed that the lawn of Number 4 Privet Drive was not as well kept as it once had been. Nor were the flower beds, which had sprouted a copious number of weeds. Dumbledore knocked and the two wizards waited.

Petunia Dursley opened the door, looking much older than she had the last time Snape had seen her.

The horsey woman’s face immediately took on a pinched expression, as if she’d just sucked on a lemon. “You have no business here,” she snapped, attempting to close the door.

Dumbledore stuck out his foot as Snape said, “You have no business calling yourself a mother.”

Petunia’s face grew even colder and angrier. “I never asked for that freak.”

“Severus,” Dumbledore warned.

Severus hadn’t even done anything yet, but he wanted to. He wanted to wring that sanctimonious woman’s neck with his bare hands.

“I suggest you invite us in,” Dumbledore said, more of a command than a suggestion. “I assure you, it will be much easier that way.”

Petunia glared at them both, turned her back, and walked away, leaving the door open. Snape and Dumbledore followed her into the kitchen.

“What do you want?” she demanded. “You’ve already taken my husband, leaving my son and myself poor and alone.”

Severus gritted his teeth. “You deserve so much more than that, you sorry excuse for a woman.”

Dumbledore raised his hand to silence them. “Let us sit, shall we?” The elderly wizard pulled out a chair for himself and sat at the dining room table. After a moment’s hesitation, Snape did the same, but much less gracefully. When Petunia remained standing, Dumbledore produced his wand.

“Put that away,” Petunia hissed, seating herself begrudgingly.

Dumbledore, Snape noticed, merely set his wand on the table before him. Snape decided to do the same. Petunia quailed at the display of power.

“Now,” Dumbledore said, “you, Mrs. Dursley, have failed to provide more than the most basic food, shelter, and clothing for the precious child I entrusted you with fourteen years ago. You allowed him to be beaten and nearly killed in your home by your beast of a husband. You allowed your son to bully him and harm him. You yourself have physically assaulted and starved the boy. At no time did you treat him as your own son, as I had instructed you to do, and as you had agreed to do when you took him into your home all those years ago.”

Petunia sat stiffly, her arms crossed over her chest, looking into the distance. She refused to make eye contact, much less speak.

“As you know,” Dumbledore continued, “your allowing the boy house space has enabled him to remain safe from the madman who seeks his demise. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that you were the ones I needed to protect him from!”

Snape was impressed by the fury that emanated from the headmaster. Even Petunia couldn’t ignore Dumbledore’s anger. She leaned back in her seat, trying to put as much distance between her and the headmaster as possible.

“We have just returned from your husband’s trial,” Dumbledore said. “Vernon Dursley has been sentenced to life in Azkaban for the torture and attempted murder of Harry James Potter, a sentence that both he AND you deserve.”

Petunia jerked in her seat, finally meeting the older wizard’s eyes. “You had no right,” she rasped. “We did as you asked. We let the freak live here, with our son.”

Snape wanted to lunge at the stupid woman but stilled when, without looking, Dumbledore rested his hand over Snape’s to calm him.

“You fulfilled the most basic portion of the agreement, which, I might add, did NOT include trying to kill the boy by starving, beating, and humiliating him. The punishment for your husband is more than just, and long overdue.”

Petunia opened her mouth to protest, but Dumbledore continued.

“As for your son’s punishment…”

Petunia blanched. “Dudley!” she exclaimed. “What does Dudley have to do with any of this?”

Dumbledore’s words punctuated the air like daggers. “Dudley bullied, beat, and raped…”

“He would never…” Petunia shouted, outraged.

Snape could hold back no longer. “Oh, yes, Petunia, the boy you coddled and spoiled turned out just as you had raised him to be: entitled, prejudiced, and cruel,” Snape said in a voice that promised vengeance.

Petunia’s mouth hung open, looking like a fish out of water. Then she said, “You have no proof.”

“We have Mr. Potter’s memories,” Snape said. “And in our world, those memories can be displayed for all to witness.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “For Dudley Dursley’s crimes,” Dumbledore said gravely, “he will serve six months in Azkaban, as will the other boys who participated in that grievous act against Harry. The Aurors will arrive in one hour to arrest him.”

“You can’t do that,” Petunia said, shaking her head in denial.

“As for you,” Dumbledore continued, ignoring her protests, “you are, unfortunately, still needed. As such you have a choice. You can continue to allow Harry to return here in the summers…”

“No!” Petunia shouted, getting her to feet. “That FREAK has cost me EVERYTHING! My husband, my son, my income…”

“Or,” Dumbledore continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “you can spend the rest of your days in Azkaban, along with your husband.”

Snape watched as Dumbledore’s words slowly sank in. He watched the fight drain out of Petunia as self-preservation kicked in. Slowly, she sank back into her chair, looking furious but contrite.

Gritting her teeth, Petunia asked, “I suppose there are conditions?”

“Indeed,” said the headmaster. “The first condition is that you will treat Harry with respect. You will not raise your voice to him, nor your hands, nor any other objects. You will not speak to him in a condescending tone or use body language that could be construed in a negative manner. In other words, you will not cause him any more physical or emotional harm.”

Snape watched as the vile woman seemed to be thinking of ways she could agree to Dumbledore’s terms while still getting around them.

“Furthermore,” Dumbledore continued, “you will act the role of a proper guardian. You will make his meals, do his laundry, provide him with an adequate clothing allowance so that he may purchase his own clothes, as opposed to wearing Dudley’s overlarge ones. He will be allowed to do a minimum of chores, such as mowing the lawn and cleaning his bedroom, and you will pay him an allowance for doing so. You will not make him do all of the chores as you have in the past.”

Petunia looked very cross as Dumbledore continued laying out the terms.

“Harry will return here after the end of term, and he will be accompanied by a schoolmate who will remain for the duration of his stay to ensure that you are treating him well. Professor Snape will deliver Harry here, and Professor Snape, myself, or another adult witch or wizard will check on Harry’s well-being at least once every other day, and much more often if necessary.” Dumbledore paused, letting his words sink in.

“Furthermore, although Harry is not yet of age, his classmates are, and they will perform magic if necessary to ensure Harry’s safety. If you give Harry any trouble, you will also be welcoming the addition of an adult witch or wizard, or a non-human creature called a house-elf. Trust me when I say you do not want this.”

Petunia quailed under Dumbledore’s constraints.

“Loath as I am to give you the choice, for Harry’s sake I must. Will you, Petunia Dursley, welcome Harry into your home? Or would you rather spend the rest of your life in Azkaban? I must tell you to choose carefully because, should it come to light that you have abused Harry further while he is in your care this summer, you will automatically be sent to Azkaban for life.”

Petunia grimaced, wringing her hands together in her lap.

“That isn’t much of a choice,” she spat. “And if I take the boy, I will not have to spend any time in that dreaded prison?”

“I am afraid you will still have to spend time in Azkaban,” Dumbledore said, not in the least regretful. “You will be arrested with your son and remain in Azkaban until just before Harry’s term ends. You will then be allowed to live here during Harry’s tenure. Depending on how well you do during his four-week stay, you will either be returning to Azkaban or you will be allowed to remain in your home, where you will be required to perform community service for the rest of your life.”

Petunia closed her eyes. “This is outrageous.”

“No more outrageous than your treatment of the boy,” Dumbledore informed her, “and much less than you deserve.”

“Aren’t I entitled to a barrister to represent me?” Petunia muttered.

Snape scoffed. “You willfully and intentionally abused a Magical child. Muggle courts no longer apply, and neither do Muggle laws.”

After a long pause, Petunia spat out, “Fine. He can return here. For four weeks only.”

Potions class was much the same as always. Snape was slightly less obnoxious toward the trio, but just barely. They were brewing a strengthening solution, and Harry had almost managed to get it right. His was a deep blue with green swirling smoke. Hermione’s had turned the teal color it was supposed to, while Ron’s was gray and giving off an odor of rotten eggs. When Snape walked past to inspect their potions, he wrinkled his nose at Ron’s and said nothing about Hermione’s. When Snape got to Harry, he gave Harry a searching look.

Harry watched as Snape’s face changed. The man sighed audibly and said in an exasperated voice, loud enough for the whole class to hear, “Potter, stay after class.”

Harry felt confused. His feelings toward Snape swung on a constant pendulum, unsure of the man’s true regard for him. Was Snape’s treatment of him just for show? It looked like it. And considering Snape still had Death Eater duties to attend, and Dumbledore trusted him, it made sense that Snape was a spy. With the children of Death Eaters in the class, the man would need to put on a show. He had discussed this theory with Hermione and Ron several times. Hermione said it was the most logical conclusion, while Ron just thought Snape was a git and Dumbledore a fool for trusting the double agent. But Harry had seen another side of the man, one that helped him and healed him as needed, albeit not ebulliently so.

Thus, at the end of class, Harry waved off his friends and waited. Snape stalked toward him as the students exited, radiating menace. After seeing the last of the students out, Snape slammed the dungeon door and locked it. Then his whole demeanor changed.

“Your potion wasn’t bad, Mr. Potter,” Snape said. “Your flames were a bit low, which was why it didn’t turn the proper color. Otherwise, it was sufficient.”

Harry felt stunned. That was a huge compliment coming from Snape.

“I kept you after,” Snape said, leaning casually against the desk in front of Harry’s, his face now calm and composed, “because Covey and I would like to invite you to dinner this evening. There are some things we need to discuss with you.”

“Sir?” Harry said. “Am I in trouble?” Harry swore he saw Snape’s lip twitch, fighting off a smile.

“Not at the moment,” Snape said. “But I don’t doubt that could change by the time dinner rolls around.”

Harry laughed, relieved.

“Can we expect you at 6 pm, then?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Is that all?”

Snape was looking at him with that searching expression again. “For now,” Snape finally replied.

“Okay,” Harry said, gathering up his things. “See you tonight then, sir.”

Snape nodded as he held the door open for Harry to leave.

“What was that about?” Ron immediately asked.

Harry looked around, making sure no one could hear him. “He invited me to dinner.”

“He what?” Ron shouted.

“Ron,” Hermione said, putting her hand on his arm. “Be quiet.” Turning to Harry, she said, “That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? Did he say why?”

“He said he and Covey had some things they wanted to discuss with me.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “It’s probably something about your healing, then.”

“Or the Muggle therapists,” Ron pointed out.

Harry considered his friends’ suggestions. His healing was finished, so far as he knew. And he was still seeing the Muggle therapists weekly, which was helping. He was learning how to ward off his panic attacks and work through his feelings. He was having fewer flashbacks and learning how to integrate his returning memories. His nightmares hadn‘t improved all that much, though.

“Or maybe he’s not happy about my lack of progress in Occlumency.“ Sighing, Harry said, “Well, I’ll find out tonight, won’t I?”