Albus sends him to collect the letter from the Letter Room—a place that Severus has never heard of before. He’s put in the supremely infuriating position of having to ask Albus where the fuck it is, at which point Albus shrugs and says, “I don’t know.”

Severus stares. He demands, “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve never been there,” Albus says flippantly.

“If you’ve never been there then how am I supposed to find it?”

Albus shrugs again. “I would suggest going to the place where the letters for muggleborns are deposited but, well, Mr. Potter isn’t a muggleborn so the letter won’t be sent there. Your best bet is to find the Letter Room and intercept a newly-written letter.” He pauses. “Or, I suppose, you could snatch an owl already carrying a letter to Mr. Potter out of the air but I suspect that may be more of a hassle than it’s worth…”

“Why am I doing this?” Severus despairs. “Surely someone else would be more fit for the job? Literally anyone else?” Albus is well-aware of Severus’s undying hatred for James Potter and all things related to him. Considering how “James Potter” is literally in Harry James Potter’s name, the boy doesn’t stand a chance. Severus is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt but he has the undying suspicion that the boy has messy black hair and wire-rim glasses and a stupid expression, just like his father.

Albus says, “I’m sorry, Severus, but Hagrid injured his ankle and everyone else is busy at the moment.”

Ugh.

---

It takes him several hours of unfolding, refolding, and un-refolding the Official Hogwarts Map before Severus manages to locate the Letter Room. The problem with the Official Hogwarts Map is that the listed rooms and corridors have a tendency to…move. The actual rooms and corridors themselves are stationary relative to each other, of course, but the Official Hogwarts Map represents the reality of the situation, which is that the corridors and rooms are, indeed, moving, just as they should in any self-respecting castle.

So, when Severus finally finds the Letter Room in an accessible location, he drops everything and rushes toward it. He does not know the Permanent Route to the room but the map provides the Current Route, which should work despite such pesky things like Physics and Common Sense.

The location ends up changing twice more before Severus finally happens upon it. It’s in an ancient corner of the castle, a wing that he doubts has seen the light of day in the past several centuries—or something like that, considering how the windows lead to a pitch black nothingness outside when it should be a sunny afternoon—and when he locates the door, he finds it caked in cobwebs.

Severus stands in front of it for a moment, wondering if this is really all worth it. Maybe he’ll just go back to Dumbledore and tell him that he refuses to go through with this errand. What’s the worst the old man can do? Fire him? Severus would skip out of the castle with glee. Maybe he’ll cut the middleman and just quit.

Bottling away his vivid fantasy of doing just that, Severus vanishes the cobwebs with his wand before opening the door. It lets out a creak of agony, leading into a dark abyss not unlike the one outside the windows.

Severus’s gaze narrows. “Fuck you,” he declares, waltzing in, casting a quick Lumos.

He is confronted with…Things. He is not entirely sure what they are, just that they are certainly humanoid and as short as house-elves but decidedly not house-elves. They’re actually tiny humans—he would think they’re children if not for their distinctly adult-like proportions. They wear clothes with many different patterns and colors, not a single one managing to be have a cohesive and visually pleasing outfit. Worst of all—they have no faces, just a smooth expanse at the front of their heads.

When he enters the Letter Room, they all turn to look at him in unison.

Severus swallows. “I…I need a letter for Harry James Potter.”

There is a moment of stillness before the Things burst into action, silent if not for the sounds of paper and movement. He spies a few bumping into each other, others jumping up and down in what appears to be joy, and others still ignoring him entirely, presumably penning out letters to other prospective Hogwarts students.

One Thing finally approaches him, brandishing a letter addressed to Harry J. Potter. Severus accepts it with a nod and quiet ‘Thank you’ which has the Thing also vibrating in what Severus assumes (hopes) is happiness. He takes the opportunity to take a closer look at the Thing and realizes—

The Thing is not wearing clothes. None of them are wearing clothes. What he had assumed to be “clothes” is actually skin which fuses into the normal-looking skin.

Severus gets the fuck out of there as soon as possible, only feeling a little bad at the Things’ visible disappointment.

---

Because of his horror, he doesn’t actually read the letter until he’s standing on the seashore. The descriptor of “Hut on the Rock, England” is far from descriptive and so Severus had to commandeer a Hogwarts owl after all, following it on the school’s awful brooms right up until it he’d gotten too close to it and it got fed up with him, dropping the letter on the ground and pecking him right on his nose. He’d shooed it off with a snarl and it went willingly. Now Severus—dripping wet because the storm had started before he’d been able to spell himself a barrier—is holding a muddy letter, standing on the shore of a raging sea mere minutes before midnight.

It’s almost the Boy Who Refuses To Read His Fucking Letter’s birthday. He better not hope Severus is going to give him a present because all Severus has the physical and emotional capacity to offer him is a stilted silence.

He can make out the outline of the Hut but it’s mostly obscured by the raging sea. Since he can’t get a clear picture of it, Severus can’t apparate there safely. With great reluctance, he bangs on the door of the dock-keeper, who answers with a bleary scowl.

“Whad’ya want?” the old man slurs.

“Ferry me to the Hut,” Severus yells over the storm.

“You with the crazy whale-lookin’ man?” the old man asks.

Severus doesn’t know who he’s referring to but still says, “Yes!”

The old man scowls. “Ferry yourself!” And then he slams the door shut in Severus’s face.

When further banging does not rouse the old man again, Severus stalks over to the dock to figure out what to do. There, he finds a single boat—barely a rowboat, holding onto its last breath of life. It likely won’t survive the night. It’s this or taking his chances apparting.

Severus takes the boat.

As a seven-year-old, Draco Malfoy had a brief phase where he couldn’t get enough of the naval arts. His parents, whipped as they are, had thrown him a ship-themed birthday party, and Severus had been forced to attend. He’d learned many nautical facts against his will that day, but now he finds himself grateful because it’s only due to the party that Severus actually makes it to the Hut.

He stumbles off the wooden death trap, collapsing to the ground and barely stopping himself from kissing the earth. He’ll be able to Apparate back to the mainland, leaving the boat here—just as the wretched dock keeper deserves, dammit.

Grumbling to himself, Severus makes his way over to the tiny Hut and knocks on the door.

No answer.

Severus knocks harder, impatience getting the better of him, only for the damned thing to collapse on him. Honestly, he’s not surprised that the rest of the Hut hadn’t collapsed with it—it’s a flimsy two-room monstrosity that probably breaks every housing code in England. Briefly, Severus wonders why in Merlin’s name the Harry Potter would be in this dump, but then his eyes adjust and he peers inside.

Two children are standing in the first room, shaking in fear. One is a rotund young man that Severus finds vaguely familiar and he almost assumes that is Harry Potter before he turns to the other boy and—

Lanky build. Black hair. Wire-rim glasses. Green eyes.

“You!” he snarls.

Potter flinches away. “M-Me?” he stammers.

“I need to have a word with you, Mr. Potter!” says Severus.

Before he can take a single step into the Hut, though, he hears a voice call, “Not a step farther!” When he turns to look, he finds himself on the wrong end of a rifle, a large (and admittedly whale-ish) man holding it in his direction. So that’s what the dock keeper meant.

Severus scowls at the man. “I have no business with you. I need to speak with Harry James Potter.”

Another figure creeps into view—petit and quivering—and then everything freezes as Severus finds himself making eye-contact with Petunia Evans.

“You!” cries Petunia.

“You!” cries Severus.

“What?” asks the rotund boy.

“At least he’s not talking about me anymore,” says Potter.

“Get out of my house!” Petunia declares, all her fear gone and replaced with rage.

Severus says, “A hovel in the middle of nowhere, Tuney? You really have moved up in the world…”

Petunia flushes. “This—this is just for vacation. I have a lovely house. Tell him, Vernon!”

The whale-ish man—Vernon, apparently—looks confused but still says, “We have a lovely house. Suburban beauty. Won the best front lawn competition three years in a row.” The gun is still trained on him.

“Besides,” says Petunia, “what does it matter to you, anyway? I heard you’re teaching at that freakish school of yours! And you were raised in a slum! You wouldn’t know good housing if it bit you on your abnormally large nose!”

Severus had long since become immune to jabs at his nose but for some reason when it comes from Petunia’s mouth, it awakens an ancient rage that hasn’t seen the light of day since his childhood. “Still bullying people for their socioeconomic status, I see. But enough about me—didn’t you say that you wanted to be a nurse? How did that work out?” Severus pauses. “Oh, my apologies—I forgot that you couldn’t even get into university.”

Petunia goes red. “Don’t talk to me about university, Severus Snape! My husband works in management! He’s respectable! You are just a schoolteacher at a school for nonsense!”

While Severus personally agrees with that last statement, he refuses to give in to Petunia Evans. He says, “I am an accomplished academic with papers published in reputable journals around the world! And your husband—what does he do? Boss people around?”

“He does more than that! Tell him, Vernon!”

Vernon, who now looks completely confounded, lowers his rifle and demands, “You two know each other?”

Petunia suddenly goes embarrassed and shame-faced. “This man,” she says with disdain, “used to live on the other side of my hometown—the rotten, ugly part, of course, where the factory workers lived. I lived on the good side of town, with the managers’ families.” She says that bit with pride, as if she has personally accomplished something by being born to middle-class parents rather than the working-class trash Severus was raised by. Petunia continues, “He’s one of those freakish people—just like my sister! He’s the one who dragged her into all that nonsense!”

Lily would have come to Hogwarts regardless of whether or not Severus had befriended her and Petunia knows it.

Vernon glares at him. “I don’t want any of this nonsense in my presence. Get out.”

“I will,” Severus grits out, “after I speak to Mr. Potter.”

Vernon growls, “He’s not going with you and he’s not going to the freakish school of yours. Out!”

Severus, enraged, finally gives in to his temptation and pulls out a wand. “You really want to do this, Tuney?” he calls, ignoring Vernon entirely. “You know that you have no say in the matter! You never did! You’re just bitter that you never had magic!”

And then Petunia goes red and purple and pale white, screeching, “GET OUT!”

“Not until I speak to Potter!”

“Um,” Potter squeaks out then, “you’ll leave if I talk to you?”

“You’re not talking to him!” Vernon spits at Potter. “He’s a madman! A delinquent like your parents! There’s nothing for you to talk to him about and there’s no such thing as magic!”

There is so much to unpack in that statement but Severus focuses on one, very specific aspect of it. He levels a wand at Vernon and snarls, “Lily Evans was not a delinquent!” He spares no energy on defending James Potter, who very much was a delinquent.

Petunia says, “She went and got herself killed! Nearly had the boy killed, too! Off talking nonsense, marrying a freak right out of school!”

Petunia had arguably done the same thing but Severus says, “Her death was not her fault! It’s not as if she was asking to be murdered!”

“Murdered?” Potter asks. “I thought my mum and dad died in a car crash!”

“Car crash?” Severus asks. “They were murdered by the Dark Lord!”

“The one you served!” cries Petunia. It’s the first thing she’s said that’s made sense.

Severus winces and responds, “I was acquitted.”

“You—you called my sister that awful name, too. That name you call people like her!” Another fair point. Severus is losing ground.

He says, “I apologized for that, but that’s beside the point. I have been appointed by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore to give Harry Potter his Hogwarts letter, seeing as he has deigned not to read any of them so far.” Though, from the looks of it, Severus expects that Petunia and Vernon were the ones not allowing him to. “Let me give him the letter and ensure he reads it and I will go.”

“For the last time, the boy will not be going to that wretched school of yours! We’re normal, decent people and—and if he goes then we won’t accept him back!”

And Severus Snape, card-carrying Slytherin, praised by Dumbledore for his quick-thinking and cool demeanor during times of crisis, makes a rash decision in a moment of rage. “Fine!” he spits. “Potter is coming with me and he will not be coming back!” He turns to Potter. “Gather your things so we can go!”

Potter is staring at him with wide eyes. It’s that same dumb expression that used to come on James Potter’s face and Severus is already regretting his decision but he refuses to give in now. As the silence grows longer, it finally occurs to him that, perhaps, Potter may be frightened by the prospect by going somewhere with a strange man he doesn’t know. But then Potter whispers, “You knew my mum?”

Severus, teeth grit, says, “Yes.”

There’s a beat of silence, then, “All right. I’ll go with you.”

And so Severus finds himself holding a conjured umbrella over the eleven-year-old son of his former enemy and ex-best friend, gripping his arm tightly as the boy carries his possessions—all of which fit in a single bag.

Severus asks the boy, “Have you ever been Side-Along Apparated before?”

Potter asks, “What’s Apparition?”

Severus sighs. “Teleportation.”

“Wicked!”

Sealing his eyes shut, he says, “Hold onto my arm and don’t let go. This will be unpleasant. When we land, make sure to aim away from me.”

Puzzled, the boy asks, “What do you mean?”

Rather than responding, Severus simply Apparates. When they reach the mainland, Potter vomits right onto his shoes.

Well, he has only himself to blame. That wretched ego of his, always ruining the day…

Albus stares at Severus, then at Potter, then at Severus again. He then puts his head in his hands. For several seconds, there is nothing but silence but then Potter whispers to Severus, “Is the old man all right? Should we take him to a doctor?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Potter,” says Albus, pained. “Everything is fine.” Drawing himself up, the man offers Potter a Sherbet Lemon—which he accepts—and then says, “Perhaps you should wait outside…”

“Why?” asks Potter, looking between Albus and Severus shiftily. “Mr. Snape isn’t in trouble, is he? I mean—I agreed to come. He asked me and everything.”

“I just need to…discuss the situation with Mr. Snape.”

“I’ll stay here,” Potter says stubbornly. Then, as if stunned by his own audacity, he back-tracks and explains, “For clarification! If I think you need it!”

“…Right.” Apparently having given up on that front, Albus turns back to Severus. “Did you kidnap Mr. Potter?”

Severus says, “No. His aunt and uncle did not attempt to stop me.”

“They shouldn’t have to attempt to stop you,” Albus says. “That implies that someone in a different situation would have. Please tell me the truth, Severus.”

Severus shrugs before turning away from his boss. “They weren’t letting the boy read his Hogwarts letter and they weren’t letting me give him a copy of it. Surely you understand why I felt the need to bring Potter here—how else could he accept the letter?”

Potter nods rapidly. “Yeah!” he says—and isn’t this a shock to his system, a Potter willingly backing him up against Albus Dumbledore…not that boy seems to know who Albus is. Potter continues, “I mean, our house was being flooded with hundreds of letters and Uncle Vernon got really mad if I even looked at them so we kept moving around to find a place where the letters wouldn’t find us, you see? Anyway, we ended up on the Hut on the Rock…”

“Awful Hut!” Severus declares, unwilling to keep that to himself. “Awful Rock! Completely unfit for human habitation! And the boy’s cousin was there, too—I ought to have taken him with me.”

“No!” shrieks Potter, looking alarmed. “He—he’ll be fine!”

“I don’t know if anyone can be fine with Petunia Dursley,” Severus mutters petulantly.

Albus sighs again. “Severus,” he says slowly, “did you kidnap Harry Potter from his family because of your childhood grudge against his aunt?”

“He didn’t kidnap me!” Potter declares. “He asked me if I wanted to go with him and I said yes!”

“Generally speaking, children are not awarded the power to control their own custody,” Albus says.

“Well, that’s stupid! Why can’t I control where I go?”

“Because children such as yourself generally do not think things through. For example, you just agreed to leave to somewhere you do not know with a man you have never met. This kind of behavior is very reckless—which is not necessarily a bad thing, mind you, because you are a child and children are naturally reckless, but it’s because of things like this that people your age are usually taken care of by an adult.”

“I can take care of myself,” Potter sulks. “And nothing went wrong, anyway. Mr. Snape is really nice.”

At this, Albus gives Severus a raised eyebrow and Severus pointedly does not sink into his seat in embarrassment. Instead, he sits up tall and says, “See? I’m nice. Nicer than Petunia, even.”

Potter nods solemnly. “You’re way better than Aunt Petunia.” Severus is slowly starting to like the boy.

“Put the boy back,” Albus says.

Potter screams, “No! You can’t make me! I’m staying with Mr. Snape!”

“Mr. Potter, I’m sure your relatives are very worried about you—”

“Nuh-uh! Uncle Vernon said that if I came here then he’d never let me back in the house!” Potter crosses his arms.

Albus frowns. “Surely it was said in a moment of passion…”

“They told him that his parents died in a car crash,” Severus offers.

Albus goes slightly green. “Well,” he wheezes, “maybe they just wanted to spare him the trauma of the truth…”

Severus needs to think of something to convince the man. He couldn’t bear the shame of taking Potter back to Petunia and having her laugh in his face, talking about how he couldn’t even keep his word. He gripped Potter’s elbow and drew him close, gesturing to him. “They had the poor boy sleeping on the floor while his cousin was on the couch! On his birthday!”

“On my birthday,” Potter agrees.

“That’s—that’s reprehensible. Surely you cannot send a child back to such conditions. I insist that you allow him to never return.”

“And stay with Mr. Snape,” Potter hastily tacks on.

Severus throws the boy a quick glare but breaks away before Albus could notice. Severus refuses to be saddled with a toddler. Potter looks just as determined as ever, though. Albus observes them both, looking positively bewildered, then says, “Mr. Potter…why did your aunt and uncle not allow you to read your letter?”

“Because they didn’t want me to know about magic,” Potter promptly replies. “I don’t think they like it very much.”

Albus nods slowly. “You said the house was being flooded with hundreds of them. Did you not manage to grab even one?”

“Well, I did, but Uncle Vernon took it from me before I could read it and then he locked me in my cupboard.”

There is a moment of silence. Then Severus asks, “Your cupboard?”

“Yes? The one my bed is in? You had to know about it. That’s where my first few letters were addressed!”

“That’s not how the letters work.” Silence. Then: “A cupboard!” Severus says, voice hoarse.

Albus, meanwhile, asks, “Was it a nice cupboard?”

“A nice—Albus, what the actual fuck?”

“I slept in a cupboard for a while,” Albus says defensively.

“What?”

“It was quite fun! My own personal cupboard…I felt quite special. My brother was very jealous and would get mad when I wouldn’t let him in…” Albus shrugs. “Every child should have their own cupboard, or its equivalent. I’ve heard pillow forts are all the rage these days…”

“I had a room!” says Severus. “An actual, normal room!” Then again, his house was far from an ideal one, what with having no bathroom other than an outhouse and not having a shower or bathtub at all, but at least he’d still had a room! Perhaps this is a wizard thing? Severus had been raised a muggle, after all. But no, the Dursleys were strictly muggles, too…

“I like my cupboard,” Potter says. “It has my bed and all my toys. I wish it didn’t have so many spiders, though…”

“They are hard to manage,” Albus says commiseratingly. “If you would like, I’m sure Mr. Snape could cast a spell to keep them out?”

“But there’s one spider that I want to stay. He’s my friend. His name is Craig.”

“I’m sure we can figure out how to make an exception for Craig.”

“What is going on?” Severus asks. “I’ve lost the plot.”

Albus waves him away. “Mr. Potter,” he says very seriously, “Mr. Snape will take you shopping for your school supplies but then he will return you to your home—and your cupboard.”

“It’s a cupboard!” yells Severus. “You know what—fuck this! Come with us, Albus, let’s see this cupboard of his!”

“No!” yells Potter. “I’m not going back! They don’t want me back! Mr. Snape, you said I could stay with you!”

“No, I said I wouldn’t take you back!”

“You lied to me!” Potter accuses.

“I could ask Hagrid to look after him for a few hours,” Albus offers. “I’m sure he’d be thrilled.”

“Who’s Hagrid?” Potter asks warily.

Albus smiles.

Turns out, Potter and Hagrid get along splendidly, and Potter seems to all but forget about him by the time Severus and Albus leave. Severus takes the opportunity to whirl on Albus. “A cupboard!” he screeches.

“Maybe it’s a nice cupboard,” Albus repeats.

“Albus, I’m going to tell this to you once and once only—there is no such thing as a nice cupboard. Or, at least, not nice enough to sleep in. I am concerned about Mr. Potter and, quite frankly, I’m concerned about your childhood, as well. How long did you sleep in this cupboard of yours?”

“Um,” says Albus, “until I was eleven, I think? Right before I started Hogwarts.”

“Eleven years in a cupboard!”

“Our house was small,” Albus says defensively. “It was bigger once we got to Godric’s Hollow! And once my father was sentenced to life in Azkaban…”

“Your father was what?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Albus!”

---

It seems that the Dursleys haven’t managed to make it back to No. 4 Privet Drive by the time Severus and Albus arrive. Severus just throws an Alohomora at the door and storms inside. Albus follows suit. Finding the cupboard takes a while but eventually Albus stops next to the stairway and stares at the door with the latch on the outside and says, “This is about the right height.”

“Nothing about this is right,” Severus mutters. He unlatches the door and swings it open and—

Yes, that is certainly a child-sized bed, and there are certainly toys, and there are definitely spiders. The boy had not been lying. However, the boy hadn’t quite explained the sheer magnitude of awfulness that the situation deserves. The cupboard is entirely unfinished, leaving the bare wood of the house out in the open, which is surely a splinter hazard. Every toy and book and crayon is broken or damaged in some way. When he pulls the string to turn the single lightbulb on, it sputters on and off. There is a spiderweb right by the pillow of the bed with a giant, but seemingly non venomous, spider lounging on it.

“I think that’s Craig,” Severus says blankly.

Albus observes this all with pursed lips, then says, “Cupboards were much more fun back in my day…”

“Get the damn spider,” Severus mutters. “I’ll get his things.”

“What?” asks Albus, looking dazed.

“Well we’re not going to leave him here, are we?” Severus demands.

Albus comes a bit more to life at that. “No,” he says, “I don’t think we will. You gather his things, though—I must check on something…” He then wanders off, muttering under his breath about “blood” and “one month” and other such rot.

And so Severus is left to collect Potter’s things. And the spider.

Craig stares up at him with its (his?) beady eyes and Severus takes a deep breath. “The boy is fond of you,” says Severus, “so I will take you to him. Don’t try any funny business.”

Craig, being a spider, does not respond. Fair enough.

Ten minutes later, Severus is carrying a meager bag of Potter’s belongings in one hand and cradling Craig in another. He finds Albus in the backyard, sitting on the ground, sketching on a stone with a ballpoint pen.

“What are you doing?” Severus asks, confused.

“A thing,” says Albus, which explains exactly nothing.

“What thing?”

“Messing with the wards.”

“There are wards here?” Severus asks.

“Of course there are wards here. Did you think I would leave Harry Potter in muggle hands without ensuring he had magical protection?”

“They didn’t seem to do much protecting,” Severus mutters.

“Yes, well—I meant protection from Death Eaters, and he has remained thoroughly safe from Death Eaters, hasn’t he? No matter how many resurgences we’ve had, not a single one of them laid a finger on Mr. Potter.” Albus frowns down at the stone. “I admit that I’m…hesitant to sacrifice it.”

“What are you on about?”

“I mean that these wards are probably the safest thing possible for him. If there were a Death Eater resurgence, as long as he remained on the property of No. 4 Privet Drive, no Death Eater could touch him.”

Severus thinks about Potter sleeping in a cupboard. He then thinks of facing Petunia after allowing Potter back into this house, knowing that he’s been sleeping in a cupboard. She would think it was hilarious. (Also—a cupboard! The boy probably needs therapy. Severus needs therapy after seeing it. Maybe Albus needs therapy, too. This entire situation is insane.)

“Can’t you move the wards elsewhere?” Severus demands.

“No, these are powered by Mr. Potter’s maternal blood—that is, they were created by Lily Potter’s love for her son. He needs to cohabit with someone who has his mother’s blood—so that means his aunt or possibly his cousin. I couldn’t recreate these protections if I tried to.”

“You didn’t cast them?” asks Severus.

“Of course not. This is Sprucian Ward Theory—Mrs. Potter had always subscribed to his principles but I never quite studied them.”

“Why not?”

“Because Leonard Spruce is a bastard and he can kiss my arse.”

Severus stares, unused to the headmaster displaying such hatred. “Um.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Albus says with a sigh. He comes to a stand, tucking the stone into his pocket and clicking the ballpoint pen closed. “I’ll work on it more at Hogwarts—see what I can do with it. Worst comes to worst, Harry will be forced to return here for a week or two next summer. Well, no, actually—worst would be if Voldemort magically resurrected and began gathering his followers again. I would actually combust trying to figure out what to do…”

“That’s an issue for later,” Severus says firmly. “For now, we have the boy’s things. Let’s get back to Hogwarts. Craig is getting restless.”

And off they go.

---

Potter is chatting cheerfully with Hagrid when Albus and Severus go to pick him up. He smiles up at them when they inform him he won’t be going back to the Dursleys and his smile turns blinding when Severus presents Craig to him.

“What a cute little fella,” Hagrid coos.

“Right?” Potter says, looking hyper without consuming an ounce of sugar. “His name is Craig!”

“Lovely name,” Hagrid says. “Why, I know a spider, too. Aragog. Very friendly. Should I take you to meet him some time?”

Potter nods frantically. “Then Craig can have a friend!”

“Yep,” says Hagrid.

Severus decides to leave Potter and Hagrid to their bizarre little bonding ritual. Instead, he says to Albus, “Who will he stay with until the school year begins?”

Albus looks decidedly amused. “You’re not off the hook that easily, Severus.”

“What?”

“You’re the one who kidnapped the boy. He’s your responsibility now.”

“That’s not how that works—”

“Finders, keepers and all that.”

“You can’t just—”

“Good luck.”

“ALBUS!”

The immediate aftermath of Harry Potter’s departure from the Dursley family is very calm. It’s the middle of the night so Dudley, for whom the adrenaline had long since worn off, simply lumbers back onto the couch and falls asleep within a minute. Vernon, who is huffing and puffing with anger, storms around the house for ten minutes before eventually returning to bed.

Petunia, on the other hand, who is perhaps the most tired of them all, remains stubbornly awake, conflicting emotions surging through her. It feels as if she has forgotten something—something vitally important…

Finally, she falls asleep at three in the morning, exhausted.

The next morning, after they leave the Hut on the Rock and book a room at the local hotel, Petunia consumes some coffee. Now invigorated, her brain finally remembers what it should have a while ago. “Vernon!” she exclaims. “We just gave the boy to a”—what was the word again? Ah, yes—“Death Eater!”

Vernon, who hasn’t showered yet and never wakes up until after his shower, mumbles, “What?”

“Severus Snape is a Death Eater! My sister told me so!”

Vernon shrugs. “He eats death? So what? As long as he never comes back…”

“No, Vernon! Death Eaters were the followers of that man! You know, the one that killed my sister and her husband! And I basically handed the boy to him!” She puts her face in her hands and groans, “This is my fault. I couldn’t help taunting him. He was an awful boy and now he’s a nasty man.”

Vernon, dutiful husband that he is, soothes, “No, no, it was more my fault. I shouldn’t have given him an ultimatum…or pointed a gun at him…” He suddenly looks vaguely queasy. “God, did I doom us all? No one will know what we’ve done, will they?”

“They will!” Petunia despairs. “Wizards always do! We have to get him back, Vernon, or they’ll have our heads!”

“I don’t want him,” Vernon says gruffly.

“Then we need to make sure he at least gets somewhere safe! It’s our lives on the line! We need to make sure that Severus Snape doesn’t hand him to…oh, what was his name? Moldy-shorts? No, no, it was French…”

“Moldy-shorts?” asks Vernon. “Moldy-shorts and Severus Snape…these magical folks have such nonsensical names.”

“I’ve heard worse,” says Petunia. And then she brightens. “Oh! The Headmaster of that awful school had an awful name, too, but he was apparently very powerful! He’s the one who delivered Potter to us in the first place. His name was Dumble…door? Dumbledore! Alan Dumbledore! If we contact him and…and tell him that Snape kidnapped the boy, he’ll help without blaming us!” Petunia smiles, satisfied with herself. “Everything will be fine.”

“Good,” says Vernon. “We’ll do that the moment we get home.”

Dudley, who is still asleep, continues to snore away.

---

When they do return to No. 4 Privet Drive, they find that someone else had been there before them. They only know that because the cupboard door is wide open and all of the boy’s belongings are gone. Petunia stares with pursed lips. “Well,” she says, “that’s alarming.”

“He knows!” exclaims Vernon.

“What does it matter? Snape likely hates the boy. He won’t care. Come, help me write the letter to Dumbledore.”

The letter is soon written—appropriately pleading, shifting all of the blame onto Severus Snape—and then Petunia encounters a problem: she can’t send it through standard post.

“What about an owl?” Vernon demands. “They were the ones bringing the boy all his letters!”

“Do you see any owls here?” Petunia responds, gesturing to the neighborhood in general. And indeed, there is not a single owl in sight. It’s incredibly unfair, considering how their house had been swarming with them mere days earlier. Still… “Maybe we can use another bird,” says Petunia. Surely it would work on the same principle, right?

Unfortunately, none of the neighborhood birds seem especially enamored with the idea of carrying a letter to places unknown. Petunia glares petulantly at a flock of blue tits flee the moment she approaches. She has half a mind to give them chase but the neighbors have started peeking out of their homes to observe the spectacle of the upright Petunia Dursley chasing birds like a child. Incensed, she returns home and demands that Dudley do it instead.

Dudley stares at her blankly. “You want me to…chase birds.”

“Yes,” Petunia says. “Please, Diddey-kins. It’s important. It’s for the safety of our family.”

Dudley reluctantly agrees. Three hours later, he returns sweaty and covered in dirt, triumphantly parading around a terrified greenfinch. “I got one!” he says in delight. “This was fun. I should do it again.”

Petunia doesn’t reply, simply pressing a kiss to his forehead and then firmly grasping the greenfinch, which flaps its wings wildly in an attempt to get away. Petunia says to it, “I’ll let you go if you deliver this letter!”

The greenfinch doesn’t so much as glance at the letter and every time she tries to force it into the bird’s grasp, the legs kick away frantically. Besides, Petunia has found that it’s much too small to carry the letter, anyway. With frustration, she lets the foul fowl go, returning to Dudley yet again.

“Diddy-kins,” she says sweetly, “can you get me a bigger bird?”

Dudley smiles, looking almost manic. “Yes, Mum.”

Five hours later, as the sun sets, Dudley returns with a large raven. “Nearly scratched my eyes out,” says Dudley. Petunia is worried for a moment because something like that usually causes her son to burst into tears but right now, Dudley seems more delighted than anything.

She mentally shrugs and then takes the raven, which seems largely unbothered by the situation. She looks it in the eye and says, “Take this letter to Alan Dumbledore.”

The raven just looks at her and—well, ravens aren’t exactly expressive but she can just tell that it’s looking at her like she’s stupid. Flushing, she repeats her command several times, once again trying to shove the letter at the thing, but the raven just lets out a haughty squawk and eventually departing through an open window.

Vernon says, “I don’t think this is going to work, Pet.”

“I know,” Petunia groans, “but I had to try.” She stares morosely into the distance. “If we can’t send Dumbledore a letter…I suppose…we could just go to him in person?”

Vernon stares. “Do you know where he lives?” he asks thoughtfully.

“I think he lives at the school,” says Petunia. “And I know the school is in Scotland…”

Silence rings between them. Dudley, looking up from the TV, asks, “What’s going on?”

Petunia smiles weakly. “Nothing, Diddy-kins—but I think it might be prudent for us to go on holiday to the Scottish Highlands…”