"It is just now approaching six o'clock," says Dumbledore, examining a large gold pocket watch. "I believe we have sufficient time at our disposal to accomplish our errand and return in time for dinner. Are you prepared to leave immediately?"

"You should, perhaps," says Snape, looking closely at Dumbledore, "acquaint me with your intentions before we depart."

"Ah." Dumbledore returns his glance critically. "Well, that is relevant of course. But first things first—do you happen to keep any Muggle clothing here?"

Snape blinks. "No, not here. The house I inherited from my parents is in a Muggle neighborhood, I keep some there. Do you really think we ought to—pander to their ridiculous phobia of magic, Albus?"

"I think," the Headmaster returns, "that we should choose our battles. Vernon Dursley is not burdened by an over-abundance of intellect, and I think he will hear us the more clearly if he is not distracted by trivialities. Now, let me see."

Dumbledore's eyes narrow, studying him from head to toe. Snape is struck by a moment's foreboding. "Albus—what are you—"

But before he can finish the question, Dumbledore has tapped him on each shoulder with his wand, and Snape looks down to find that, while he is still wearing his own black trousers and white shirt, his outer robes have been Transfigured into a short, Muggle style suit jacket and waistcoat.

"That will do, I think," says Dumbledore, looking satisfied. "Well—perhaps—" He flicks his wand again, and Snape looks down again to find that the two top buttons of his collar have unfastened themselves.

Snape knows well enough that protests would be vain, so he contents himself with glaring, even as Dumbledore taps his own shoulders with his wand, and his sweeping velvet robes mold themselves into what, at first glance, appears to be an ordinary Muggle suit, but which, on closer inspection, seems to be made, not of wool, but deep, midnight blue velvet.

"I suspect he will call me an 'old hippy' again," Dumbledore muses, "but I think I will leave my hair as it is. There are limits even to my indulgence."

Snape arches an eyebrow. "You have spoken with him before?"

"Briefly, and the encounter was not satisfying. Now, I think we can walk to The Hog's Head and Apparate from there. You know the house number, I believe?"

Snape nods.

"Then let us be on our way."

*

They walk in silence until the castle gates close behind them, and then Dumbledore picks up the thread of the conversation again.

"I think," says Dumbledore, "you wanted to know my intentions towards Harry's relatives. They are very simple. Without resorting to any overt threats, we are going—as the Muggle saying has it—to put the fear of God into them. Which is to say, we are going to disabuse them of the notion that they can mistreat Harry without consequence, and convince them to accept the alternative arrangements I have in mind for Harry's last months in their house."

Snape finds that he approves of the Muggle saying. The concept of God has as little meaning for him as it does for most wizards, but, as he understands it, Muggle iconography of the Hebrew God bears a striking resemblance to the person of Albus Dumbledore, which lends the phrase a fairly accurate pictorial significance.

"What arrangements are those?" he asks.

"I believe Harry would be best served if a member of the Order were to keep him company for the summer, until his birthday. An adult who can be trusted to deal, ah—decisively with any threat his uncle may pose to him. I believe this will take some doing. Their own blood kin, however despised, is one sort of housemate; a fully grown wizard will be quite another. But I hope to overcome their reluctance with reasoned persuasion, and perhaps a touch of judicious blackmail."

"I see."

"Yes, I believe you do." They walk in silence for a moment, the cool air of evening already beginning to replace the heat of the early day. "Tell me how Harry came to confide in you."

"At wandpoint," Snape says, provoking a laugh from Dumbledore. "During the feast I...happened to glance over at him. I observed at once that he was sporting a rather badly applied glamor." He gives Dumbledore a shrewd look over his shoulder. "I am surprised you did not notice it yourself."

"I did notice it," says Dumbledore evenly. "However, I also noticed you noticing."

Of course you did. Snape manages, with Herculean strength of will, not to roll his eyes. "When he appeared in his first Potions class wearing it still," he continues, "I decided that it would be—prudent to find out what he was concealing."

"And what precisely did you find?"

"Three bruised, possibly cracked, ribs, contusions covering the entire left side of his body, lacerations on his forehead and lower lip, and a fracture of his left cheekbone." Snape recites the tally automatically. He knows that is not the information Dumbledore wants, but at the moment it is all he is prepared to offer.

"How did he react to your discovery?"

"He was reticent, but he answered my questions—once he had stopped trying to bolt, at least, and after I promised him I would not bring the matter to your attention."

Dumbledore arches an eyebrow. "I am surprised he would believe such a promise."

Snape notes that Dumbledore is not surprised that he would make the promise and then break it. "I do not pretend to understand how his mind works," he says, affecting unconcern.

"That would be a presumption, certainly, but I find his behavior rather suggestive, don't you?"

"Only suggestive of severe head trauma," Snape says, savagely kicking out at a stone on the dirt path before him. He watches clouds of dust rise up around his feet and wonders idly when it will rain again. "He was fully prepared to hide behind that glamor for as long as it took the marks to fade and to return to that house again next summer. I knew the boy was as rash, as—" Habit dictates that the next word should be arrogant, but he knows better now, doesn't he? "reckless as his blighted father, but I had not thought him as foolish as this."

"He is not a fool," says Dumbledore. "He learned very early in life that he could not expect help or protection from anyone—even, or perhaps especially, from his teachers and guardians. It is very difficult to unlearn lessons of that kind."

"I have saved his wretched neck every year since he started at this school!" Snape says, exaggerating slightly in his outrage. "It is his own fault if he is too dim-witted to perceive the difference between dislike and disregard for his safety."

"Hardly an uncommon failing at his age," says Albus. "He is, I grant you, not very subtle, nor skilled at perceiving subtlety in others. But—forgive me—you have always been aware of this. If you truly wished Harry to trust you, I am confident you could have achieved it long ago. I must therefore conclude that you prefer to be at odds with him, for reasons of your own."

"You know very well that if word reached the Dark Lord that the boy trusted me, he would begin to make demands I could not fulfill!"

"Do keep your voice down, Severus. Remember we are out of doors." Dumbledore nods courteously to a pair of witches who pass by them on the high street, clutching their shopping baskets. "I am aware of that fact, of course. I merely suggest that you seem to be strangely uncomfortable with Harry's mistrust of you. Almost—" The corner of Dumbledore's mouth twitches. "Disappointed."

"I am uncomfortable with the fact that all our lives depend upon a boy so unintelligent and unstable that he cannot be bothered to lift a finger to defend himself against a common, bullying Muggle!" Snape hisses in a low voice. "How is he to defeat the Dark Lord if he cannot see to his own safety?"

"I have told you before that I do not believe it will come to a contest of wands between them," says Dumbledore calmly. "Nor do I want Harry encouraged in that idea. Voldemort will not be conquered by brute strength."

"It comes to the same thing, Albus," Snape insists. "I don't care if the boy's great conquering power over the Dark Lord consists of snogging him to death, he needs to learn how to focus his mind and discipline his feelings. He has given a rather poor showing in that regard so far."

"I do not think you ought to draw any conclusions about Harry's abilities based solely on his dealings with his family. Family is often...exceptional."

"You cannot excuse him keeping this secret," Snape says, around grinding his teeth. "He has no business jeopardizing everything—"

"Severus, that is quite enough. I will not allow you to speak as though Harry's only worth lies in fulfilling the prophecy."

Snape feels himself flushing at the rebuke. A denial springs to his lips, but at the suddenly knowing look in the Headmaster's eyes, he converts it to a reprisal of his earlier theme. "Forgive me, Albus, if I am a little concerned that the wizarding world might be plunged into everlasting darkness because the boy is too stiff-neck to ask for help when he needs it."

"He spoke to you, eventually."

"I compelled him."

"Nonetheless, he was more forthcoming in his conversation with you than he was with me."

"Albus," Snape growls, even as they round the corner of the lane and come within sight of The Hog's Head. "What precisely are you attempting to imply?"

"You wish me to speak plainly?"

"Yes." For once in your life, Snape does not say aloud.

Dumbledore stops and directs a keen gaze at him. There is a look on his face that makes Snape wonder if his invitation to frankness was ill-advised.

A moment later, he is certain of it.

"I would like you," Dumbledore says, "to make yourself available, in the event Harry should need you."

Snape's mouth is suddenly very dry. "'Available' in what way?"

Dumbledore's gaze strays to a point somewhere in the distance. A long moment passes before he begins to speak again.

"The years to come," he says in a quiet voice, "are going to be extremely difficult for Harry. They will be difficult for everyone, of course, but Harry's burdens are unique. You are...one of the few who understands how unique." Dumbledore gives a small, quick smile. "He will need—support. Yet his godfather is dead, and he will not turn to the Weasleys, for fear of endangering them. And for myself...I do not know how much longer I will be able to assist him directly."

The hair at the back of Snape's neck prickles at this, but he waits for the other man to finish.

Dumbledore breathes deeply and exhales gustily. "As Harry is James' son, you have...distanced yourself from him. And, as he is Lily's child, you have protected him. But he is more than the offspring of two people you once knew. He is himself. And he is in more peril than perhaps anyone but ourselves realize."

Dumbledore turns his head to look at him again, and Snape nearly wishes he hadn't. There is a kind of fierce urgency in the Headmaster's eyes that Snape has seen before, always preceding loathsome requests he cannot refuse.

"The very distance you have labored so long to create between yourself and Harry has already enabled him to entrust you with matters he dares not bring to his friends. He thinks you do not care, so he is frank with you."

"It is true Potter is frequently insolent towards me," Snape says curtly. "That is hardly the basis for—"

"You are deliberately misunderstanding me," Dumbledore interrupts, somehow managing to sound both patient, and as though he is nearing the end of his patience.

"I have just told you," Snape nearly spits the word out, "If I am seen to be—friendly with Potter, everything I have worked for this past year will be destroyed. You know this."

"Well, I don't expect you to bring him in to dinner on your arm, Severus," says Dumbledore, the corner of his mouth twitching again. "But it isn't as though you are never alone with him—how many detentions have you assigned him over the years?"

"I see," says Snape. "When Potter breaks rules from now on, I am not to punish him. I am to serve him biscuits and butterbeer and ask how his day has gone."

"I leave the details to your own ingenuity," says Dumbledore, smiling openly now.

"Albus, never tell me you're planning to make me stay the summer with Potter and his relatives," Snape says, a bit desperately.

They have reached the door of the Hog's Head; Dumbledore's hand pauses in the act of reaching for the latch.

A moment passes before Snape realizes that the convulsive shuddering of the Headmaster's body is actually silent laughter.

He wipes a tear from his eye before he speaks again. "No, Severus. I assure you, that is not what I had in mind." He smiles. "Though I confess that the thought of loosing you upon them is—well. Best not to linger over the possibility, or it may become a temptation."

Dumbledore leads the way through the door and proceeds directly to the fireplace, with a cheerful wave to the barman across the deserted tables and chairs of the open room. He takes a handful of powder from the box on the mantel and throws it in, then leans forward slightly so that his head is wreathed in green flame.

"Ah, Arabella," he says. "I hope I did not startle you. Yes, I am very well, thank you. I wonder if Professor Snape and I might beg the temporary use of your floo. We've a call to pay in the neighborhood." A pause, then: "Thank you so much. We will be through directly."

Dumbledore straightens, then gestures to Snape. "After you, please, Severus."

Snape steps over the hearth and, seizing a handful of the powder, throws it down around his feet. "Number 7, Magnolia Crescent," he says, and then the world around him dissolves.