Harry sighed and bowed his head. ‘When?'

‘Alastor and Tonks are on their way to speak to your aunt and uncle as we speak. They will be told that you will arrive this evening.'

Harry seemed to deflate in front of the two adults. He wouldn't even get to spend one night in his new bed. Severus felt an unfamiliar indignant anger well up inside him for Harry Potter. He had finally made the supreme sacrifice and everything had to be put on hold because his son had to go back to his abusive aunt and uncle. Now who would have thought Severus Snape would ever come out batting for "The Boy Who Lived"? He rounded on Dumbledore.

‘These formidable wards may protect Harry from the Dark Lord and his minions, Albus, but they will not protect him from harm by the Dursleys themselves.' Severus flung his arm out and pointed at Harry. ‘You saw the scars on his body.'

Harry gaped at him. Just because Snape had seen everything did not mean he had any right to tell the headmaster.

‘You had no right to talk about me to other people,' he yelled. How embarrassing was it that Snape and Dumbledore both knew he was too weak to stand up to Uncle Vernon. ‘How many others know about poor, pathetic Harry Potter being beaten up by his Muggle uncle?'

‘I had every right you idio...'

‘Harry, Harry,' interrupted Dumbledore. ‘No-one other than Severus, Professor McGonagall and myself know, I assure you...'

Harry raised his arms to shoulder height and slapped his hands down against his pants legs, making a loud thwack. ‘Oh, great! Professor McGonagall knows too. This just gets better and better.'

‘POTTER!' Harry snapped his head back towards Snape who took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. Once under control, he opened his mouth to continue speaking but Dumbledore beat him to it again.

‘Harry, Professor Snape did not need to tell Professor McGonagall nor myself anything of the old injuries you received at your uncle's hands. We saw the scars for ourselves, as both of us nursed you at one time or another.'

Harry felt his face redden and he swallowed. Great. He had jumped in, boots and all once again. He ran an agitated hand through his hair, messing it up even further. ‘All the scars are really old anyway,' he mumbled. ‘Uncle Vernon hasn't done anything to me since before I started at Hogwarts.'

Harry didn't know why he was lying. It wasn't as if he was trying to protect Uncle Vernon, nor indeed, Aunt Petunia, who had never once tried to stop her husband from beating up on him. It was more that he didn't want Snape or Dumbledore thinking that he was weak.

Dumbledore raised his bushy eyebrows and looked at Harry over the top of his spectacles. ‘Now I know that that is a lie, my boy. The worst of the scaring on your body that was not caused by a witch or wizard, is no more than four years old.'

Harry shook his head but instead of voicing outright denial, he said, ‘How could you know that?'

‘You were unconscious at the time, Harry, but I was in the hospital wing after you had saved the Philosopher's Stone and I assisted Madam Pomfrey in dressing you in pyjamas. Apart from the famous scar on your forehead, there was little more than what could be considered to be scarring from normal childhood injuries adorning your body at that time.

‘But what I saw just recently could not, by any stretch of the imagination be called normal scaring from childhood mishaps. Harry, why have you not ever told any of the adults entrusted with your care that you were being abused by your uncle and aunt.'

‘People knew that I hated going back there,' bellowed Harry. ‘I even told Fudge after he found me when I ran away in the summer before third year that I didn't want to go back.' He snorted. ‘That old goat said that he was sure we really cared for each other deep down. Yeah, it's so deep down I'd have to be inside a bathysphere to find it.'

‘Harry, I do not think it appropriate to call the Minister for Magic an "old goat",' chastised Dumbledore.

Harry ignored this. ‘I never went home for Christmas. I never got a Christmas present or even a letter from them other than to tell me to stay at school for the holidays because they didn't want me home.' He turned to Snape and continued to rant. ‘I know you heard Malfoy taunting me about not going home for Christmas in first year. He did it right in potions class at the top of his smarmy voice, but of course you ignored the little turd.

‘But if it had been me taunting him for anything, let alone something as insulting and embarrassing as not having a decent family who cared enough to want me at home for the Christmas Holidays, then I would have had fifty points taken from Gryffindor and a months worth of detentions.'

Snape, for once, was at a loss for words. He remembered the incident. He had not, as Harry said, chastised Draco, but he could remember that he had not thought the boy's comments at all amusing and he had wondered why the spoiled and pampered Golden Boy was not going home to the bosom of his doting family for the holidays.

Harry had turned back to Dumbledore. ‘You must have known how much I hated it at the Dursleys, Sir. You've had Mrs Figg spying for you all along. She must have told you things.'

Dumbledore looked stricken and Harry felt a fleeting guilt. He hadn't wanted to lay all of this on Dumbledore. But it was he who had bought the subject up.

‘Yes, Arabella told me things, Harry. She said that you often seemed very sad, and that you didn't seem to have any friends. She told me that your cousin and his friends spent the better part of every day bullying you.

‘She told me that when you were about three, she thought you were having trouble with your eyes and that when she suggested to your aunt that your eyes might need testing, it didn't happen. It did not happen, in fact, until you went to school and the issue was forced. When you got your glasses, they were broken within a week by your cousin.

‘She also told me that your family rarely took you on outings with them, and that she babysat you quite often, and also that she often did not see you outside for days at a time.'

Dumbledore sighed deeply and shook his head. ‘But she never told me that she thought you might be being physically abused. You never told anyone, Harry. Not Arabella, not your teachers at your Muggle school, and none of your friends or teachers once you came here.'

Harry threw himself into one of the deep armchairs, slouching as only a teenage boy can slouch. ‘It wouldn't have mattered,' he muttered, his chin buried in his chest. ‘You would have sent me back anyway. I have to go back there until I come of age, don't I, regardless of how my aunt and uncle treat me?'

‘You're right, Harry. It saddens me greatly, but as your mother died to keep you alive, I am loathe to waste her sacrifice by not taking advantage of your aunt's relationship to you. Poor aunt that she undoubtedly is.

‘With Tom Riddle active again, it is even more imperative that we employ every means at our disposal to help keep you safe until you come of age.'

‘But he won't be safe, will he, Albus?' interjected Snape. Harry looked up at him, surprised. He couldn't get used to Snape sticking up for him. ‘A fat lot of good it will do us to keep the boy safe from the Dark Lord and his ilk if his own uncle maims or kills him in the meantime.

‘And I have to wonder...' he continued angrily, before Albus could open his mouth, ‘...just how much use these wards are if Harry can be attacked and nearly killed here in the school. Lily's sacrifice is quite limited, Albus, and I am not sure if the pros outweigh the cons.'

‘Nothing is perfect, Severus, but the wards are a help. And it seems we need all the help we can get. The person who attacked Harry here is obviously not in league with Voldemort-not yet, at any rate.

‘Quirrell was in league with Voldemort!' yelled Severus, imitating Harry by flinging his arms out and then slapping his hands against his robe draped thighs. ‘How much more in league can you get than being possessed by him? Barty Crouch Junior was in league with Voldemort!'

‘Quirrell was not operating under his own volition and Voldemort was less than human. I think that is why the events of Harry's first year progressed as far as they did, Severus. It is a set of circumstances that will not occur again as Voldemort has now been resurrected. And, if you remember, my boy, Quirrell was unable to kill Harry. That was due to the blood protection.

‘As far as Barty Junior went, he was not actually planning on harming Harry himself.'

‘Y-e-s,' responded Severus with barely controlled impatience. ‘But Harry very nearly died anyway as a result of the effort expended to hold Quirrell off until you arrived to save the day. And Barty Junior may not have been wielding the wand, but he did arrange the transportation to the place of Harry's planned demise.

Severus now turned a thunderous face towards Harry. It seemed he still had some steam to let off. ‘Of course, in the instance of Quirrell, nothing would have happened at all if three foolish, disobedient and highly immature Gryffindors had not stuck their noses in where they were told to keep them out of, and if they had not left their dormitory after curfew, as was-and still is-their want.'

‘We tried to get Professor McGonagall to take notice of us!' bellowed Harry,' springing upright in the chair, his fists clenched on the arms. The injustice of these accusations always rankled. ‘But it's the same here as in the Muggle world; if it's a kid trying to make a point, then no-one wants to listen.'

‘And of course you could not have come to me?'

‘Yeah, right,' sneered Harry in a masterful imitation of Severus, if he only but knew it. ‘And you're renowned for taking notice of anything a Gryffindor has to say, in class or out of it.' Severus eyes narrowed menacingly but Harry ploughed on bravely. ‘Besides, apart from your Gryffindor prejudice in general and your Harry Potter prejudice in particular, we wouldn't have come to you because we thought you were the one trying to steal the stone.'

By the end of this diatribe, Harry's cheeks were red with embarrassment as he remembered his, Ron and Hermione's wrong assumption from four years previously.

Severus' face had paled slightly and he was gaping at Harry, increasing the boy's embarrassment tenfold. It appeared that Snape did not realise that Harry and his friends had thought it was he trying to steal the stone.

Snape looked ready to tear strips off Harry and had opened his mouth to lambaste him when Dumbledore interrupted again, his voice slightly raised. ‘Severus, Harry, please. This is very old history and has nothing at all to do with our present dilemma-namely, how to protect Harry from his relatives.'

‘Why is it a dilemma? The solution seems obvious to me.' said Severus as Harry slumped back in his seat again. He started picking at another hangnail, subsumed by the misery that was the result of his eminent departure from the magical world for who knew how long. He shut out the conversation because he knew all decisions would be made totally regardless of him.

8888

Harry was roused from his introspection and sent to get his belongings together. He had not listened to any of the plans that were being made around him. He sloped into his bedroom and sank down onto his bed. But after a second, he threw himself lengthways on the scarlet cover, his head on the pillow.

He might not be able to sleep in his new bed for however long-no, his luxury, sagging wire base and stained, three inch thick mattress that Aunt Petunia had found at a car-boot sale would be his lot-but he could at least get a feel for it and have that memory to tide him over.

He tried to look on the bright side. For the first time, he was going to his relatives knowing that they were not the only family that he had in the world. That was a nice thought, even if his new found family member was Severus Snape. No matter how bad things got at the Dursleys, Harry had someone else he could turn to. Severus Snape was not going to allow a wizard-especially a wizard who was his cousin-be mistreated by a great ugly Muggle like Vernon Dursley.

In actual fact, Harry was more than just unhappy about going back to the Dursley's this year; he was-much to his discomfiture-scared. After Harry had blown up his uncle's sister during the summer after his second year, Vernon Dursley had undergone an alarming transformation. If Harry had not run away after the unwitting incident, his uncle may well have started the physical abuse then.

Always bad tempered and nasty to Harry and occasionally, a bit too free and easy with his hands, Vernon Dursley had, after Harry had arrived back at Privet Drive the summer after his third year, set the standard for all his future dealings with his nephew; he had flailed him to within an inch of his life as soon as Harry had entered the house.

He had informed Harry, who was close to unconscious from the pain of his injuries at the time, that he was no longer going to be soft; he was going to deal with Harry and his un-naturalness as he saw fit and he was not going to be scared off with threats of a murderous godfather.

Harry felt that if he had not left the Dursley's early that summer to stay at the Burrow and attend the Quidditch World Cup, then he might well have not survived the summer. Uncle Vernon had not been careless either; he had made sure he had not left any visible evidence of his abuse. It had been a tricky business at the Burrow, organising things so that Ron never caught a glimpse of his abused body.

Yes, things had been bad enough that summer, but last summer, after the Dementor attack and in the four days before the Advance Guard had come and taken him away, Harry had once again been beaten to within an inch of his life. Uncle Vernon's anger had been even more formidable because his precious son had been attacked by hostile creatures from the magical world.

Harry knew he had suffered broken ribs along with all the cuts and welts and bruises and swellings from Vernon's fists and his belt, but he had not said anything to anybody. He knew everyone had been frightened by and worried about his temper during the school year. When he had arrived at Grimmauld Place for the first time, his temper had not just been about Voldemort's return, nor the Dementor attack and the Ministry's unreasonable reaction and his possible expulsion from Hogwarts, it had also been about the pain he had been in.

It had taken a long time for his injuries to heal and with his return to health, he had pushed the Dursleys and his uncle's mistreatment to the back of his mind. After all, the hassles he had encountered this past year within the wizarding world had been quite enough to keep him occupied.

With the pain in his scar and his visions getting worse all the time, and then the horror of Mr Weasley's attack and his feelings of responsibility for that attack, and his worries about his very sanity, the Muggle world had seemed a long way away.

He had had to contend with Umbridge's torture sessions, Snape's Occlumency lessons, his discovery of his father's bullying ways, and finally, the vision that had led him on the wild goose chase that had ended in Sirius' death. Uncle Vernon and his fists and belt, if he had thought about them at all, had seemed laughably insignificant in the horror that was his world. Especially after being told about the prophecy and his ultimate fate.

He knew now, that it was not Uncle Vernon who would kill him, it was Voldemort. Uncle Vernon would just soften him up for the final confrontation.

Harry sat up and rubbed his scar. As it had since the Department of Mysteries, it was prickling. He had become so used to this sensation, he scarcely noticed it anymore. For the last little while though, it had been thrumming more painfully. He could no longer enter Voldemort's mind, but he could sense his mood and Harry thought he seemed agitated about something.

Harry was sure Voldemort had been angry ever since he had been unable to possess Harry in the atrium of the Ministry, but he could feel something else overlaying the anger. The anger was all too real, but it was muted, smothered by something else. He worried about that. Worried about what would happen once that anger was not being smothered.

8888

As Harry kicked open his trunk and stared into its capacious depths, he realised that it had never been empty like this before. When he was at Privet Drive, he never emptied the trunk because, apart from the odd textbook, he did not need any of his wizarding stuff in the Muggle world.

Harry felt a slight thrill grip him. And for once it was not a thrill of fear, it was a thrill of wonder. He had not thought of it before, but he actually had someplace that he could leave the bulk of his things-a place that was the closest thing to a real home he had ever known. He would come back here when he was allowed to leave the Dursleys and all his things would be exactly where they were now. If he had ever left any of his wizarding things at the Dursleys-old textbooks for example-then they would have been disposed of whilst he was away at Hogwarts.

He didn't need anything even half as big as his trunk to lug the few clothes he would need and he was just wondering if he could stuff everything into his school bag when Snape entered.

‘I thought this might be handy.' He was holding a black leather holdall up and Harry couldn't help himself; he gaped. Snape rolled his eyes and Harry shut his mouth with an audible snap.

‘I can borrow that?'

‘Yes, Harry. You may borrow this.'

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes, but he grinned and took the holdall. ‘Thanks. I was just wondering whether I could stuff everything into my school bag.' And so saying he began to stuff his clothes into the roomy holdall.

Severus watched for several agonising seconds before pouncing. He grabbed the holdall and upended it, tipping Harry's clothes back onto the bed.

‘For the love of Merlin, Potter, now I know why you always manage to look as though you just crawled out of a ragbag. I suppose folding is a process that has completely passed you by?'

Harry grabbed at the pair of jeans that Severus had picked up. ‘I know how to fold,' he bit out. ‘I just don't usually bother.'

‘Clearly,' drawled Severus. He turned to leave. ‘By the way, Professor Dumbledore said he would send your owl to Privet Drive. Now, hurry up. I want to leave in ten minutes.'

Harry finished packing, a little more neatly-in deference to Snape's fussiness-and was back in the sitting room within five minutes. Snape was just exiting the bedroom he could once again call his own, and once again, Harry gaped.

Snape's hair was pulled back and fastened at the nape of his neck with what looked like a thin leather thong. He was fussing with the neck of a thin, long-sleeved black jumper. It had a polo collar and Snape was fastening the top button. He also wore grey trousers and black lace up shoes and he carried a black leather jacket in the crook of his arm and he looked decidedly disgruntled.

‘Shut your mouth, Potter. The stunned mullet look doesn't suit you.'

‘But the Muggle look suits you, Sir,' said Harry, and he was surprised to discover that he was telling the truth. Severus Snape looked quite dapper. ‘You should wear Muggle clothes more often.'

Snape looked disdainful. ‘I am a wizard, Potter. I am most comfortable in wizard robes. I wore Muggle clothes exclusively for the first eleven years of my life and then after that whenever I was in my father's home until my mother died.

‘As those clothes were always purchased from the cheapest and nastiest second hand shops, I looked nearly as disreputable as you did in the clothes provided by your Muggle relatives. My mother, at least tried to ensure that the clothes she could afford to buy at least fitted me.'

Harry looked down at the new clothes that Professor McGonagall had bought for him from Glad Rags. It amazed him that he had gotten used to them so quickly but he had just had a horrible thought.

‘My uncle and aunt aren't going to be too happy to see me dressed in decent clothes,' he said worriedly. Then he shrugged. ‘Oh well, just one more thing for them to be unhappy about, I suppose.'

Snape beckoned Harry over to the fireplace. He pointed his wand at the grate and muttered, Incendio. Flames sprang up immediately.

‘So,' said Harry, ‘you're coming with me to the Dursleys.'

Severus threw the floo powder into the flames and they roared higher and turned emerald green. ‘I am. I will go through to Arabella's first to make sure everything is safe. I will firecall you to let you know it is safe to follow. Understood?'

Harry nodded. ‘Yes, Sir.'

‘Do you have your wand?' Harry nodded and patted the side of his pant leg.'

‘I want you to put it in your sleeve for easy access until we are safely inside your aunt and uncle's home. And once there, you will keep it on you at all times and within easy reach when you are in bed. Is that clear.'

Harry swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, but he nodded again. Snape studied him through narrowed eyes, and then, as though satisfied with what he had seen, he nodded curtly and stepped into the flames.

8888

The soft light of evening was bathing Privet Drive as Harry and Severus walked along. Snape didn't talk once after they left Mrs. Figg's; he was too busy looking all around-including upwards-to indulge in conversation. Harry couldn't help it, he was nervous. Snape looked very relaxed, and the few people out and about-mainly kids enjoying the last of the day before their parents called them inside-hardly spared them a glance.

Harry recognised one of the neighbours who was out watering her garden and when he nodded a greeting to her, she peered at him short-sightedly through the gathering gloom, and when she appeared to recognise him, she raised her chin a notch and turned her back to them. Harry's lips thinned but he was too used to this attitude to be unduly upset about it.

Snape stopped when they reached number four and looked about him. His eyes came to rest on a tree across the road and Harry followed his gaze. He could see nothing but the tree but Severus inclined his head before starting up the driveway.

Harry supposed there was an invisible someone over there keeping a weather eye out for Death Eaters. At the moment he was more worried about what was in the house than the thought of Death Eater's finding the house.

Snape was knocking on the door when Harry slouched up behind him. He could hear his uncles heavy footsteps as he galumphed down the hallway.

And so it begins, thought Harry.

8888

Vernon Dursley pulled his front door open and glared ferociously at the two wizards on his front porch. Severus stared back unfazed by the blazing anger in the man's small eyes. He had been prepared for the sight of the large man he had seen in Harry's memories, but Vernon Dursley was even more massive than he had been expecting.

It would have been ridiculously easy for this behemoth of a man to inflict the injuries that had resulted in the scarring he had found on Harry's body. What would have been difficult was the effort it would have taken to hold himself back before he went too far. Harry, small and thin as he was, would not have stood a chance.

Vernon pointed a sausage like finger in Severus' face. ‘You are not welcome here,' he said angrily. ‘I accept that we have to take Potter in for a while, but we do not have to invite you in to our home.'

‘You are either very brave or very stupid, Mr Dursley,' said Snape in a silky, soft voice that Harry recognised as his most dangerous. ‘I would bet on the latter.' Vernon's face went puce, the colour that it most favoured, and when Severus stepped up and forced Vernon back a step, his face went even darker and the vein in his left temple swelled alarmingly.

Severus just kept on moving forward, forcing a blustering Vernon backwards down the hall. Harry stepped into the house and shut the door behind him. He looked around. Everything was exactly the same as it had been when he had left last summer. With a sigh, he dropped the holdall on the bottom step and moved towards the living room.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were standing close together in front of the fireplace that Mr Weasley had blasted apart two years previously. This evening, the room was not covered in bits of plaster and dust. It was in its usual pristine condition, hoovered and dusted to within an inch of its life.

Petunia dragged her eyes away from the adult wizard who was the third such freak to invade her home today. She settled her gaze on Harry and her pale blue eyes narrowed. Her lips were locked so tightly together, it looked as if it would take a surgeon with a scalpel to separate them again.

‘Hello, Aunt Petunia.'

‘Why did you have to come back here,' she hissed at him in hate filled tones. Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. He hadn't really expected anything else.

The Dursleys had probably thought they would escape Harry's presence this year and now he had turned up like a bad penny. Their visions of a Harry free holiday had been dashed to smithereens. God, he wished he was back at Hogwarts. How long would he have to put up with this?

It was difficult for Severus to hide his surprise at the sight of Lily's older sister. Lily Evans had been a beautiful, vibrant girl who radiated happiness and an infectious joie de vive. This woman before him could never have been anything close to her sister in either looks or personality. The sourness of her looks was very definitely echoed in her personality.

Petunia Dursley was every bit as unpleasant as her husband. Severus had thought to see at least a little positive feeling for Harry. After all, he was her sister's orphaned child. But the hatred he could feel emanating from her was alarming. He would have thought it totally unnatural for a woman to harbour that much ill feeling for a child who had been dependent on her goodwill since he was fifteen months old.

Severus mentally shuddered when he thought of what the baby Harry must have put up with at the hands of his mother substitute. He had to wonder how neglected the baby had been in terms of his personal care. He would not even have been toilet trained when James and Lily had been killed. Had this horrible woman looked after the second baby in her care, properly? Perhaps Petunia had grudgingly met Harry's needs whilst withholding any and all affection. Whether she had ever cared for Lily's son was doubtful from what Severus had seen of Harry's early memories, but it was more than obvious that she loathed him now.

Severus was more than a little surprised at how these thoughts of a helpless, neglected and perhaps physically abused baby boy with bright green eyes and baby fine, messy black hair, disconcerted him. And when he thought of just how much Lily would have adored her son, and how distressed she would be to know of his subsequent ill-treatment, disgust for the woman in front of him clouded his brain with a red haze. His wand hand twitched, and to prevent himself hexing her and her husband into the middle of next week, he dug his nails into the palm of his hand.

Vernon Dursley glared at his nephew. ‘How long are you here for, Boy? We thought we wouldn't have to put up with you this year. We were told you were sick, which was why you didn't arrive at the end of term.

‘You had better not have bought any freak diseases home here that our son might catch, Potter, or believe you me, you'll be sorry.'

‘I believe Harry is already sorry that he had to come back here, Dursley,' bit out Severus. He stood with his arms crossed and his wand clearly visible as it dangled from between two fingers. Harry wasn't fooled by the casual stance. He knew Snape would be primed and ready for action in a split second.

‘Do you imagine anything other than necessity would have made us send Harry back here?' Severus advanced on the two Dursleys, both of whom backed up a couple of steps until they were brought up short by the mantelpiece.

At that moment, the front door opened. Because he was still standing in the doorway to the living room, Harry heard the soft snick of the lock. He dragged his eyes away from the delicious sight of his great, bullying uncle cowering before a very intimidating wizard, to look over his shoulder.

Dudley was shutting the front door softly. This in itself was unusual, as Dudley was normally incapable of shutting a door without slamming it. The blonde boy stopped dead when he saw his cousin. Amazingly, instead of the sly smirk Harry expected to see blooming on Dudley's face upon catching sight of him, he went brick red instead and thrust his hands into his pockets and looked down at his trainers.

Harry goggled at Dudley. He couldn't believe the transformation the year had wrought. Dudley was still overweight, but he could no longer be called grossly obese. He was still big, yeah, but as he was also tall, his excess weight would no longer draw looks of amazed horror. It was now possible to discern a neck under the double chins and he would no longer wobble like a bowl of jelly when he moved.

Realising that he must look like a moron, Harry shut his mouth with a snap. Then unable to help himself, he grinned. ‘Hey, Dud. Looking good.'

Dudley looked up and shrugged self deprecatingly, an answering, somewhat embarrassed grin lifting the corners of his mouth. Hearing a strange voice coming from the living room enticed Dudley forward and when he came up beside Harry and saw a stranger bailing up his father and mother, it was his turn for his mouth to drop open.

‘Whose that?' he whispered in a high pitched, scared voice to Harry.

‘That's my cousin,' smirked Harry and he grinned widely at Dudley's look of disbelief. When Dudley opened his mouth to deny that Harry had a cousin other than himself, Harry put his finger to his lips, indicating he was listening to the adults.

‘...And yes, Dursley, Harry was ill-so ill he nearly died.' Severus leaned even further into the now trembling Muggle, so that his large nose was only an inch or two away from Vernon's. ‘But, it wasn't a disease that brought him low. No...someone tried to take up where you left off last summer.'

Vernon's face was now the colour of beetroot and Harry became a little worried that his uncle may be on the verge of a stroke. After all, he was hardly a pin-up boy for the NHS. Petunia, too, must have been thinking along the same lines, because, either bravely or foolishly, she shoved Severus back and inserted her skinny frame between her husband and his tormentor.

‘You leave him alone!' she hissed. She pointed a shaking finger towards the front door. ‘And you can just get out of our house. You've delivered the boy. You've re-activated this supposed protection. So you can just leave.'

Harry was actually holding his breath, waiting for Severus to hex his aunt. Vernon had wrapped a beefy hand around her upper arm and had pulled her back against him. Dudley let out a pathetic little squeak of fear from his position beside Harry and a frantic look replaced the anger on Petunia's face when she realised that her son was in the house. She had been so focused on Snape that she had not realised it before now.

‘Diddy! Diddy Darling, come here to Mummy,' and she made frantic beckoning motions with one bony hand. Harry thought it would have made more sense to tell Diddy Darling to run for his life. It's what he would have told his son to do if he was being held at bay by a very angry wizard. Get the hell out of Dodge while you've got the chance.

Severus too, had turned when he realised there was another person in the room. His eyes widened when he caught sight of the other teenage boy. He was nothing like Harry. Very fair compared to very dark, pale blue eyes compared to emerald green and significantly overweight compared to far too thin.

Dudley, for once showing a modicum of sense, ignored his mother and backed up against the wall, his eyes saucer like and another soft whimper escaping him.

Severus turned back to the mismatched couple before him. Amazingly, he had not hexed Petunia and as the seconds ticked by, Harry relaxed slightly. Harry could see the side of Severus' face and his trademark sneer had taken up residence. And as scary as that sneer was, it was safer than being on the business end of a wand being wielded by Severus Snape.

The sneer was replaced by a blank facade and Severus turned away from the couple. Vernon and Petunia had just started to deflate into an attitude of semi-relaxation, but they tensed up again when, instead of leaving as Petunia had ordered, Severus lowered himself languidly into an armchair. He crossed his long, slim legs and placed the tips of his fingers together, very precisely.

The Dursley's stared at him, appalled, and Severus smiled evilly. Harry didn't know about the Dursleys, but he sure as hell was scared.

‘I think not, Mrs Dursley. Did you really think that I would just go and leave Harry to your husband's tender ministrations.'

Vernon sputtered. ‘I don't know what you're implying, Sir.'

Severus' eyebrow had another workout. ‘I'm not implying anything Dursley. I'm accusing.'

Vernon's mouth worked like a dying fish. ‘Accuse? Accuse me of what exactly?'

Severus shook his head in apparent disbelief. ‘I really have to wonder just how stupid you are Dursley. I have just finished telling you that your nephew nearly died. Unlike yourself, my colleagues and myself did everything in our power to save the boy's life. We nursed him.'

Severus smirked as he watched the fat Muggle draw a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipe his forehead. He continued remorselessly. ‘Nursing a very sick person means attending to his or her every need whilst they are unable to do it for themselves.

‘The patient has to be bathed at some stage. Bathing requires the patient to be in a state of undress.' Severus' eyes narrowed and he was maliciously pleased to see Dursley swallow convulsively.

‘I'm sure you can guess what we found in quite significant numbers and varying levels of severity. ‘You can guess, can't you Dursley?'

‘I...I don't know what you're talking about.'

Severus slammed both feet down on the carpet and leaned forward aggressively. All four members of his audience jumped at the sudden movement. Snape ignored the boys and kept the adults pinned with his gimlet glare.

‘Scars, Dursley. Lots of scars. Some of them very nasty.'

Vernon had paled and looked on the verge of collapse.

‘Not so brave when you're being confronted by a grown up, are you Dursley? I imagine, like all bullies, your victim has to be small and helpless. Did you start in on him when he first came to you?

‘How often did you pick him up by his skinny little arm and throw him into the cupboard under the stairs?' He turned his glare on Petunia. ‘Did you ever pick him up and comfort him when he cried for his parents?

‘Did either of you ever stop your much bigger son from beating up on his smaller cousin?' There was another small whimper from Dudley, but Snape ignored him.

That basilisk's glare turned Vernon to stone...seemingly. ‘Did you ever tell your sadist of a sister to mind her own business and to leave Harry's upbringing in your own vicious, uncaring hands, or were you too busy laughing along with her when her mongrel of a dog chased a helpless child up a tree.'

‘That's enough!' Petunia had stepped forward. She was shaking with rage and her arms were crossed with her fists clenched under each armpit. ‘How dare you accuse us. None of this is true.' She pointed a shaking finger at Harry who had slumped down the wall and was sitting on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees and his fisted hands wrapped around hanks of hair.

If Snape thought that any of this was going to change anything, he was sadly mistaken. God, he was so dead when Snape left.

‘If you believe anything that comes out of that boy's mouth, then you're a fool. He's a nasty little liar. He's always been a nasty little liar. If he has scars on his body, it's because he's incurably clumsy.

Severus laughed; it was not a pleasant sound. ‘Clearly, Madam, you have never seen your nephew fly a broom.'

Petunia gasped, Vernon's colour became even more dangerously florid and Dudley stared at Harry in open-mouthed wonder from where he too was sitting on the floor.

‘How dare you!' hissed Petunia. ‘How dare you mention any of that unnaturalness in our home. ‘I will not have it, do you hear me?'

Severus stood and glared down his hooked nose at Petunia. He had to admit that she had more backbone than her fat husband. He had thought she would stand behind the lump of lard and let him protect her. Clearly, she ran the show and if the worst of Harry's injuries had been inflicted by Vernon, Severus wouldn't have been surprised if that was because this vile, embittered woman had ordered him to do his worst.

‘And just so you know, Mrs Dursley, Harry didn't relate one single instance of abuse from either of you...' he turned and glared at Dudley who shrunk further into himself. ‘...nor indeed your son. I found these memories buried deep in Harry's mind. He did not expose them willingly. He does not advertise the fact that his family abhors him and abuses him. Not many abused children do, you know. They are ashamed and cannot escape the conviction that they are the ones at fault.'

Harry could no longer stand to listen anymore. Snape could talk until he was blue in the face. His aunt and uncle were never going to admit that they were at fault. He scrambled to his feet and raced from the room.

Severus whipped around. ‘Potter! Come back here!' But Harry didn't come back. They all heard him hurrying up the stairs, and then the sound of a door slamming above them.

Dudley, infected by Harry's desire to flee, had also regained his feet, though nowhere near as gracefully as Harry. When Severus yelled for Harry to come back, Dudley cast him a look of trepidation and then he too, fled.

8888

Harry looked in disgust at the bare, stained mattress that covered the rickety wire base, and was his bed here at Privet Drive. Aunt Petunia had been given warning that he was coming, but she had not even bothered to make up his bed.

Obviously, a job for him later on. In the meantime, he flung himself down on the bed and glared at the ceiling. What in the hell did Snape think he was doing? If he thought the Dursleys were going to treat him like a regular person after the little scene downstairs, then it was obvious he hadn't learned as much as he thought he had about these Muggles from the memories he had wrested from Harry's subconscious.

Harry's brow furrowed as he focused on the Daddy-Long-Legs that had made a home in a corner of the room. He could remember the incident with Aunt Marge and Ripper; he knew Snape had dredged that one up. He remembered telling Snape about it when he had asked. He also remembered how he had seethed with anger and resentment because he was sure Snape had been laughing at him.

But, he could not recall the other incident Snape had spoken off; the one where Snape had said Uncle Vernon had grabbed him by his skinny little arm and hurled him into his cupboard under the stairs. It had sounded like Snape had been talking of a very young child.

If he, Harry couldn't even remember the incident, then how had Snape found it? And why hadn't he taunted Harry with it at the time? Had that been a bit too much for cousin Severus to throw back at him? Harry found that hard to believe when so many of the other memories Snape had prised out of his subconscious had been painful in the extreme.

How many other instances of happenings he could not recall but were there, just buried very deeply, had Snape found? It seemed strange to think that his mind could be brim full of everything that had ever happened in his life, even if he couldn't remember it.

That was why, he supposed, he could recall whenever Dementors were near, his father's scared but determined voice yelling for his mother to "Take Harry and go", and then his mother screaming to kill her but spare her baby, the high, cold voice of Voldemort and then the flash of green light. He could remember that horrible night, even though he had buried it so deeply, it only manifested under the influence of the Dementors.

He wished that the things he did recall were happy moments he had shared with his mother and father, instead of the evening they had lost their lives trying to protect him. Yeah, that would be so much better than memories of the miserable existence he had endured with the Dursleys.

Harry blinked. He had been staring at the spider, unblinking for so long, his eyes had begun to water. He pushed his glasses up and ground the heel of his hands against his closed lids. He left them pressed there and lost himself in the red and black patterns that were imprinted on his retinas.

Of course, the moisture in his eyes was entirely due to irritation and had nothing at all to do with tears.

The soft knock on his door had Harry scrubbing frantically at his cheeks to remove all remnants of any moisture that had escaped his eyes. He put his hands behind his head and tried to look nonchalant as he called out, ‘come in.'

He had been expecting his caller to be Snape coming to say goodbye, so his eyes widened in surprise when Dudley sidled into the room.

Harry sprung upright. He didn't think it was a good idea to remain lying flat with Dudley in the immediate vicinity. Dudley had, on more than one occasion, jumped on him when he was helpless and already suffering the after effects of being on the receiving end of Dudley's fists.

Of course, he was not in the least afraid of his cousin any longer, and though there was still a great disparity in their relative sizes, Harry knew Dudley would have a hard time beating him up now.

‘What do you want, Dudley?'

Dudley, his hands thrust deeply into his pockets, scuffed at the carpet with a trainer clad toe. He kept his gaze on his foot, seemingly unable to look Harry in the eye.

‘I-ah...' he cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Umm-I just wanted to-ah-thank you.' The last two words were a mere whisper and Harry could see that Dudley's forehead had gone brick red.

Harry looked puzzled and because he thought it was safe, he sat sideways on the bed again, one leg on the mattress, bent at the knee. ‘Thank me for what?' You haven't seen me since last summer.'

Dudley did look up now. He stepped further into the room. Harry tensed the tiniest bit but then relaxed again. Really, the chances of Dudley trying anything whilst Snape was still in the house were infinitesimal.

‘But that's what I want to thank you for. Last summer. What you did.'

Harry thought he knew where this was going, but he thought he would ask anyway. ‘What did I do?'

‘You saved my life from those Dementiwhatsits.'

The two boys stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, and then Harry said carefully, ‘When I dragged your sorry carcass home after the Demntiwhatsit nearly had it's way with you, you told your mum and dad that I had been responsible for the state you were in.'

Dudley reddened and looked down at his feet again. ‘I know I did, and I'm sorry. With Mum fussing over me and Dad ranting and raving and me feeling so sick, I didn't really know what had happened.'

‘So you blamed me because that's what you do best.' Dudley looked so pathetic, Harry couldn't keep on tormenting him.

‘Don't worry about it. I know exactly how the Dementors make you feel, believe me.' And then amazingly, Harry grinned. ‘Guess what's the best cure for that horrible, drained, sick feeling?'

‘What?' asked Dudley, moving across and sitting on the end of Harry's bed. It gave a loud creak and he jumped up again, looking askance at the flimsy, metal base.

Harry waved a hand. ‘Sit down. It's stronger than it looks. Dudley lowered himself tentatively. He was near the bottom of the bed, Harry near the top. Harry continued with what he had been saying.

‘The best thing to make you feel better after you've been too close to a Dementor, is chocolate.

Dudley's brow furrowed. ‘Chocolate? You're having me on.' Harry laughed and shook his head.

‘I promise I'm not having you on.'

Dudley stared hard at Harry. ‘But...but chocolate can't help you if they...you know...if they get close enough to...you know...do what you said they do.'

Harry's grin faded. ‘No. Nothing can help you if they suck out your soul. You're just an empty shell until you finally die.'

Dudley had gone very pale and he looked down at his hands which were clasped in his lap. Harry just stared out the window, memories of the night the Dementors almost got Sirius's soul-the night Prongs first rode again.

Sirius had escaped the Dementors and lived for another two years. Two miserable years hiding from the Ministry. Not much of a life, but still, it was life, Harry supposed. The ache of Sirius' loss was still there, but it had faded a little.

He had someone else now. Someone else who seemed to care what happened to him. But the transition from loathing to caring (perhaps concerned would be a better word) was still a phenomena that Harry had trouble coming to terms with. And when he thought about what Sirius's reaction would be to Snape taking over his, Harry's welfare if he were still alive... Well, it didn't bear thinking about.

Harry snapped back to the present when he realised Dudley was speaking again. ‘...with all that stuff that you lot can do, with all that...' here, Dudley's voice dropped to a whisper. ‘...magic, the best thing you can come up with to make you feel better after an encounter with a Dementor, is chocolate?'

Harry laughed. ‘But Dud, surely you realise, chocolate is magic. The most delicious magic in the world.'

Dudley grinned back. ‘I suppose you're right there. But I haven't had any since I went back to Smeltings.'

Harry's mouth dropped open again. ‘What! None!'

‘None. After those-Dementors...' he raised his eyebrows in question, to make sure he had the right word. Harry nodded. ‘...after what nearly happened, I decided that I really did need to do something about my weight.'

Dudley's face had gone brick red, but he continued doggedly. ‘If I had been thinner and fitter, I might have been able to get away. Or at the very least, I might have recovered quicker afterwards. I was sick for two days.'

Harry had known this. He had heard Dudley vomiting periodically while he had been sequestered in his bedroom. Dudley's room was right next door and the walls at number four weren't the thickest.

Harry set him right on one thing, ‘It wouldn't have mattered if you were Sebastian Coe, Dud. No one can run fast enough to get away from Dementors.'

‘Yeah, well...' Dudley stood and walked to the window. He undid the latch and opened it, then he turned and sat on the sill. ‘Afterwards, I was so sick and miserable, it got me thinking. Being able to eat more than anyone else in the vicinity is not something that most people find appealing. In fact, other than my own family, and Piers and Malcolm and the gang who just thought my being a pig was funny, everyone else was disgusted by it.'

Harry couldn't argue. Dudley had been a pig.

‘Anyway, Mum had absolutely no idea about what really makes a good diet. Grapefruit quarters and grated celery and cottage cheese aren't enough to keep me alive. So after I went back to school, I went and saw the school nurse and between the two of us, we worked out what was best for me and she made sure I got special meals from the kitchen.

‘Mum thought I was sick when I got home. She was going to write to Mrs Coventry, the school nurse and give her a blast. We ended up having a huge row when I told her I was happy to have lost so much weight.' Dudley stood and held his arms out so that Harry could see his torso properly. The T-shirt he had on was way too big. ‘I've lost forty pounds.'

‘That's fantastic, Dudley.' It felt strange to be having a civil conversation with Dudley...even stranger to be complimenting him. But there had been a major change in Dudley since the last time Harry had seen him. He could not remember a time when his cousin had sought him out to talk, let alone to talk civilly.

But Harry realised that his time here at Privet Drive would pass a lot more pleasantly if he and Dudley were on speaking terms. It would be interesting to see what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia thought about the altered state of affairs. Harry was sure they would not approve.

‘So, how did you talk your Mum around to providing you with decent, low-fat food?'

‘I made her take me shopping and bought all the foods I can eat. And I told her that if she wouldn't cook it in a healthy way, I wouldn't eat it'

‘That would have gone down well.'

‘She saw my way eventually because she couldn't stand to see me not eating at all.' Dad thinks I'm mad that I won't eat fatty roasts and bacon and eggs anymore. And seem as he wants to keep on eating like that, Mum has to cook separate meals for both of us. I told her I would get my own meals, but she wont have it. She thinks it would make her a bad mother if she made me cook for myself.'

‘She never had any qualms about making me do the cooking,' said Harry bitterly.

‘Yeah...well. I know now that she has been terrible to you ever since you came to us. She and Dad both. They could have been arrested for the way they've treated you over the years.' Dudley looked down at his knees. He was sitting on the window sill again. He flicked his fingernail backwards and forward across an old, faded stain on his jeans. ‘And I've been an absolute shit to you as well, and I'm sorry.' He looked up at Harry again and Harry could see true regret etched on his face. It had to be real because Dudley was a lousy actor.

‘I really am sorry, Harry. You're my only cousin. We should have been close. But I just took my cue from Mum and Dad.'

Harry was sitting back against the wall now. He was staring straight ahead, unable to look at Dudley. Bitterness was welling up inside him again. He wanted to believe that Dudley was truly remorseful-no, he did think it-but God, it was hard to let go of the horrible memories.

‘Do you know what I saw?'

Harry snapped back to the here and now. He looked at Dudley. ‘What?'

‘When the Dementor was near, do you know what I saw?'

Harry's eyebrows knitted together, ‘What?'

‘You said that Dementors make you relive your worst memories. My worst memory was you coming to live with us. It was me going hysterical and having a major tanti because Mum couldn't spend every second with me. It was me hitting and pinching and biting you and pulling your hair and poking your eyes and taking anything you might have gotten your hands on off of you-including food.'

Harry just stared. Dudley looked anguished, as if the memories made him feel physically ill, even now, when there wasn't a Dementor in sight.

"What kind of a person does that make me, huh? What kind of a person's worst memories are how upset he was when his cousin came to live in the house where he had always gotten everything he wanted as soon as he bellowed for it? A spoiled little shite, that's who.

‘A spoiled little shie who was allowed to treat his smaller cousin any way he liked without once being told off. A spoiled little shite who thought it was funny when his Mum or Dad hit his cousin and threw him into the cupboard under the stairs.'

Harry's face was set in a frozen mask but Dudley had tears rolling down his cheeks. He was making no effort to stem the flow.

‘What kind of people are we, Harry? What kind of people are the Dursleys? There was silence for about fifteen uncomfortable seconds. Dudley sniffed and Harry saw him swipe the sleeve of his shirt across his face.

‘Did you tell your Mum or Dad any of this?' asked Harry, but he was pretty sure what the answer would be.

He was right. Dudley shook his head. "They're totally blind when it comes to you, Harry. My mother hates the memory of her sister so much, she's transferred every negative emotion to you.'

‘You think?' said a very sarcastic Harry.

‘She would deny that I had ever done anything bad to you.' Dudley's voice lowered to a whisper. ‘Sometimes I think that she's not quite right in the head. The more she and Dad indulged me, the more they neglected you. What kind of people allow one kid to continue to eat until he's as big as a house while the other kid in their care is close to starving. What kind of people give one kid everything for his birthday or Christmas while the other one never, ever gets a gift from them.

‘I just never thought about any of it until after the Dementor attack.'

Harry snorted mirthlessly. ‘Hooray for the Dementors.'

The corner of Dudley's mouth quirked upward, but he too looked as though he was a long way from laughter. ‘Yeah.'

Harry stared at a particularly large stain on the grotty mattress while Dudley stared at the floor. They stayed in those attitudes for several minutes, neither feeling like breaking the silence. Harry was absently kneading his scar.

Finally, Dudley pushed himself to his feet. ‘Well, I suppose I'd better go.' He walked across to the door but paused with his hand on the knob. "Um...is that bloke-that wizard-downstairs really your cousin?'

Harry looked up, his eyes bleak. ‘Yeah, he is. But I only found out a few days ago.'

‘Why?'

‘Because, like you and your Mum and dad, Dud, Severus hated me with a passion. He treated me just as badly as your parents have always treated me,' Harry paused, looking slightly chagrined. ‘Although he never hit me,' he added quickly.

Dudley had gone red, but he held Harry's gaze. ‘I don't hate you anymore, Harry.'

Harry held the gaze for a few charged seconds. Then he took a deep breath and gave a short, sharp nod of acceptance. ‘Let's see where we go from here, Dudley. It'll be nice to not have to watch my back as far as you're concerned at least.' He swung his legs to the side and began to stand. But before he could gain his feet, he gave a cry of pain and fell back onto the bed, his hands covering his face.

Harry cried out a second time and turned on his side, drawing his knees up. He dug his fingertips hard into his scar and tried very hard to hold back the nausea that had suddenly welled up.

Dudley stood with his hand still on the doorknob, his expression aghast as he goggled at his distressed cousin where he writhed on the bed.

‘Harry! Harry, what's wrong?...'

‘Get...get Professor Snape,' Harry breathed, and then, unable to hold it back any longer, he leaned over the side of the bed and vomited.

That was the signal that broke Dudley from his horrified paralysis. He wrenched the door open and dashed onto the landing, yelling in a panicked voice for the adults. He had just gained the head of the stairs when Severus came bounding up them, taking three steps at a time.

He pushed Dudley aside, not really aware that he was there and disappeared into Harry's room. Dudley stared after him, whey-faced and frightened. Harry had looked terrible. He had been fine one minute and then the next, he had been screaming in pain and vomiting.

He heard someone else ascending the stairs and turned to see his parents.

‘Harry's sick,' he said hopelessly. Dudley had not really expected to see sympathy on either parent's face, but he had not thought he would see such vindictive scorn either.

When Petunia stepped onto the landing, she moved to put her arm around Dudley. ‘Diddy darling. Are you all right?'

Dudley squirmed away from his mother's suffocating hold. ‘Mum, I'm fine. It's Harry who needs help at the moment.' And he turned away from them and moved back into Harry's room where he stood as inconspicuously as possible just to the side of the door.

Petunia looked as if she had been slapped. Vernon huffed up behind her. The stairs were becoming more of a trial for Vernon, who seemed to have found at least a portion of the weight his son had lost. They followed Dudley and stood outside the door. Petunia looked as though she was going to be sick when the smell of vomit hit her.

Severus did not know what to do for Harry. His own pain, which was building to a crescendo, was taking away his ability to think properly. His first order of business before he could answer the urgent summons from the Dark Lord was to get help. There was no way he could leave the boy, as debilitated as he was at the moment in the same home as these Muggle horrors.

So, isolating his pain behind his strongest occlumency shield, Severus pointed his wand towards the front of the house. Vernon roared and Petunia screeched in fear. They both ducked, terrified that this disgusting wizard was finally going to do what he had failed to do downstairs-use that wand on them.

Dudley flattened himself against the wall when a brilliant white light erupted from the end of Severus' wand. It streamed through the doorway and was so bright, there were spots before Dudley's eyes.

Harry was retching again and Severus knew he would never be able to get a pain relief potion down his throat. Harry screamed and Severus hissed as the pain momentarily peaked and escaped his shield. The Dark Lord was angrier than Severus had known him to be since his return.

Taking deep breaths, he increased the strength of his shield. He managed to cut off the pain receptors that transferred the actual burning sensation to his brain. He no longer assimilated the pain, but his abused arm was shaking and a muscle in his jaw was jerking in time with the peaks and valleys of the burning of his Dark Mark-the burning that he had buried deeply.

Severus knew that Harry's inexplicable connection to his nemesis was causing him worse pain than what he, Severus had suffered before erecting his shield.

‘What's wrong with him?' yelled Dudley. ‘You're a wizard. Help him!'

A distant corner of Severus' mind registered the fact that their was genuine concern in Harry's childhood tormentor's voice. But he was already raising his wand in his shaking hand. It was the only thing he could think to do to ease the boy's suffering.

Dudley yelled in shock as Severus' red, stunning spell hit Harry and for the first time since he had first clawed at his scar, Harry lay quiescent, still with his knees pulled up to his stomach. His lax hands had fallen away from his face and Severus could see scratch marks on and around the livid scar that was so taut, it looked as though it could split open at any moment.

Severus gently straightened Harry's limbs and then, looking down at his unconscious son's face and remembering how much he had liked his new bed, he angrily pointed his wand at the atrocity Harry was lying on and muttering an angry spell, he transfigured it into a replica of the bed Dumbledore had produced for him at Hogwarts.

Dudley watched in wonder as Severus pulled Harry's trainers off and threw them on the floor before transfiguring his clothes into pyjamas. He pulled a tissue from a box on a ratty, veneer bedside cabinet and placed it on the mattress where it was transfigured into a bottom sheet, another wave of his wand transfigured a second tissue it into a scarlet covered duvet that wafted over the unconscious boy and a third tissue placed upon the pillow, became a pillowcase.

Petunia and Vernon watched the proceedings also but they were both too furious that magic was being performed under their roof to appreciate what was actually being done.

When Severus had made Harry as comfortable as possible, he reached into the pocket of his trousers. All three of the Dursleys watched as he pulled out what looked like a tiny little briefcase. He placed it on the cabinet and pointing his wand, he muttered Engorgio, and the case grew to normal proportions.

When it was opened, the Dursleys saw several rows of small bottles. Severus pulled one out and transfiguring another tissue into a wad of cotton wool which he soaked with a yellow liquid from the bottle, he dabbed at the scratches on Harry's face. They began to fade before the amazed (and in Petunia and Vernon's cases angry) Muggle's faces.

Finally, with Harry attended to, Severus pointed his wand at himself and his Muggle clothing became wizard's robes-specifically Death Eater robes. He was ready to Apparate to the Dark Lord's side.

But where in the hell was Nymphadora? She should have been right outside.

In an effort to stop the spasm in his arm, Severus wrapped his right hand around the hideous tattoo and squeezed. The heat radiating from it seemed to scorch his palm. He imagined he could hear the skin sizzling. He wished someone would stun him but he did not have the liberty of succumbing to unconsciousness.

Finally, the Dursley's front door was thrown open so that it crashed against the wall. Petunia cried out, upset, no doubt, that her wall may have been dented. She wouldn't be too thrilled that another wizard had just entered her home either.

‘Up here, Nymphadora. And for Merlin's sake, hurry. He is becoming impatient.'

‘What is this? A convention?' bellowed a purple-faced Vernon.

‘Shut up Dursley. I am not in the mood to listen to your blustering.' Severus heard racing footsteps ascending the stairs and then a crash, followed by a muted curse.

Severus rolled his eyes. Nymphadora had tripped. How typical.

But the young Aura dashed into the room, ready for battle seconds later; Petunia and Vernon scurried out of her way when she appeared at the top of the stairs.

‘I WILL NOT HAVE THIS!' bellowed Vernon, obviously not taking Severus' admonition seriously. ‘This is not a halfway house for wizards.'

Severus pointed his wand at Vernon and when he next opened his mouth, no sound came out. When Petunia opened her mouth to scream, Severus moved the tip of his wand to point at her throat and she shut her mouth with a snap.

‘Sorry,' puffed Tonks. I was checking the end of the street. There was a disturbance but it was just a bunch of...'

‘I have no time for your excuses, Nymphadora. I should have been gone five minutes ago. Harry is stunned. Do not revive him until you see his scar is no longer livid. If, when you do revive him, he is in pain, give him this...' Severus held up a purple phial. ‘The whole lot.

‘If I am not back by tomorrow morning, contact Dumbledore...if he does not contact you first. Do not leave Harry alone with them.' Severus jerked his head towards the silent Dursley adults.

And without further ado, he Disapparated away with a soft pop.