Harry's mind was spinning round and round, like the back tires of a car stuck in the mud. Snape was his father. Severus Snape was his father. Lily had loved Snape, not James and he was the proof. He must have zoned out for a minute, because the next thing he knew, Petunia's bony hand was shaking him and she was half-shouting in his ear, "Wake up, boy! Now's not the time to go woolgathering. Get a wet cloth and lay it on the stain and cover it with an afghan so Vernon won't see the blood, you can scrub it out later. Then get your backside in the kitchen and start cooking, you know how your uncle hates to be kept waiting. Hustle, boy!" She clapped her hands at him.

Harry hustled, hiding the bloodstains on the couch as ordered, then going into the kitchen to begin breakfast as usual. He quickly got out the skillet and a large bowl, plus the carton of eggs, milk, butter, bacon and bread. He also removed a small tin of fruit from the pantry, for Petunia did not like heavy breakfasts and usually only ate toast, fruit, and yogurt. He started a pot of coffee, then began to scramble up eight eggs, beating them till they were light and frothy. He had learned to cook at a young age, four or maybe five, as soon as Petunia could trust him near the stove without getting burnt to death. Once he could make edible food, she turned the cooking over to him, at least when his uncle was around.

Dudley thundered down the stairs and thumped into the kitchen. "Move it, shrimp!" he ordered, shoving Harry on the way to the fridge to get himself a glass of juice.

The shove made some of Harry's eggs slop over onto the floor.

Dudley gulped juice directly from the carton, dribbling some down his three chins as he did so. He glanced at the yellow stain on the spotless kitchen floor and brayed, "Mum! Harry made a mess on the clean floor again!"

"Clean it up, you good for nothing brat!" snapped Petunia, not bothering to come and see for herself.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," responded Harry, going to mop up the egg with a wet cloth and some salt. Dudley was never blamed for anything, she always believed her son over Harry. Dudley sneered and shoved him again as he made his way to the table to read the comic section of the paper. Harry bit his lip and wished he had his wand so he could turn his cousin into a guinea pig and kick him around for a change.

But by the time Vernon came down, dressed in his best-collared golf shirt and matching tweed trousers, leather golf shoes and cap, Harry had breakfast on the table. He'd burned his finger on the skillet when Dudley had crashed into him and stole a piece of bacon draining on a paper towel, but at least he hadn't burnt the toast or the bacon, thank Merlin.

The family sat down and began to devour the food, while Harry remained standing behind them, like a servant, waiting until they were done to clear their plates away.

"I want you to weed the flower beds today, boy, front and back. Mulch the front ones and weed and then clean out the shed. After that do whatever chores your aunt wants inside, understood?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry already knew all of that, but he acted as though he didn't, since Vernon never missed an opportunity to order about his nephew. His uncle droned on and Harry gave him half an ear, his thoughts flying back to the astonishing revelation of the morning . . .Snape was his father.

A cuff on the ear from Vernon brought him out of his reverie with a start.

"What's the matter with you, boy? Didn't you just hear me say I need my clubs? Mr. Mason will be here any minute. Hop to it, you lazy thing!"

"Yes, sir. Sorry," Harry apologized, careful to keep his eyes on the ground.

"Move, boy!" Vernon grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him around and sending him towards the hall closet with a sharp smack on the rear.

Harry winced, but did as he'd been told, praying Vernon's game went well.

Then he began to clear the table, finding a cold piece of toast and some bacon beneath Petunia's cloth. Harry ate it quickly, while his uncle was using the loo. He also ate the remainder of the cold scrambled eggs, making sure no one saw. Dudley had squealed on him when they were little once for eating the leftovers, and Vernon had called Harry a trash picker and walloped him so hard he couldn't sit down for a day. So now Harry looked around before he ate, it was much safer that way.

Once Vernon had departed and Dudley was occupied with his friends outside, Harry scrubbed the bloodstains out of the couch, wishing once more he could use magic.

* * * * * *

Severus awoke feeling marginally better than he had earlier, though he still felt like a lorry had run over him repeatedly. Such was the aftereffect of too many Apparition spells and exhaustion. Still, it was better than being six feet under. He sat up gingerly, his left arm throbbed and burned like seven hells. A quick glance out the window revealed it to be early afternoon, so Severus had slept the whole morning.

He carefully removed his robe, beneath it he wore only a lightweight black short-sleeved shirt and the bandage Petunia had wound about his arm. He carefully began to unwind it, his wand ready in his lap to cast the healing spell, when a knock came at the door.

"Professor? You awake?"

"Yes."

Harry slipped into the room, carrying a tray, shutting the door as soon as he was inside. Upon the tray was a bowl of soup, grilled cheese, and a glass of ice water. "For you, sir. Aunt Petunia thought you might be hungry."

"Put it there," Severus jerked his chin at the nightstand. "I'll eat after I've finished healing myself."

Harry set the tray down, wondering why Snape was looking at him so critically. True, he was a bit dirty from mulching the beds and sweaty, but Snape needn't frown at him like that. Then he watched as the wizard peeled away the bandage, wincing slightly as the edge of the cloth caught on the wound.

Then Snape picked up his wand and pointed the tip at the ugly slash, only to feel eyes upon him. He glanced up irritably to find Harry watching him avidly. "Quit gawping like a fish out of water, potter. Have you never seen a healing charm done?"

Harry shook his head, transfixed by the raw red wound on Snape's arm, which was well-muscled for one who didn't play sports, surprisingly.

"Then it's about time you learned," the Potions Master said, rolling his eyes. He touched the tip of his wand to the gaping wound and intoned, "Restituo Salus!"

A soft silvery light emerged from his wand and covered the gash. When it faded, Snape's arm was healed, all save for a faint white line on his skin, which would disappear in a few hours. Severus set his wand down and said pointedly, "Now that is a spell you should learn, considering the amount of injuries you acquire each term, Potter."

Harry flushed, wishing Snape didn't make it sound as if he were some kind of accident prone idiot, always falling and hurting himself. Most of his injuries had been received when some agent of Voldemort or monster was trying to kill him, save for a few Quidditch accidents. Here, on Privet Drive, any injuries were gained via Dudley or Vernon.

Stung by what he perceived as a criticism, Harry demanded, "How can I learn what I've never been taught? Am I just supposed to absorb it into my brain by osmosis?"

"You learn by paying attention, Potter, instead of making insolent remarks." Severus told him, fixing him with one of his famous glowers.

"I wasn't!" Harry cried, incensed. He hadn't been in the man's company five minutes and already he was jumping down his throat. "Maybe if I had a teacher who could actually teach and not just criticize . . ."

He trailed off abruptly, for Severus looked as if he wished to throttle him.

With a tremendous effort, Severus reined in his temper. How dare the little brat imply he was not a good teacher! Did he even know how difficult it was to teach a roomful of hyper, attention-seeking, hormonal teenagers day after day? Ones who were more concerned with their social lives than learning the craft they needed to survive?

"You mind your mouth, boy. You might be allowed to get away with acting like a spoiled brat here, but I won't tolerate it, I assure you." Snape ground out, his jaw clenched so hard it was a miracle his teeth didn't break. "Adjust the attitude, mister, or else." Here, Severus trailed off meaningfully, not wanting to make a threat he couldn't carry out.

"Or else what?" Harry sneered, challenging the other wizard at last as he'd longed to do for years. "You'll give me detention? Ground me? Take away my broom? Spank me? You're my father now, so you can punish me however you like, right? That's what you're thinking, I'll bet. Like it isn't punishment enough living here. Well, if you want to be my father so much, Snape, why don't you try opening your eyes? You might learn something!"

Severus fought to keep from jumping out of the bed and shaking the defiant child until his teeth rattled. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" He kept his tone even and calm, a leader never needed to raise his voice--only a subordinate did that. He locked gazes with his newly discovered offspring, enduring the undisguised resentment and anger in the green eyes without batting an eyelash.

"It means, sir, that maybe I'm not the spoiled brat you think I am!"

With that, Harry stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard the shelf above the bed shook, before Severus could question him further.

The professor closed his eyes and counted to ten slowly. Then again. . . . and again, forcing himself to calm down. Running after the insolent whelp and dragging him back by the ear to explain himself wouldn't solve anything, nor would throttling him, much as he hated to admit it. Suddenly, Severus wished he were anywhere but at Privet Drive. He had intended to ask to borrow Potter's owl before the brat had started mouthing off to him, so he could send a message to Albus and tell him his spying days were done.

Severus began to eat, he never liked wasting good food, he'd gone hungry too many nights when he was a child. He would have offered to teach his son the Heal All spell had he asked, instead of accusing Severus of being incompetent. The nerve of the impudent little snot! Petunia certainly had spoiled him, if this was how he behaved away from school, with no respect for authority. The boy broke rules left and right at school, and it appeared at home it was no different. The Potions Master sipped his soup, seething quietly.

Meanwhile, Harry had run smack into Petunia on his way downstairs, she had come up to see why her nephew was shouting and slamming doors.

"What on earth is going on up here, young man? I send you up to bring him some lunch and instead I find you've started a feud. Have you forgotten what will happen if your uncle ever finds out you're hiding a wizard in your bedroom?"

"No," Harry muttered to the carpet, already regretting his outburst. He knew all too well who would bear the brunt of Vernon's temper if Snape were ever discovered in Harry's bedroom. "I got mad and I . . .forgot. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," she ordered, waving a finger at her nephew. "Now, what was all the yelling about?"

"Nothing, Aunt Petunia."

"Humph. Nothing doesn't cause you slam doors and shout loud enough to be heard in another universe, Harry James Potter. You have two choices. Either you tell me what happened or I go and ask Severus."

"No!" Harry said quickly, for that was the last thing he needed, Petunia and Severus ganging up on him. "He . . .thinks I have an attitude with him and I don't." He mumbled.

"What?"

"He thinks I have an attitude with him, all right?" Harry repeated irritably.

"Well, if you spoke to him the way you just did me, I'd say he was right," Petunia said crisply.

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia." Then he added indignantly, "Snape and I just don't get along, that's all. He's always on my back in class, he doesn't like me because I'm-" Harry halted, for he'd been going to say "he doesn't like me because I'm James Potter's son." but that had been a lie. "Never mind."

Petunia made as if to go around Harry and open the bedroom door.

"Okay! Okay!"Harry said, moving to keep her from the bedroom. "Snape doesn't like me because he thinks I'm just like my father."

Petunia stared at him. "Harry, you're not making any sense. Why would Severus dislike you for being like him?

"No, I meant he used to think I was James . . .who used to be my father . . .err . . .we all thought he was my father. . . . he's a sarcastic git and he thinks I'm a spoiled brat." Harry stumbled to a halt.

Petunia pursed her lip. "Well, if I didn't know better, I would agree with the way you've been slamming doors and shouting. I taught you better than that, mister!"

"Yes, ma'am." Harry sighed. "But it was partly his fault too . . ."

"Harry, might I suggest you go back in the room and attempt to patch things up with Severus? I know he's not the easiest person to live with, but he is your father and you should make an effort to mend things between you. He can give you a better home than this, and well you know it!"

Harry bit his lip hard. He truly wanted to believe that, but this was Snape, of all people, he of the sharp tongue and swift temper. "Just ‘cause he's my father doesn't mean he won't treat me the same as Uncle Vernon does," the 13-year-old said in a low voice.

Petunia was quiet for a while, then she spoke. "God knows I'm not usually in the position of defending a wizard over my husband, much less Severus Snape, but you really don't know him at all if you think Severus would ever behave the way Vernon does towards you."

"Really? How do you know?"

"Because your mother would've never gotten engaged to Vernon. She warned me about him, that he was too controlling . . .and I didn't listen." She looked away, then lowered her voice even further and said, "This goes no farther than your ears, boy. You need never fear Severus taking a belt or a switch to you because he swore on his mother's grave he would never be like his father, a drunken bully. His father used to smack him and his mother around when he was drunk. I know because I lived next door to the Snape's, and Lily and I weren't dumb we knew what was going on, even though Sev would never admit it. Severus may be many things, but he was always a man of his word. Now go back in there and issue apologies, because a chance like this comes along but once in this lifetime."

Yet Harry hesitated. Somehow, he just didn't feel up to facing Snape yet, and letting himself be scolded like a naughty child. He wasn't sure what to make of the revelations Petunia had told him. It had been ten times easier to deal with Snape when he was just the greasy bat of the dungeons and not his father. It had been easier when Snape was the snarky long-nosed git who hated Harry Potter, not a man who had lived through an abused childhood similar to Harry's own.

"Later. I'll talk to him later, Aunt Petunia. I promise."

"You are stubborn as a mountain goat, mister! Have it your way then. And I know exactly where you get that stubbornness from, Harry, and it's not from Lily."

"Thanks, Aunt Petunia. I gotta start on the shed now," he said, disappearing downstairs before his aunt could saying anything else."

He would return to bring Snape his dinner after Vernon and Dudley started watching the television, a car race was on, and then he would apologize or whatever, because Petunia was right, anywhere was better than Privet Drive, and Snape couldn't be any worse than his uncle, could he?

* * * * * *

Severus watched from the upstairs window as Harry walked outside , followed a moment later by a large blond haired boy Snape assumed was Petunia's son, Dudley. Probably going to play some game before supper, he thought and nearly withdrew from the window. Until he saw his son-how strange it was to think of James's quasi-reflection as his-going over to a whitewashed shed and beginning to rearrange and remove several items from it.

Ah. Petunia must have sent them to do some yard work. Perhaps I was wrong and he's not as spoiled as I first thought, not if he's doing chores alongside his cousin.

Then the Potions Master noticed that Dudley wasn't doing anything, simply watching while Harry did all the work. Dudley even went and shoved the ebony-haired boy a few times, but strangely, Harry did nothing, he simply kept working. By the end of ten minutes, Severus longed to take that brat Dudley by the ear and set him to scrubbing his dungeon floor with a toothbrush until he learned the meaning of work, the spoiled baby.

Finally, Harry had completed the shed, and his shirt was soaked with sweat and grimy. He went to get a drink from the hose, but Dudley bumped him hard, causing water to spray all over him, drenching him from head to foot.

Dudley laughed uproariously, and Severus waited for his son to retaliate. Surely this time . . .Harry must act. But again, Harry merely walked away, though Severus could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was furious.

A moment later, Severus heard them enter the house, and Dudley yelling to his mother, "Mum! Harry had an accident with the hose and he looks like a refugee from China! Or a drowned rat!" He began to laugh again, loudly.

Accident my arse! Severus thought angrily. Again he waited for the boy to speak in his own defense and tell his aunt the true story, but all he heard was Petunia's voice scolding her nephew for getting all wet and muddy, then ordering him upstairs for a shower and a change of clothes. "Mind you're done before your uncle gets home, boy!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied in a subdued tone.

The boy's attitude mystified Severus, for he knew Harry had a temper and he didn't seem like the kind to take abuse from that overgrown baby walrus lying down. Yet that was exactly what was happening. The only question was why?

Severus turned away from the window and seated himself in the desk chair. When he heard the door open, he cast a quick Concealment Charm and vanished from sight.

But it was only Harry, come to get dry clothing.

The boy halted just inside the door, looking about the room in alarm. He shut the door and called softly, "Professor? Professor Snape?"

"I'm still here, Potter. You just can't see me," he drawled.

"Oh. I thought . . ." 

"You thought maybe I'd jumped out the window, perhaps?" asked Severus dryly. "I assure you, I'm not that desperate to escape your aunt's hospitality, such as it is."

"It's not her fault you have to stay in here, really," Harry felt compelled to defend Petunia, Merlin only knew why. "My uncle would go bonkers if he knew another wizard was here. He-he doesn't like anything to do with us or our world. That's why my trunk is locked in the basement and Hedwig is at Ron's until my birthday."

"Your owl is not here?"

"No. She was going nuts locked in her cage all the time and my uncle said if she made one more sound, he'd shoot her, so I sent her to the Weasleys. She's much happier there and Ron promised he'd send her back with some presents on my birthday. That's July 31st."

"Yes, I'm well aware of your birthday, despite not being there to see you get born. The whole wizarding world knows the birthday of the Boy Who Lived." Snape pointed out.

"Oh. I hate being famous," Harry muttered.

Severus did not bother to reply to that complaint, but instead said, "I had hoped to send a message to Professor Dumbledore informing him that my spying days are over, but now I'll have to wait and avail myself of your hospitality a little longer."

"You were a spy?" Harry exclaimed. "I thought you were just a Potions Master."

"I am many things, Potter. Now go and get cleaned up, you're dripping water all over the carpet." Severus made a shooing motion with a hand, canceling the charm as he did so.

Harry felt as though a gentle hand were drawing him towards the door and he shot his parent an exasperated look before following the invisible urging. Honestly, did Snape think he was a baby that needed to be led by the hand to take a bath?

Twenty minutes later, Harry returned to the room, determined to bury the hatchet once and for all. But as he went to gather up the tray with the dirty dishes, Severus's voice floated over to him, and froze him in his tracks. "Before you leave again, I want to ask you a question, Potter."

Harry turned, looking at his teacher with wary eyes. "Sir?"

"I saw you outside today with your . . .cousin, I presume?"

"Yeah, Dudley followed me." Harry admitted uneasily.

"Why do you allow him to bully you? You have guts enough to stand up to me, an adult wizard not to mention your . . . father, and yet you let a boy like that push you around. Why?"

Harry wanted to die right there. Bad enough Dudley had to start his little games again, but to have it witnessed by Snape . . .he wished he could find a deep dark hole and fall into it and never come out. But Snape was looking at him, that faint sneer on his face and suddenly Harry blurted, "You have any idea how much trouble I'd be in if I hurt Dudley? Once, when I was five, he stole a toy I was playing with and broke it, and I got mad and pushed him, I made him fall on his bum, and he ran crying to his dad and guess who ended up not being able to sit down for two days? Me! And he got to go to the toy store and buy three new things to get over the fright he'd gotten."

Severus raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You're not serious."

Harry laughed bitterly. "Yeah, I know, you think I live a life of luxury, don't you? You see this room? It's not really mine, it's Dudley's second bedroom. I got it last year, because he didn't want it. Before that I slept in a cupboard under the stairs. Dudley's the one who's the spoiled brat around here. I'm just the unwanted nephew who got dumped on the doorstep and taken in out of charity."

"You were never a charity case!" Severus objected hotly, his temper starting to smolder at the picture Harry's words conjured in his mind, a picture of an unloved boy, lonely and afraid, much as he had been. "Albus sent a stipend for your upkeep to that pinchpenny uncle of yours, and it was to be used for anything you might need. What did they do with it?"

Harry shrugged. "Who knows? I never saw a Knut of it. They probably spent it on their perfect beautiful little Dudders." Then he exhaled softly and said, "Look, sir. I-I apologize for the way I shouted at you before. I lost my temper and I want to know if . . .if we can start over and forget that ever happened?"

Severus was astonished. He'd never expected the boy to hold out an olive branch. Slowly he nodded. "Very well. I will overlook your behavior, perhaps I was a bit too hasty as well."

"Thanks, sir. Oh, and since you've forgiven me, could you please call me Harry, and not Potter?" he asked softly.

"All right . . .Harry," agreed his father. "You were named for your grandfather Evans, you know. When Lily and I were engaged, we discussed possible names for a baby, should we ever have one, and she liked Harry after her father Henry."

"Wow! I never knew that."

Before Harry could say anything else, a man's deep bass rumbled through the foyer and up the stairs. "Boy! Get your lazy arse down here and make dinner."

Harry suppressed a wince, Vernon was home and not in a good mood from the sound of it. "Must have had an off day at golf," Harry sighed. Then he stuck his head out of his room and bellowed, "Coming, Uncle Vernon!

But just as the boy stepped back into the hallway, Uncle Vernon was bellowing for Harry to get over there, before he came upstairs and taught him what it meant to come right bleeding now!

Harry went pale and scrambled down the stairs.

Not liking the man's tone at all, Snape turned himself invisible and glided noiselessly along behind

"Hurry up and make something, boy," ordered Vernon. "I haven't got all day."

Harry went inside the pantry to look for some side dishes and take the roast out of the oven, it was nearly done.

Severus observed with mounting fury the way that fat walrus Dudley and his equally obese father just sat around the table grunting like two pigs feeding at a trough, waiting for the dinner to be done, while Petunia set the table and made beckoning motions to her nephew as soon as he slid the roast onto a plate.

Nearly staggering under the weight, Harry carried the roast beef to the table, setting it down in the center, but the oven mitts slipped at the last minute and some of the juices slopped over the side of the platter and onto the tablecloth.

Vernon tuned a murderous eye on Harry. "Clumsy little oaf! Watch what you're doing! It nearly landed on my good shirt."

Harry ducked his head. "Sorry, sir. I'll be more careful next time." He scurried back into the kitchen to get the rest of the meal, then waited silently in a corner of the dining room as before, until Dudley dropped a fork and whined for Harry to come and pick it up.

Harry came and did so, and Dudley took it and snorted, turning back to his mountain of food and shoveling it in his mouth as quickly as humanly possible. It nearly made Severus throw up watching.

That child has worse table manners than a pig or a dog, and yet they let him eat at the table and put my son in a corner like a bloody house elf! How dare they! For it was clear that Harry was not considered a bona fide family member, except when it came to things like chores and such. Otherwise he was more like a servant, invisible and there to fetch and carry.

Severus couldn't believe the amount of food Vernon and his son consumed at a single sitting. They ate like it was their last day upon the earth, but even so there was still meat upon the roast when they pushed their plates away.

On that signal, Harry came forward to clear and Severus watched in a kind of amazed horror as Vernon stood over the trash can and bade his son to throw out what remained of the roast, mashed potatoes, carrots, and rolls, knowing full well Harry had not eaten anything for supper.

Harry did it, licking his lips afterwards, but otherwise making no complaint. "Now do the dishes, boy," ordered Vernon.

"Yes sir." Harry said. Then he looked at his uncle and asked, "Sir, may I make a sandwich? I didn't eat supper tonight."

Vernon's pig eyes narrowed and his mustached mouth split open in a wicked sneer. "Oh, poor little baby, didn't get anything to eat tonight. That's because you didn't deserve it. Want to know why? Because Dudley told me you were mucking about this afternoon, playing with the hose instead of working. Lazy no-good brats don't get supper. I don't feed boys that don't earn their keep."

Severus felt his hands clench into fists. Oh really? Then why do you bother feeding your son, you stupid fat pudding? He could stand to lose a few pounds and all he does is make trouble and eat himself into an early grave.

The rest of the family retired to the den to watch TV while Harry scrubbed the dishes and put them away. Severus waved his wand and a plate of tender roast pork swimming in gravy along with garlic mashed potatoes and buttered string beans appeared on the counter. There! If your pinch-fisted uncle won't feed you, I will!

Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Huh? Where the hell?" Then the aroma overwhelmed him and he began to eat, quickly and neatly, before anyone saw. "Thanks, sir," he muttered softly, and Severus smiled.

Harry did not join the others in the den, knowing he wouldn't be welcome. Instead he took a book down from the bookshelf in the hall and went to read it at the kitchen table. He was interrupted three times by his cousin and uncle calling for various things, a cold drink, a bag of pretzels, a bar of chocolate.

Severus gritted his teeth each time as he saw his son leap up to cater to their spoiled ways, and wished he could hex them both, they would make wonderful pig statues. Why in the name of all that's holy doesn't Petunia say something? But Petunia was embroidering and took no notice of either of her menfolk.

But the final straw was when Dudley stuck out his foot and deliberately tripped Harry as he was carrying in a mug of hot tea to Vernon.

Harry didn't see his cousin's outstretched foot and stumbled.

Hot tea splashed all over the carpet, the table, and Vernon.

The big man sprang up howling. "Oww! You clumsy little idiot! How dare you spill tea on me?"

Harry was staring at the empty cup in his hand, trying to figure out a way to diffuse the situation. But there was nothing to appease his uncle's wrath, and Harry knew he was dead meat. "Sorry, Uncle Vernon. I'll clean it up and I'll get you some ice for your leg."

But Vernon would have none of it. He was grouchy and tired and he wanted the pain to go away now. He also wanted to blame someone for it and the most convenient target was his clumsy nephew.

Harry brought in some rags to mop up the tea on the table and the carpet, and as he knelt to sop up the mess on the floor, Vernon drew back his foot and kicked him, knocking him sprawling.

"Get up, you worthless little idiot!" ordered the big man. "I'll teach you to spill tea on my best golf trousers." He hauled Harry up by the back of his shirt, and started to remove his belt.

Harry shut his eyes, knowing full well what was coming, knowing it was useless to struggle, but wanting to call for help anyway. Where was Snape? He hoped the man was upstairs, Harry didn't want an audience, not for this, but at the same time he longed for the black-robed wizard-his father-to rescue him. Where was he?

A second later, he had his answer, as Severus snarled a spell and Vernon was blown head over heels into the couch. Snape would have preferred the wall, but the couch was in the way.

Harry remained half-crouched on the floor, Vernon had released him unintentionally.

Petunia and Dudley were round-eyed and open-mouthed as Severus reappeared in the living room and strode over to Vernon, wand in hand, like the Angel of Death.

Gasping, Vernon lurched to a sitting position. "Who the bloody hell are you and what are you doing in my house?"

"My name is Severus Snape, you miserable child-beating bastard. And if you lay one fingernail on my son again, you worthless lazy good-for-nothing sack of shit, I will rip out your guts and make you roast them over a fire and eat them. Understand?" Then Snape leaned down, his eyes like two burning coals, and picked up the quivering Vernon and slammed him against the wall. "Well? Cat got your tongue, Dursley? Answer me!"

But the only answer Vernon could give was a squealing whine, for Snape had a death grip on his throat.

"Severus, please!" cried Petunia. "Don't kill him!"

Vernon gasped, his eyes bulging. But Severus loosened his grip slightly, and the fat man drew in a breath, whimpering. "Please, whoever you are, don't hurt me! If you want the kid, take him. I never wanted him anyway, but Tuney insisted. Nothing but a freaky millstone round my neck these past thirteen years."

"You won't have to worry about him soon, Dursley," sneered Severus. "Because I plan on leaving with him as soon as it's safe for me to travel. Until then, you will do exactly as I say. You will call your job and take a leave of absence for a week, then you will trade places with my son, you and your son both, and do all the chores he used to. Whining and complaining will get you no supper. You will serve us until we leave."

"No! You-you can't do that, you freak!"

Severus leaned in so their noses practically touched. "I can do much worse, Muggle, Much worse. So unless you want me to give you a taste of my belt, Dursley, you'll do as I say. And I mean what I say, if you or your son step out of line I shall give you the same treatment you have my son all these years. The very same!"

Vernon shuddered, for in Severus's dark eyes was the promise of retribution and the obese man was suddenly horribly afraid. The sins of the past had come back to haunt him, and worse come to life, in the form of an avenging dark angel that called himself Harry's father.

And from then on, nothing in the Dursley residence would be the same.