Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Chapter 4

Harry spent the entire morning cleaning, cleaning, cleaning Number 4 as punishment for existing in the face of Marge’s new love life.

 

“Nearly ruined everything, didn’t you, boy?” growled Vernon over his sizeable breakfast as Harry poured more coffee.

 

“I’m sorry, Uncle Vernon. I promise it won’t happen again,” said Harry, keeping his voice quiet and even from long experience.

 

“See that it doesn’t,” Vernon ordered, dosing his coffee heavily with cream and sugar.

 

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

 

Petunia stood near the back door, frowning mightily at her nephew. “Mr. Lawson will be arriving precisely at twelve-thirty for luncheon. I want the entire downstairs spotless, as well as the bath and the stairs and upper hall. You may skip cleaning the bedrooms – except for Marge’s, of course – so you can get started on the crudité tray, the sandwich tray, and the fruit tray. Quarter the pineapple first, then arrange the other types of fruit between the pineapple spokes on the pink tray.”

 

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

 

“And don’t forget the spinach dip and the fruit dip.”

 

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

 

“It goes without saying that you will trim the crusts from the bread.”

 

So why did she say it? “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

 

“All the sandwich makings are in the refrigerator. Be sure to cover the sandwich tray with a double layer of plastic wrap so the bread doesn’t dry out before we eat. You’ll be quartering the sandwiches, of course, but I’ll want seven of each type of sandwich – “

 

“SEVEN?”

 

“Don’t interrupt me, boy! Vernon and Dudley will obviously want seconds on everything, so allow an extra full sandwich of each type to accommodate them.” Petunia pursed her thin lips. “That Mr. Lawson doesn’t look as if he eats enough to be a proper food critic, so I doubt he’ll wish for more than a single sandwich – four quarters of his choice, that is.”

 

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

 

“Well, don’t just stand there!” Petunia said angrily. “Get on with your work! He’ll be here any minute!”

 

Harry glanced at the kitchen clock. The big hand was on the four, and the little hand perched just above the eight. “Right, Aunt Petunia. I’m going.” He decided to vacuum the entire downstairs while the Dursleys were finishing breakfast, then do dishes before dusting every surface in the lounge, dining room, and foyer. Then he’d either tackle the bathroom and Marge’s room, or – if they were still occupied, start on the various food trays until he could work upstairs. Dudley smirked at Harry through a forkful of scrambled egg, but the amusement in his eyes looked genuine, rather than malicious, and Harry realized that Dudley was already anticipating the new adventures of the day which Mr. Lawson’s arrival would doubtless bring.

 

“What are your plans for the day, dear?” Vernon asked as Harry exited the kitchen.

 

Behind him, Petunia sighed in exasperation. “I need to replace the lounge mirror. I’ll select one and demand that it be delivered and installed before noon, so I’d better leave now.”

 

Dudley snickered, then gulped his orange juice when his mother – for once – glared at him. “But Mum – what if they don’t have one just like the one that … broke?”

 

Vernon waved his hand dismissively. “Just get SOMETHING of the right size, and if it doesn’t work out, we’ll return it later. But I want that cracked monstrosity out of sight when Mr. Lawson arrives.” He reached into his pocket and handed the car keys to Petunia. “There you go, dearest. We’ll see you in a bit, won’t we Dudders?”

 

As Harry unwound the power cord from the vacuum cleaner, he heard Petunia hesitate. “Vernon… “

 

“Yes?”

 

“Why don’t you and Diddykins go out to amuse yourselves while … Harry … works here. I don’t want any … incidents … which might delay his getting everything ready for Mr. Lawson’s arrival. I’ll see if Marge will come with me to get a mirror. That way, the boy won’t be interrupted or … slowed down.”

 

Vernon raised an eyebrow. “You really want to leave HIM here alone?”

 

“He’s got plenty to occupy his time,” Petunia replied tersely. “He just needs space to get everything done in a timely manner without any … incidents. You know what I mean.”

 

“Right, then.” Vernon threw his napkin on the edge of the table, and he didn’t bother to retrieve it when it slid to the tiled kitchen floor. As Petunia went upstairs to fetch Marge, Vernon said expansively, “So tell me, Dudders – what would you like to do while we’re waiting for Mr. Lawson’s arrival? Your wish is my command.”

 

The large boy waved his hands excitedly. “There’s been a new shipment of video games at the electronics store. Why don’t we go look through them and get some? Please, Dad?”

 

Harry almost plugged his own finger into the wall electrical outlet instead of inserting the vacuum cleaner plug when he heard his cousin say “please”. A polite request instead of a strident demand? Had Snape worked some sort of weird magic on Dudley last night?

 

“Excellent idea!” agreed Vernon, lumbering to his feet. Dudley shoved back his own chair, and the two of them followed Petunia and Marge out to the car. “No need to hurry back for us, Pet,” Vernon said as he was shutting the front door. “You just drop us off and we’ll get a taxi home by noon.”

 

The front door of Number 4 bumped shut, and the vacuum cleaner drowned out the sound of the car starting up a few moments later. Harry hurried through his chores in record time, knowing from years of experience the fastest way to accomplish multiple tasks to Petunia’s exacting standards. His own room looked like Marge had set a tornado loose in it, but he quickly made up the bed and organized her scattered cosmetics and other sundries on his battered desk, while hanging up several discarded suits which lay draped over the end of the bed and his rickety chair. Did it really matter WHAT she wore to impress Mr. Lawson, he wondered. As far as Harry could tell, Marge looked pretty much the same, no matter how she was dressed… Perhaps her moustache had something to do with that.

 

After scrubbing the bathroom, he scurried back downstairs and cleared up the breakfast mess before getting started on Petunia’s food trays. He began by making the required dips, to give them a chance to chill thoroughly. Then he cut the vegetables, arranging broccoli and cauliflower florets, baby carrots, cucumber slices, and tiny tomatoes in groups around the bowl of spinach dip in the middle of the tray. Plastic wrap over everything, tray into fridge, then on to the fruit tray…

 

Having dealt with quartering the pineapple, leaves included, he carefully removed the core, then sliced the pineapple fruit into bite-sized pieces, leaving them in place upon the quartered, leaf-tipped rind which stuck out like four spokes from the center of the large round fruit tray. Harry washed and dried the red grapes, using scissors to cut the large cluster into smaller segments, which he arranged between two of the pineapple spokes. Next, he tackled the finicky business of peeling the oranges, also taking time to remove the thin membrane covering the sides of each section without allowing the section itself to fall apart. With the tip of a fine knife, he cautiously finessed out the seeds. The orange pieces were carefully laid in the next space between the pineapple spokes. Strawberries were much easier to deal with – simply wash, dry, and arrange artfully in the third space on the fruit tray. The final section he filled with thick peach slices, after he’d peeled away the fuzzy skins and removed the pits.

 

Again, plastic wrap over everything, and on to the sandwiches.

 

Harry never knew when it happened – probably about halfway through the chicken-pecan salad sandwiches, or maybe the salmon salad – but he suddenly got the feeling he was being watched. Automatically, he continued to layer various sandwich ingredients on an assortment of sliced artisan breads, skillfully trimmed of their crusts, while stretching out his senses, trying to discern from which direction the unwarranted scrutiny came. Smoked ham and Swiss with watercress … dining room? Sliced turkey with spinach and roasted red peppers … doorway into the foyer? Spicy chicken with sun-dried tomatoes and avocado spread … sliding door into the garden?

 

The hideous prickling continued to toy with the hairs on the nape of his neck as he quartered and arranged the sandwiches on two trays. Petunia might fuss about the extra tray, but thirty-five whole sandwiches, quartered, simply would never fit on a single tray. Breathing deeply and evenly, Harry twitched his nostrils, attempting to draw in any intruder’s scent over the fragrance of the food directly in front of him…

 

There!

 

In a draft from the open kitchen window, he finally caught the scent that didn’t belong. Something subtle, yet somehow familiar. Something not of Privet Drive. Something not outdoors, not coming in through the window. Something here. In the kitchen. Between the window and Harry himself.

 

Someone.

 

Casually, Harry wiped his hands clean on a towel, and in the same moment that he dropped the towel back onto the table with his left hand, with his right he whipped his wand from the waistband of Dudley’s old jeans, the movement so fluid it would have earned points for Gryffindor from Filius Flitwick. The Ministry be damned, he had every right to defend himself –

 

“Potter!”

 

Harry actually staggered from the effort it took to NOT cast a swift Petrificus Totalus toward the kitchen window after all.

 

“Professor…” he gasped weakly, recognizing Snape’s dark tones in the void between the table and the window.

 

“Indeed.”

 

Harry’s arm fell to his side, but then he forced it up again, still aiming for the void. “What did you throw at me in your office?”

 

The silence became tangible before Snape finally answered with a sneer, “A jar of cockroaches.”

 

Harry still did not lower his wand. “Show yourself.”

 

“We do not need to attract the attention of the Ministry, Potter. And cancelling a Disillusionment Spell would constitute magic performed at this address.”

 

Sighing, Harry finally tucked his wand away. “Right.”

 

“I suppose it is gratifying to know your degree of caution.”

 

The Gryffindor snorted. “Well, you are invisible. I had to be sure.”

 

Snape took a step toward the table, and Harry forced himself not to retreat a matching step. He stood his ground by the large jar of mayonnaise. If he absolutely had to, he could always clobber Snape with the jar. Or temporarily blind him with a large blob of mayonnaise. Provided he could figure out where to aim the spoon…

 

“More disturbing is the length of time it took you to realize I was here.”

 

Harry stared in the direction of Snape’s voice. “How long HAVE you been here?”

 

“When did you become aware of my presence?” Snape countered.

 

“Er … while I was making the chicken salad – or maybe salmon salad sandwiches.” He shrugged. “Definitely one of those two.”

 

The void snorted. “Pathetic.”

 

“What? You mean you’ve been here longer than that? I’ll admit, it took me a bit to figure out exactly WHERE you were. But I knew someone was watching me for quite a while.”

 

“I’ve been here since you started peeling the oranges.”

 

Harry’s mind whirled. That was barely halfway through the fruit tray! He’d finished the fruit tray, wrapped it, put it away, along with leftover fruit, gotten out all the sandwich ingredients, made the chicken and salmon salad fillings, then started concocting the sandwiches… He groaned, realizing that Snape was right. The man had been hiding in plain sight for a very long time, indeed…

 

Snape scoffed. “Quite. You definitely need to work on your awareness sensitivity.”

 

Holding onto a neutral expression with an effort, Harry replied deliberately blandly, “I’ll take that under advisement.”

 

“Don’t get flippant with me, Potter,” Snape warned.

 

“I wasn’t, Professor!” Harry replied, irritation evident now in his voice. “I actually agreed with you. I mean, you could have been ANYBODY, and I wouldn’t have known it until too late, if you’d been on the other side. You know… “

 

“I do know.” Snape’s voice sounded flat.

 

Harry huffed in frustration. “So, why are you here? Early, I mean. ‘Mr. Lawson’ isn’t supposed to arrive until twelve-thirty and it’s only – “ he turned to look at the kitchen clock, “ – eleven-forty! Oh, Merlin! They’ll all be home any moment! You’ve got to get out of here, Professor!”

 

“Not to worry, Potter,” Snape said quietly. “They’ll never see me leave. But where did they go?”

 

“Well, Aunt Petunia and Aunt Marge went to buy a mirror to replace the one that broke last night and – Oh NO! There’s the delivery van now! She said she was going to demand that it be delivered by noon…” He waved his hands frantically. “I’ve got to let them in to hang the new mirror! And Uncle Vernon and Dudley went to the electronics store to look at video games – they’ll be taking a taxi home…”

 

The doorbell chimed, and Harry hurried to the front door, hissing over his shoulder, “Not a SOUND!”

 

Harry signed for the mirror delivery, and then directed the men to the lounge mirror with multiple cracks running across it. “Aunt Petunia never said what she wanted done with the old one,” he hesitated. “I don’t know if we’re keeping it... “

 

One of the delivery men unfolded the orders papers again. “Hmm. Looks like we’re supposed to take it away. See here?” He pointed at a hand-scribbled notation authorizing the removal of the damaged mirror from the premises.

 

“Okay. Right. You’d better take it, then,” Harry agreed, glad that the decision wasn’t up to him.

 

After that, it was a matter of moments to take down the old mirror, hang the new one in its place, clean up the wrappings, and take everything away as Harry showed the men out the door. At least that had gone all right.

 

“You still there, Professor?” he called toward the kitchen, hoping that Snape had taken his leave.

 

“Yes, Potter,” the invisible man replied sardonically. “You won’t get rid of me as easily as you did the mirror.”

 

Harry hurried back into the kitchen. “I’ve got to get this cleaned up before Aunt Petunia gets home,” he said, gesturing at the sandwich ingredients littering the table top. He could only hope that Snape would take the hint to leave.

 

The invisible presence didn’t budge. “I really only came to let you know in advance that I shall not be accompanying your relatives to the restaurant this evening.”

 

“You’ve cancelled?” asked Harry, staring at nothing. “Aunt Marge will be beside herself,” he added, snickering.

 

“No, I haven’t cancelled. Not entirely. They will agree to meet me at the restaurant, but when they arrive, I will have been called away, and – to compensate their disappointment – their five-course meal shall be prepaid by me, whatever they choose to order.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Meanwhile, I shall return here, to study the wards while they are enjoying a leisurely evening dining out at a most exclusive restaurant.”

 

“OH!”

 

“I don’t suppose you could find a way to beg off dining out with them.”

 

Harry laughed. “I seriously doubt that they were planning to include me in their evening, Professor. Especially after last night.”

 

“Good enough. I shall expect to see you here, then, say seven forty-five? Their reservations are for eight o’clock.”

 

“Right.” Harry turned toward the front door reflexively as he heard the sound of the Dursleys’ car pulling into their drive. “They’re back. My aunts, at least. The others were going to take a taxi home.”

 

The sound of invisible robes brushing across the kitchen floor preceded Snape’s exit, the sliding door moving silently aside to accommodate his departure.

 

In the next second, the front door opened, with Petunia sweeping in to announce, “Oh, dear! I think I liked that mirror much better in the store than on my own wall!”

 

“Never mind the mirror, Petunia!” Marge urged. “My Mr. Lawson will be here any moment, and I need to freshen up before he arrives. You’d better see to the boy. It’s a wonder he didn’t blow up the entire house while we were out.”

 

In the kitchen, Harry stifled a snort. If only Marge had known how many cauldrons he’d blown up in Potions… Her prediction might have been more than mere hyperbole. And then he was glad that Snape had already left; imagine if HE’D heard Marge’s comment! Harry could just hear the numerous variations on Snape’s typical snide comments regarding his ability – or, rather, the lack thereof – in the Potions Dungeon applied nastily to Harry’s work in Petunia’s kitchen.

 

-:- -:- -:-

 

Much to Dudley’s disappointment and to everyone else’s relief, luncheon with Mr. Lawson went off flawlessly. Marge, as usual, did all of his talking for him, leaving Mr. Lawson free to sample the results of Harry’s culinary efforts without having to join in the general conversation. During one brief lull, when Marge had excused herself, Mr. Lawson finally addressed Petunia, praising her fine selections for each of the trays which she had presented with pride to the food critic.

 

Watching Petunia simpering and preening with pleasure, Harry inwardly fumed, knowing that Snape was fully aware of exactly who had actually prepared the luncheon trays. However, he realized the whole charade was necessary in order to get the family out of the house later on, and besides, who would have expected to praise a teenage boy for organizing such a visually-splendid array of delicious offerings? At least Petunia had arrived home with a bakery box of professionally-prepared petits-fours for the after-luncheon coffee served in the lounge. Harry had only attempted to make petits-fours once in his entire life. He’d had to spend two days in the cupboard as a consequence.

 

The Dursleys and Marge accompanied Mr. Lawson for a relaxing walk in the nearby shady park – without Ripper, of course – while Harry stayed at Number 4 to clean up after lunch. He sighed as he rewrapped an entire tray with plastic. Petunia had gone WAY overboard this time, demanding that Harry make such a surfeit of sandwiches. At least he’d had the foresight to arrange only half of each type on each tray. But he imagined he’d be eating increasingly stale leftovers for the next week – or until the chicken and fish went off.

 

When the group finally returned to the house, with Marge’s voice preceding their arrival by well over a minute, the kitchen was spotless under Petunia’s quick glare of appraisal, all the way across the dining room from the lounge.

 

“Until this evening, then,” Mr. Lawson inserted quickly when Marge stopped talking long enough to draw a much-needed breath.

 

“We’ll see you then,” Vernon agreed, shaking Mr. Lawson’s hand. “Looking forward to it!”

 

Nods to all of the Dursleys, and a quick glance to Harry’s shadowy form lurking in the doorway leading from the foyer into the kitchen, then Mr. Lawson allowed Marge to drag him to the curb where a taxi awaited him.

 

-:- -:- -:-

 

 

 


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