Harry was working in the garden again. He wished he wasn’t – the summer had only got hotter and it had been a couple of weeks since he was allowed outside, so the garden was becoming a mess again. To make things more difficult, Harry had been told to paint the fence around the garden. And it was hard enough just squeezing between the gap of the hedge and the fence, let alone sneaking into the shed as often as he had the last time.

He actually felt quite guilty about that. Professor Snape had been surprisingly helpful when he had been here last month, and he had sent him the potions he had promised, along with his marked essay. But the potions had run out last week and Harry’s dreams were as bad as ever- especially after the dementors.

And the Dursleys were as bad as ever. Worse in fact. Harry groaned, stretching his back, before loading his brush up with more green paint. Harry had been certain that they would throw him out when he had staggered home with an insensible Dudley, but there had been a letter from the ministry expelling him, then one from Arthur Weasley, a howler from Dumbledore (which was amazing, even if it didn’t shout) and a second ministry letter. The eventual outcome had been that Harry was awaiting a hearing and was not allowed to leave Number 4 Privet Drive.

The Dursley’s had taken this to heart, and Harry had found himself locked in his rooms for over two weeks. Eventually though, Uncle Vernon had become so annoyed with Harry interrupting their sleep with his nightmares, that he had put Harry back to work around the house, hoping that it would exhaust him enough to stop.

Among all of this, Harry was starting to feel quite stressed about his trial. The tone of the letters from Mafalda Hopkirk had been ominous. He wondered if he would have to talk to the judges, or if wizards appointed a defence in the same way muggles did. From the trials he had watched in Professor Dumbledore’s pensieve, Harry wasn’t too optimistic, there didn’t seem to have been anyone speaking on behalf of the Death Eaters there.

And Harry had run out of dreamless sleep. In desperation, having run out of the ingredients he needed for the other potion, Harry had turned to a short-acting Silence Potion. This was a lot simpler, and required less attention when it was brewing, but would not allow him to avoid the nightmares. Essentially, the potion had the effect that he would not be able to make noise for however long the potion lasted. So he would still have the dreams, but not wake anyone. It did mean that he would not get any more sleep, but Harry figured he was not sleeping without the potion either.

The copper basin having been confiscated by Snape, Harry had resorted to using a large steel watering can instead. The metal was more inclined to rust, and this had the potential to affect the potion, but needs must. And it wasn’t like he was able to order any new supplies, Hedwig was once again firmly locked in her cage, and nothing Harry tried with some stolen sewing pins could change that.

A sudden scream made Harry drop his paintbrush and he ran out from behind the hedge, fully expecting to see the Dursley’s under a Death Eater attack and feeling a tug of panic as he remembered that he had left his wand upstairs.

It was worse than that.

Harry shook his head, clearing that thought. He was being dramatic. But his stomach did clench in fear at the sight of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon standing in the doorway to the shed.

Harry swore.

Vernon turned to look at him, face turning puce from the base of his neck, right up to where his receding hairline met his forehead. He snarled.

The man stalked into the shed clanking something metallic, and emerged with the watering can held in a towel-wrapped hand. Holding it at arms-length, he crossed the lawn to tip the green contents into a drain below the tap on the patio.

“Oh, that’s so not good.” Harry murmured, calculating in his head what effect the unfinished potion could have when it interacted with whatever had gone down the drain before it. He fervently hoped it hadn’t been floor cleaner.

Steam started to come up out of the grate, and Harry swore. Definitely floor cleaner, he thought. Followed immediately by another curse as he was grabbed by the neck of his shirt by a large, beefy hand.

“In my house, Boy?” Mr Dursley looked furious, even more so than he had the night of the dementor attack. “In my house?”

“Well, not actually in the house.” Harry said, before he could consider what he was saying. His mouth was horribly dry, making him feel eight years old again.

“Vernon, darling look!” Petunia screeched, reminding them that she was there, three pairs of eyes flew to the drain, which was starting to erupt with purple foam, pouring out onto the concrete.

“Put it right!” Vernon hissed at Harry, pushing the boy towards the mess.

Harry tripped over the edge of the patio as he tried to avoid stepping in the foam. He stared in shock at the patio, which was starting to melt and form concrete bubbles- as if it was boiling. There was nothing he could imagine doing about this- even if he had had his wand.

Vernon’s hand was back on the scruff of his neck, dragging him up again, and shaking. “Do something, boy!”

Harry spotted Dudley’s startled face peering out of the kitchen window from the other side of the chaos. Suddenly the other boy looked confused, and worried, pointing at something behind them. Remembering the fallout from the last time Dudley had done that, Harry twisted awkwardly to see.

His stomach twisted itself into knots.

At least it wasn’t a dementor, he thought. Although, he knew how to deal with dementors. Angry potions masters on the other hand… Especially those who had told you to not do precisely what you had just been caught doing…

Snape looked spitting mad.

Vernon had finally spotted what both boys had already seen and his eyes popped out at the sight of what was obviously a wizard, standing in his garden in full robes, with their wand out and pointed at them.

Harry had a sudden unpleasant recollection of seeing the Dark Mark on Professor Snape’s arm last year and cringed, unable to move because of the hand on his neck.

They were frozen for a moment, all staring at each other, before everyone moved at once. Vernon yelped as if he had been burned and let go of Harry, who staggered away a few feet to a safe distance, rubbing feeling back into his skin. Petunia took a couple of hurried steps backwards, away from the foam which had been creeping towards the toes of her shoes. Snape pushed past them all, robes billowing, to investigate the mess that was the patio. He brandished his wand at it and the foam started to shrink back in on itself, condensing smaller and smaller until it was a small puddle deep purple, like wine. He used his wand to syphon the mess back into the watering can.

“You!”

They all turned in surprise to look at Petunia. Harry was surprised that she wasn’t shouting at him. For some reason, she was glaring at Snape.

“What are you doing here?”

Snape simply raised an eyebrow at her.

“It would appear I am clearing up your mess.” He replied smoothly. “Shall we speak inside? I expect we will have more visitors imminently.”

“Is Dumbledore coming?” Harry blurted.

Snape didn’t answer, deciding instead to head inside. He ignored the state of the patio – no longer square, brushed concrete slabs, but a honeycombed mess of solidified bubbles. Petunia and Vernon hurried after the man, protesting. Harry had little choice but to follow.

Professor Snape had sat himself down in one of the wooden kitchen chairs and was scowling, arms crossed, facing the three Dursleys. When Harry came in, he started to speak.

“Your nephew has broken the terms set by the ministry for his bail agreement for the incident two weeks ago. As such, you can expect an official to arrive soon to determine alternative arrangements.” He grimaced, “I expect you will be unaware of proceedings, but in the case of muggleborns who experience excessive bouts of accidental magic, the ministry will often appoint another guardian for the child who is capable of dealing with their magical…outbursts.”

Harry pulled a face. He hadn’t realised the ministry would send someone. How would they even know he had been brewing?

“Who the devil do you think you are?” Vernon glared at Snape with narrowed eyes.

“I’m the man who is going to make sure your nephew stops trying to destroy your house.”

Harry felt slightly offended. He wasn’t going to blow the place up. It was Vernon’s fault that he had assumed it would be safe to throw it all down a drain. At least he hadn’t tried to flush it down the toilet, Harry reflected internally. Or Harry would have been chipping contaminated purple…mess…off the walls for the next week.

 “I realise this is unexpected.” Snape continued. “But I assure you it is in your best interests to comply with the arrangements. The sooner we get this done with, the sooner our people be out of this house.” He glanced over at the kitchen clock, “They will be here shortly.”

As if on cue, there were two cracks heard from the back garden, and a moment later there was a knock on the back door. Almost in a trance, Petunia walked over and opened it.

“Good morning.” There was a woman standing there in a long, colourful jacket, and skirt. The jacket was some sort of robe hybrid, and would have passed in either the magical or wizarding world, although it was a touch exotic for Privet Drive. The owner of the clothes was a middle-aged African woman, looking rather stern, with a carpet bag and wand. She had opted out of the traditional wizard’s hat, and instead had a burgundy headscarf.

A man was accompanying her, and his whole demeanour reminded Harry strongly of Percy Weasley. He was short however, and without the freckles or orange hair of the Weasley family. He was dressed in smart robes, similar to Snape’s, and was carrying an official-looking briefcase. Harry assumed it was the kind of case Percy would carry in order to make himself look important.

The woman continued speaking, “Please forgive the intrusion, my name is Mafalda Hopkirk, I work for the Improper Use of Magic Office”

Mr Dursley’s moustache twitched at the word ‘magic’.

“I am here to talk with you about your nephew, Mr Potter. This is my co-worker, Hallux Crawthorn.” The man beside her gave a tight bow. If either of the wizards were surprised to see the famous Harry Potter in baggy Muggle clothes, with paint covering his arms and face, they did surprisingly well at hiding it.

Mr Dursley respected positions of authority when it suited him (and it suited him when Harry was getting in trouble), and so he invited them in and gave them seats next to Snape, taking the fourth seat himself. Petunia pursed her lips and put the kettle on the stove, ushering a gaping Dudley out of the room. She looked at Harry as if to do the same to him, but he folded his arms and leaned against the counter and she didn’t say anything.  

Harry was starting to feel rather self-conscious among all these people from the wizarding world dressed only in Dudley’s old clothes and a light covering of green paint. But so far, nobody had mentioned the clothes, and he had been painting after all, so at least he had a reasonable excuse.

The two officials were surprised to see another adult wizard already there.

“Professor Snape?” Hopkirk said, “I was not expecting to find you here this morning?”

Snape gave a polite smile, “I was visiting the family, Madame Hopkirk- I grew up near Mrs Dursley’s family during my years at Hogwarts. Given the events of the summer, I came to offer some advice as a…family friend, and as one of the boy’s teachers.”

“Ah, so you will be able to confirm what happened this morning?”

Harry blinked, trying not to let the shock show on his face. Snape had come up with that story quickly, and Harry didn’t believe for a moment that it was true, but there was the niggling fact that his aunt had recognised Snape instantly.

“I had just arrived when I realised Mr Potter had an attack of accidental magic- you saw the garden, I presume? I eliminated the immediate danger and we came inside to discuss the event.”

“We have no record of a spell which might cause that damage.” Crawthorn said, in a nasal voice, opening his briefcase to produce a scroll of parchment. “Only of the reversal. It looks more like potions work to me.”

“Then perhaps you missed the notification? It is my understanding that trace is not totally reliable. I can assure you there are no suitable brewing arrangements in this residence. It is a muggle neighbourhood after all.”

Crawthorn looked sceptical, “And the boy’s own potions kit? He will have his own cauldron for school, will he not?”

“It’s locked under the stairs, Sir. I don’t have access during the summer.” Harry said, drawing attention to himself.

Hopkirk turned to Harry, “And you, Mr Potter? What is your story?”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat as he tried to decide what to say. His eyes locked with Snape’s, who raised an eyebrow.

“The Professor’s right.” He swallowed nervously, “I was tired, and… and angry and it just happened. I’m glad Professor Snape was there to sort it out. It was scary, I didn’t even have my wand.” Snape frowned at him, and Harry just knew the man would berate him for being irresponsible as soon as he had the chance.

“I want the boy out of my house.” Vernon Dursley said suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention. “First this thing with the dementerrhoids and now this! I won’t stand for it.”

Mafalda Hopkirk looked confused, “Dementerrhoids?”

“Dementors.” Petunia said, bringing over a pot of tea in shaking hands. “They attacked the boy and hurt my son.”

“Dementors in Surrey?” Hopkirk looked incredulous.

“There were two of them.” Harry nodded. “I don’t know why they were here, but they tried to attack Dudley. I conjured a patronus to scare them off and brought him home.”

“A patronus in a muggle area?” The man from the ministry sounded scandalised.

Harry stared at him, “Should I have been a good boy and let them suck our souls out, Mr Crawthorn?”

“That’s enough.” Hopkirk said, conjuring two seats, one each for Harry and his aunt. It felt surreal to sit down at the table with such a bizarre collection of people. “These are matters which will be settled at the hearing. It is merely our job to ensure that there is no more magic performed in a muggle settlement before such time.”

“Mrs Dursley, as Mr Potter’s closest relative, we are here to speak with you about preventing magical episodes. Do you feel able to control these bursts of accidental magic?”

“No we ruddy well don’t.” Vernon said, bashing the table with his hand and nearly upsetting his teacup.  “Every time the boy does something... abnormal, we have to deal with the consequences. And if one of your kind shows up there is more funny business. Last time they destroyed my living room, and another one chased us half way across the ruddy country.”

Crawthorn took out parchment and quill and started taking notes, making Harry feel a little nauseous.

“If an underage wizard with muggle parents is unable to control his magic outside of school, then we would usually appoint a wizarding guardian to be present in the same house.” Hopkirk continued, “Does this sound like a reasonable solution?”

“They wouldn’t have to stay here?” Vernon asked, startled. “We don’t want the boy here if he’s going to blow the place up.”

The witch frowned, “No, Mr Dursley. Mr Potter and his guardian would not have to stay in your residence. With your wife’s permission he could stay with the guardian.”

She turned to Aunt Petunia, “Are there any witches or wizards with whom you are acquainted, ma’am?”

Aunt Petunia was thinking hard. Harry watched her as she struggled with the idea of getting rid of Harry a month earlier than they had expected or following the cryptic instructions of Dumbledore’s recent howler.

“You met the Weasleys,” Harry suggested hopefully. “Arthur Weasley works for the Ministry, and they are used to looking after kids.”

“Absolutely not.” Uncle Vernon said, moustache bristling. He still held a grudge against the family since they had arrived unexpectedly by floo into their electric fireplace the previous summer. Besides, he knew Harry liked them, and after the trouble the boy had caused, he didn’t want him to go off with his friends. “We have met and do not consider them suitable.”

“It is possible,” Snape said mildly, startling everyone into remembering he was there, “That somebody from Hogwarts could look after Mr Potter for the remainder of the summer. Both the Headmaster and Heads of House have taken on this role in similar circumstances with muggle raised children.”

“Of course, Professor.” Hopkirk said. “And you are a family friend, of course.”

Snape’s eyes widened, and Harry suppressed a laugh, seeing that the man hadn’t anticipated that to be the next logical thought.

“I was thinking more along the lines of Professor McGonagall, or the Headmaster might be better suited. But of course, I would consider looking after Mr Potter myself. Being such close friends with the family.” To Harry, it looked as if it was causing Snape physical pain to say those words. He didn’t think the others noticed, but then they didn’t have to watch out for Snape’s foul moods in Potions class three times a week.

Harry glanced at his uncle, wondering if he would object to the lie. The vein in his uncle’s temple was standing out with the effort of not dissociating himself from the wizard, but apparently this was not such a terrible idea as having to keep Harry for an extra month.

“What do we have to do?” Petunia asked the wizards.

“I will leave you with this contract,” Hopkirk said, producing a scroll from out of her bag. “I will require you to sign it with the name and address Mr Potter will be staying at for the remainder of the summer, please complete it within the hour. It will deliver itself, just ensure nobody is holding it at the end of the hour, we wouldn’t want anybody to lose a hand. We will be making a visit to the address you provide within the week, and we expect Mr Potter to be there under appropriate supervision. The guardian will be responsible for delivering Mr Potter to his hearing.”

Petunia nodded slowly, taking the parchment from Hopkirk as if it might catch fire at any moment. Harry supposed this was reasonable given the Howler she had received recently.

“Excellent, any further communication will be by owl. Good day, Mr Potter, Professor Snape.”

With this, she and Crawthorn stood and took their leave, apparating directly away from where they were standing. This time, Mr Dursley did spill his tea. Shaking his scalded hand, he rounded on his nephew.

“What are you playing at, Boy? We told you no funny business in this house. You think you can fool us right under our noses? Destroying our garden? Were you going to use that muck on us? It boiled the blasted concrete, boy, were you trying to kill us?”

“Calm yourself, Mr Dursley.” Another voice spoke.

They all jumped to realise that Professor Albus Dumbledore was standing in the middle of the kitchen of Number 4 Privet Drive, acting for all the world as if he had been there for the entire conversation. In his yellow and black robes, he looked rather like a giant bumblebee in a hat.

“Sir?” Harry spluttered.

“Who the devil are you?” Vernon roared, struggling to get to his feet.

Harry was mildly concerned that the man was going to have a heart attack if there were any more surprises this morning.

“I am Albus Dumbledore.” The man himself said. “We have corresponded, of course.”

That was an odd way to say he had sent them a burning letter, Harry thought.

Aunt Petunia looked like somebody had fed her a live worm, the combination of Snape and Dumbledore seeming to completely floor her.

“Perhaps Mr Potter should leave.” Dumbledore suggested mildly, not even looking at Harry. Harry looked at him in panic, and caught Snape’s eye as the man also looked up.

“I hardly see the point, headmaster.” Snape said, standing as well. “After all, he is going to know the outcome soon enough.”

Dumbledore inspected Snape for a moment, before clasping his hands together in front of himself. “As you wish, Severus. I am here to ask Petunia that she nominate Professor Snape as Harry’s guardian for the remainder of the summer.”

“What?” Harry and Snape echoed each other.

The headmaster ignored both of them, focussing instead on a frowning Petunia Dursley. “As you heard, Madame, your nephew needs to be placed with a Witch or Wizard, preferably one with their own lodgings. You heard the suggestion of either Professor Snape; Harry’s head of House Minerva McGonagall, a fine witch; or myself. Regrettably, I am unable to watch Harry myself, and Professor McGonagall will be out of contact for the next day or so and is therefore unsuitable.”

“What about the Weasleys?” Harry said, desperate.

“Your friends are currently staying with your Godfather and are therefore unsuitable. It is a good thing that your Uncle was unwilling to nominate them immediately.” The man looked unconcerned by the bombshell he had just dropped and leaned over the table to reach for the teapot, conjuring his own teacup.

“They’re what? Where are they?” Harry could feel his anger rising at the headmaster in a way it hadn’t before. “Why didn’t they tell me?”

“Unfortunately they are not at liberty to discuss the arrangements with you.”

“None of them? Who says they’re ‘not at liberty’?” Harry snapped.

“I do.” Dumbledore’s voice was cold, and he turned to look at Harry finally. Their eyes met for a second while Harry’s anger still flared, but Dumbledore’s eyes were ice grey, and Harry took a step back, feeling almost scared of the Headmaster, the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Harry blinked and swallowed against a suddenly dry throat.

Dumbledore regarded him for a long moment, before turning back to the Dursley’s who also shrank away. He sighed, pressing his fingertips to his eyelids briefly before opening them again.

“Forgive me, these are trying times. I assure you, your nephew will be safest with Professor Snape, and the arrangements ought to satisfy the ministry for the time being.”

“And he won’t be coming back?” Mr Dursley clarified.

“He will have to return for a month during each of the following two summers- at a minimum.” Dumbledore said. “But he will not return until the end of the school year, no.”

“Good riddance.” Mr Dursley said, sending Harry a look of sincere dislike.

Dumbledore stared at the man for a moment, and Harry saw something like disgust there. Petunia moved forwards and took a quill up from the table with a grimace, presumably imagining all of the germs it might be harbouring. She signed quickly, before adding Snape’s name. She trust the quill towards the man, sending drips of ink flying across her clean floor. Her eyes bugged, and she went instantly for a mop.

The headmaster was fishing in his pockets, and turned back to Snape, who had finished writing an address on the parchment and set the quill down. Dumbledore produced a chain with a gemstone pendant. “Severus, I have created a portkey for you. If you would collect Mr Potter’s belongings, it would be best if you were on your way as soon as possible. I will have the elves send on your things.”

Ten minutes after Dumbledore had left, Snape was watching Harry as the boy pried out the loose floorboard in his room, to retrieve his emergency homework and food stash, and his wand. Somehow, Harry had managed to swap his for one of the Weasley twins’ fake wands when Vernon had demanded he hand over all of his belongings, unfortunately he had then been unable to carry his around the house.

Snape raised an eyebrow as Harry transferred a load of mostly stale cake into the bin, but Harry declined to comment. They still had to get through the drama that was the cupboard under the stairs.

Snape carried Hedwig’s cage downstairs, cursing quietly as she nipped at his hand through the bars. Harry replaced the floorboard and followed him down, hugely relieved to find Uncle Vernon had already dragged his things out of the cupboard. Harry stuck his head in quickly to check that nothing was left behind, marvelling that he had ever fit in the tiny space.

Snape was waiting as Harry came into the living room, staring in disgust at the pictures of Dudley which filled the room. He had the watering can from earlier in the crook of his arm, and Hedwig’s cage in his hand.  

“I’m ready, Sir.” Harry said, setting his trunk down.

“Thank Merlin, we may depart.” Snape replied sourly, holding up the chain from Dumbledore. “The pendant is the portkey. You must hold on tightly to that trunk, the portkey will activate when you touch it.”

Harry came forwards with a degree of nervousness. Portkeys were horrible, and he hadn’t had the best experience with them lately. Taking a deep breath, he looked to the Professor with the hope of reassurance but the man was looking away at something else. Harry grabbed hold anyway and Privet Drive was whisked away for another year.