Conversation livened up as Ron and Ginny started debating over which team would win the World Cup, and Harry leaned back in his seat, a small, sad smile on his face.
There had been a whole half hour, a glorious half hour, where he'd thought he would be going to live with Sirius when he left Hogwarts this year. If only that were the case.
.-.-.-.
As it turned out, having an escaped convict for a godfather was surprisingly good for Harry's continued existence at the Dursleys. By which he meant Uncle Ver non had only smacked him around a little bit for what he'd done to Aunt Marge, rather than beating Harry within an inch of his life like he'd expected.
Of course, he didn't expect things to last, once Vernon clocked on to the fact that, being an escaped convict, Sirius would have a difficult time coming to Harry's rescue should anything terrible happen. But until that fact dawned, Harry was happy to live with his relatives in a state of uneasy truce. With any luck, he could get permission to go to the Weasleys' before things got truly awful.
Two days into Harry's summer break, at approximately five-fifteen in the evening, the doorbell rang.
Harry — who was up in his room, staring at the ceiling and debating maybe getting a headstart on his Transfiguration homework — didn't think much of the interruption, though he heard Uncle Vernon muttering about how rude it was to call at such an hour, shouting for his wife to get the door. Harry rolled over on his bed, wincing when it jarred one of the bruises on his back.
Then Aunt Petunia screamed. On his feet like a shot, Harry hurried down the stairs, wand flicking out of the invisible holster on his wrist. Had Voldemort found him already?
To his utter astonishment, the person in the doorway was not Voldemort. It was Professor Snape, dressed like a muggle in black trousers and a black button-up shirt, his dark eyes fixed on Harry's aunt and a smirk tugging at his lips. "Hello, Petunia," he drawled.
"You," Aunt Petunia gasped, one hand clutching at her chest in shock. "Howyou're— that awful Snape boy." The vitriol was clear in her tone. Harry gaped. "You two know each other?"
Snape's eyes flicked away from Petunia to look at Harry, his smirk widening a fraction. "Your aunt and I are old friends, Potter."
Petunia let out a strange sort of squawking sound. "Friends! As if I ever would have been friends with a freak like you. Telling Lily all about that horrible school until she couldn't wait to go with you, coming home every summer and flaunting your abnormality all over the place."
Harry had known Snape and his mother were friends in school — Lupin had told him that ages ago — but he hadn't realised they'd known each other before Hogwarts.
"May I come in?" Snape requested, already stepping inside and shutting the door behind him, nudging past a still-horrified Petunia. By now, both Vernon and Dudley were in the living room doorway, Dudley's beady little eyes screwed up in confusion.
"Petunia? Who is this man?" Vernon boomed, stepping up towards the stranger in his home as if he had any hope of intimidating Severus Snape. Snape's eyes trailed over him in disgust.
"He's one of them, Vernon. He went to school with the boy's parents!" Petunia took a step towards her husband, whose face began to turn red, and he puffed himself up even further.
"Now look here, you," Vernon started, pointing one fat finger at Snape's face. "You have no right to come into my home and— and frighten my wife! We took the boy back like the old man told us, the rest of it is our business!"
"Are you quite finished?" Snape asked, boredom in his tone. Vernon spluttered, face growing even redder, a vein throbbing above his temple. Harry wondered in vague amusement if this would finally be the moment the man had a stroke. "Potter, pack your things."
"I can't, sir," Harry replied evenly. "They're locked under the stairs." He'd picked the lock and smuggled some of his books and such up his first night back, like he had done last year, but the rest was still locked in his cupboard.
Snape waved a hand, and the padlock on the cupboard fell off, broken. All three Dursleys flinched. Harry laughed when he saw Dudley with his back to the wall, trying to make himself look as small as possible — an incredible feat, at his size — with his hands over his fat bottom. His pig tail had obviously left some fond memories.
With the cupboard open, Harry dragged his trunk and Hedwig's empty cage out. His cheeks turned pink in shame when he felt Snape peering over his shoulder, taking in the small space; the ragged cot that had never left, the broken toys piled lovingly on one side, the clear signs that someone had once lived in there. Harry shut the door quickly. "Do I need all of my things, sir?"
"I refuse," Vernon cut in, "to let this man undermine me in my own home! You're not going anywhere, boy."
Harry flinched at the snarled word despite himself. To his utter shock, Snape placed a hand on his shoulder, staring Vernon down in a way that had made even seventh years wet themselves in fear. Vernon let out a tiny 'meep', his moustache trembling.
"You're even more of an idiot than I thought you were if you believe you can order me around, muggle," Snape said sharply. "Potter is coming with me. For the rest of the summer. We may need to… drop in, from time to time. It wouldn't do for certain people to realise he's no longer living here. But you will allow him to come and go as he pleases. Or I might just have to share a few childhood stories with some of your lovely neighbours, Petunia. There are some rather… interesting tales, don't you recall?"
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