Chapter Text
“This is an unnecessary setback,” Snape fumed. “Damn that blasted man and his complete lack of concern for the wellbeing of children!”
Harry politely ignored the remarkable hypocrisy of that statement coming from one of the biggest bullies he had ever met.
“You have just made my life so much more difficult, Potter,” Snape said, pacing up and down the classroom.
“It’s not my fault, Professor,” Harry protested. He was sorting shrivelfigs again today, which took barely any brainpower at all, and was a welcome distraction from the nightmare of trying to find a date to the Yule Ball.
“Nonetheless,” Snape said, voice sharp, “I simply do not have time for this, and yet somehow I must do it. Trust me on this, Potter, I will not let you return to that house, even if I have to adopt you myself, but it may take me weeks or months to contrive an appropriate alternative.”
Harry shuddered at the thought of Snape adopting him. He had no doubt that Snape was equally horrified at the idea.
“We will keep publicity as our back-up plan,” Snape decided, whirling around in a blaze of billowing robes to face Harry. “If I am incapacitated or unaware of your presence at the Dursleys and unable to help you, send an owl to Amelia Bones to officially lay charges of child abuse against them. They will find sufficient magical evidence with a simple examination of your person and the house.”
“Shouldn’t that be our first option then? Now that Sirius is free, wouldn’t my guardianship default to him?”
“That would be the proper procedure. However, not everyone is as … scrupulous as Madam Bones, and this case she could not deal with by herself. The majority of the Aurors are either devotedly loyal to Professor Dumbledore, and so could likely be persuaded to brush it under the rug if the Headmaster were so inclined, or devotedly loyal to bribes, in which case any outcome is possible. Moreover, as Sirius has already been informally passed over due to the blood protection and potential instability, you run the risk of him being formally declared unsuitable.”
“So … it might work, but it’d be equally likely to end up with a worse outcome."
“Correct.”
"And if we try to go to the press …”
“That is most definitely a last resort. It would get you away from the Dursleys, but we run the previously stated risks, plus an increased risk of someone like Lucius Malfoy bribing his way to guardianship.”
Harry shuddered again. He held a shrivelfig up to the light to try to work out if the dark patch was a spot or a bruise, decided it was a bruise, and moved it to the appropriate jar. As it became clearer and clearer that Voldemort’s return was approaching, with the World Cup and his weird dreams and his scar hurting all the time, the prospect of living with the Malfoys turned from unpleasant to sinister.
“If those are our back-up plans,” Harry said, a bit hesitantly, “do you have a Plan A?”
“I always have a plan, Mr. Potter,” Snape said silkily. “However at present Plan A is … undesirable. The Headmaster has in his possession an instrument that tells him whether or not you are at 4 Privet Drive. I am capable of sabotaging that instrument in such a way that it resembles natural failure, and thus he would not notice your absence until he knew that you had left. In the meantime, you would arrange to spend a few weeks with each of your friends. Living with Granger’s Muggle family would be … inadvisable, but both the Burrow and Longbottom Manor possess formidable wards, as do the Black properties.”
“So I’d be homeless all summer.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “An unusually pessimistic viewpoint towards spending the entirety of your summer with friends. If you would prefer to make your home in my spare bedroom, I’m sure I could arrange that.”
“No sir,” Harry said quickly.
Snape approached slowly and rested his hands on either side of the table. His face was only a foot or two from Harry’s, and yet he did not feel at all threatened. “Rest assured that I will do my utmost to find you a permanent and suitable home. My Oath will not let me do otherwise. But if my machinations have not come to completion by the end of the school year, this will keep you safe in the meantime. Talk to Longbottom in May if you’ve heard nothing from me by then. Understood?”
“I understand, sir,” Harry said quietly. “I trust you. In this, at least.” Perhaps not in any other way, but for some reason this seemed to be … important to him.
“Very good, Mr. Potter.”
Silence fell for a long time, and Snape returned to his marking. There was, however, one more thing he wanted to ask.
“If it’s okay, sir,” Harry said, “I have a question. Why … why in the name of asphodel?”
There was a long pause, in which Harry assessed and sorted twenty shrivelfigs, and Snape stood very still. Eventually, he spoke. “In memory — and in regret — of someone I did not save.”
Harry didn’t pry any further.
***
Months passed, and nothing happened.
Well. Many things happened — the Yule Ball, the Second Task, that weirdness with Crouch in the forest — but he heard nothing from Snape and didn’t dare approach him.
Sirius and Remus wrote him regularly. Apparently they were staying in the house Sirius grew up in, which had been very dark and grim and dirty until Sirius’ Mind Healer saw it and informed him that cleaning it up was non-negotiable. Harry was regaled with tales of biting goblets and swarms of Doxies for months, and in mid-April the Mind Healer declared both Sirius and the house safe and sane. They met on a Hogsmeade weekend to share butterbeer and celebrate.
When Harry was starting to give up hope he reminded himself of Snape’s Oath. Snape had to keep working on it, had to have plan after plan. Otherwise, if Harry went back to the Dursleys, Snape would literally suffer for it.
At the start of May Harry had a brief conversation with Neville, who seemed pleased and honoured to be asked. He was confident that his grandmother would be happy to have Harry stay for a few weeks. Once he’d been there for a while, he could owl Ron or Sirius, and as long as none of them compared notes, no one would realise that he hadn’t spent any time at the Dursleys’ all summer.
And then, two weeks before the Third Task, Professor McGonagall interrupted their Charms class and asked Harry to come with her.
Harry stood, exchanging worried looks with Ron and Hermione. McGonagall sounded serious and sad at the same time. What had happened now?
He swung his bag on his back and followed her up to the Headmaster’s Office. Today’s password, he noted, was Mint Humbugs. Dumbledore was waiting for them, uncharacteristically solemn behind his desk, the customary twinkle missing from his eye. Harry’s stomach plummeted. Something was terribly wrong.
“What’s happened?” Harry asked.
“Please take a seat, Harry,” Dumbledore said heavily.
Harry sat down. “What’s happened? Is Sirius okay?”
“I’m afraid I must inform you that your aunt and uncle have passed away.”
“Oh,” Harry said stupidly. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. He didn’t know how to feel. He’d grown used to Petunia and Vernon being constants in his life — unpleasant ones, sure, but reliably consistent in a way that few things were in the wizarding world. “What … how did it happen? Was it Voldemort?”
“As far as we can tell, no witch or wizard was involved. It appears that they ran afoul of a Muggle robber with a knife, and when your uncle fought back, both he and your aunt were killed in the struggle.”
“And Dudley?”
“Your aunt and uncle were out of the house when the tragedy occurred, on their way home from dinner at a restaurant. Your cousin is traumatised but safe, and is currently living with his aunt Marjorie.”
Harry couldn’t think of anything worse than having to live with Aunt Marge. He would have felt sorry for Dudley if he didn’t expect Marge to continue the trend of spoiling him rotten.
“We’ve organised for the funerals to occur next week so you’ll have time to recover before the Third Task,” McGonagall said. She was still serious, but she had an air of sympathy that Dumbledore seemed to lack.
“That’s fine. I don’t want to go.”
“If you don’t attend their funerals now, you may regret it later,” she said gently.
Harry snorted. “The only reason I would regret it is missing out on the chance to spit on their graves. They never liked me and I never liked them.”
McGonagall appeared to be shocked into silence. Harry turned back to Dumbledore. This was his chance. “I’m going to live with Sirius now.”
“My boy, we need to consider if that is in fact the most appropriate course of action — ”
“It’s the only appropriate course of action!”
Harry was interrupted by the roaring of the fireplace as the flames turned green. Snape and Flitwick stepped through, and with a wave of Snape’s wand their Muggle clothes turned back into their customary robes.
“They’re completely gone, Headmaster,” Flitwick said. “Completely unremarkable among all the other Muggle houses in the street.”
“The blood wards?” Harry asked.
“Exactly. Do you mind if I check you quickly?”
Harry nodded his consent, and Flitwick waved his wand in a complicated set of patterns and muttered several unfamiliar incantations. “You’ll be glad to know that the blood protection on you remains intact, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick said. “The house in Privet Drive, however, will no longer be a safe place for you to reside. We’ll escort you to remove your belongings later today.”
“No need,” Harry said. “There’s nothing of mine there.”
“I presume the blood protection is now anchored on Harry’s cousin,” Dumbledore said. “If Harry were to live with him —”
“NO!” Harry yelled. Everyone turned to look at him, and he flushed, but he stood his ground. “I am not going to live with Dudley, and no way in hell am I going to live with Aunt Marge.”
“If this is about the incident at the start of your third year, my boy, I assure you that she does not remember it.”
“The incident?” Harry said, dumbfounded. “Professor, I blew up Marge in a fit of accidental magic because she insulted both my parents and told me I should have been drowned at birth, and you still think that’s a good idea? I still have scars from when she set her dog on me and I couldn’t get up a tree in time. Dudley’s favourite game is chasing me with his friends and beating me up — I really don’t think there’s enough love there for any sort of blood wards!”
McGonagall and Flitwick were staring at him. McGonagall had something close to pity on her face and even Snape had one of his most neutral sneers. But Dumbledore seemed to be preparing to double down.
“The blood wards are essential for your safety over summer,” Dumbledore said evenly. “If there is a chance that young Mr. Dursley can anchor them, we should take that chance, even if it comes with some risks.”
“Risks?” McGonagall said. Her Scottish accent was thicker than Harry had ever heard it. “Risks are one thing, Albus, but an unsafe household is another. There’s no point protecting Mr. Potter from outside threats if he’ll be in danger from inside!”
“I think we’ve established that Dumbledore doesn’t care about dangers from inside,” Harry said. His anger had flared so bright that it was now cold and sharp. He couldn’t stop himself from speaking, now that he’d started, and part of him wanted to hurt Dumbledore. “Or else he’d have removed me from the Dursleys when I was little. Which is it, Professor? Did you decide that the abuse I suffered at their hands was somehow necessary? Or did you leave me there and never check up on me for almost fourteen years? Because no one could’ve done any sort of welfare check and decided that I was happy there!”
A heavy silence reigned. Harry could hear the faint ticking and whirring of all those little silver instruments lining the walls, and suppressed the sudden urge to destroy them. He didn’t dare look at anyone except Dumbledore. He didn’t want to see their pity. He just wanted to see how Dumbledore dug himself out of the hole he’d made.
“I can only apologise, my boy,” Dumbledore said eventually. He looked older than Harry had ever seen him. “Arabella mentioned that she had concerns, but I dismissed them each time. What was some play-fighting between cousins? And surely all young boys exaggerated the number of chores they had to do, and told tales of name-calling and going to bed without dinner. Evidently I was mistaken to never investigate further. Petunia had to hold some love for you and for Lily if the blood wards still held, so I decided that it couldn’t possibly be as bad as Arabella said.”
“You left Arabella Figg to keep an eye on Mr Potter?” Flitwick said, astounded. “She’s as batty as her cats, Albus!”
“Mrs Figg is a witch? Why didn’t she ever tell me anything? She didn’t even correct the Dursleys when they said my parents died in a car crash!”
“Arabella Figg is a Squib,” Dumbledore said. “And I imagine she thought it best to support Petunia’s decision on how to raise you and when to tell you about magic.”
“Petunia’s decisions were terrible!” Harry yelled. “They kept me in a cupboard! I didn’t know my own full name until I went to primary school!”
“Oh, Harry,” McGonagall whispered. He was shocked to see that her eyes were glimmering with tears. “Why did you never tell anyone?”
“I tried,” Harry spat. “I tried three times in primary school, and every time I was dismissed or called a liar. The Dursleys didn’t like me asking questions, and then Hagrid didn’t seem to think it was anything to worry about, and then I realised that if everyone thought that what Neville’s family did to him was okay then I wasn’t going to get any help here either.”
Harry glanced around the room. McGonagall and Flitwick both looked sad and ashamed. Snape caught his eye, looking almost apologetic, before turning to Dumbledore.
“We did a standard scan of the house, Headmaster,” Snape said. “As expected, there were small traces of magical activity throughout, most notably where that incident occurred in the summer of ’93 and, peculiarly, house-elf magic from ‘92. However, the cupboard under the stairs had the greatest quantity of historical magical activity by far, ranging from around twelve years ago to four years ago, and almost all of it being healing, warming, or protective in nature. It appears that the boy lived there until his Hogwarts letter arrived.”
“Oh Merlin,” McGonagall said. She wiped her eyes with a tartan handkerchief. Harry’s face flushed even redder and he awkwardly ran a hand through his hair.
“Potter may be a chronic liar and an arrogant brat,” Snape continued, “but there is no doubt that he is telling the truth this time.”
Silence fell again. The delicate silver and golden instruments around the room were still making their stupid little noises, and Harry seriously considered going through with it and destroying them. He imagined it would be immensely satisfying.
“I’m going to live with Sirius,” Harry said, eventually, when it became clear that no one knew what to say. “He’s the first option for guardian in my parents’ wills, and the only one capable at the moment. He’s had months with a Mind Healer to recover from Azkaban, and although Remus can’t legally take guardianship, he’ll be there to keep Sirius in line. And if you try to stop me I’ll fight you in court. I’m sure the Ancient and Noble House of Black can afford a good lawyer.”
“I’m not going to stop you, my boy,” Dumbledore said. He sounded tired. “I know both Sirius and Remus care deeply for you, and I will help them strengthen their wards to keep you as safe as possible. Minerva, as Harry’s Head of House, would you mind sorting out the transfer of guardianship paperwork? I’ll talk to Sirius tomorrow and take it to the Ministry personally to make sure it goes through.”
“Not at all,” McGonagall said briskly. “Come by my office this evening, Mr Potter, and I’ll have it ready for you.”
“Then, if you are certain that you have nothing to retrieve from Privet Drive and no wish to attend their funerals or see your cousin—” Dumbledore ignored Harry’s snort “—I do believe we’re done here. Minerva, Severus, would you escort Harry down to the Great Hall? I’d like to look at the results of your scans, Filius, if you have a moment.”
As they descended the moving staircase and walked back through the corridors, Harry felt a massive sense of relief. He didn’t even care that there was a stupidly wide grin on his face. It was over. It was actually, finally, properly over. He could never be sent back to the Dursleys again. Instead he’d be living with his godfather and his Uncle Remus who loved him and who could tell him all about his parents and who would never lock him in a cupboard or starve him.
It was almost too much to take in. He thought that if he could gather his thoughts enough, he’d be able to use this moment to cast a Patronus to banish every Dementor in the world.
“Hang on. They were murdered, right?” Harry said, thinking it over again. They hadn’t just died — they’d been killed by someone. What if it had been a targeted attack because of who Harry was?
“Yes, Potter, or are you so thick that you did not comprehend even the most basic of what was just discussed?”
“Severus!”
Snape shot McGonagall a look, but didn’t say anything else.
“And you’re certain that it wasn’t Death Eaters?”
“The Aurors conducted a discreet investigation and found no unusual traces of magic present,” McGonagall said. “Death Eaters don’t tend to be subtle — they would have used magic and cast the Dark Mark over the scene, even if they hadn’t known that the victims were your relatives.”
“No Death Eater would ever lower themselves to the level of killing someone Muggle-style unless they had no other options,” Snape added.
The pieces clicked together in Harry’s mind.
“Oh,” Harry said. He almost stumbled and quickly covered it up. “And they probably wouldn’t know how to track Muggles, or how to get away unseen, or any of that. So it really must have been just a—just a freaky coincidence.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” McGonagall said reassuringly.
They reached the Entrance Hall. Harry wasn’t sure how long he’d been in Dumbledore’s office, but he could hear the sounds of the school eating lunch in the Great Hall. McGonagall paused while they were still out of sight and earshot of the hall.
“Are you quite sure that you still wish to attend classes today?” she asked quietly. “I can write you a pass if you’d rather take some time to yourself.”
Harry grimaced. He wasn’t sure how to make it any clearer that, while his feelings may still be confused, he had absolutely no intention of grieving Petunia or Vernon. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
McGonagall looked at him for a moment. She was always tall and stern, but right then she was kindly and oddly sad. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Potter. I have failed you as your Head of House if you did not feel comfortable approaching me about the unacceptable standards of your home life. I hope you know that I have always cared for you, as I do all my Gryffindors—and indeed all my students—and my door will always be open to you in the future.”
She seemed to be waiting for a response, so Harry nodded and said, “Thanks, Professor.”
She smiled down at him before heading into the Great Hall. Harry looked up at Snape, who was standing quite still. He couldn’t bring himself to make the accusation out loud. Perhaps, though, that was for the best. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know whether Snape had actually tracked down and murdered two Muggles in cold blood just to give him a better home. He believed it, of course, but if he didn’t ask, he didn’t have to bear the burden of knowing. Instead, putting as much sincerity into his voice as he could, he met Snape's eyes and said, “Thank you, Professor.”
Snape gave him a curt nod and the slightest of smiles before whirling around and stalking away from the Hall.
Harry watched him leave, black robes billowing, before putting him out of his mind and heading for the Gryffindor table. He couldn’t wait to tell Ron and Hermione that he was going to be living with Sirius from now on.
Nothing that happened in the Third Task could possibly bring him down.