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Chapter Text

A viscous, cloying heat pressed down on the sprawling expanse of ashen brick houses. The swampy air had snaked its way into every crumbling gap within the tired brick houses, squashed side by side so tightly it was difficult to discern where one estate ended and the next, identical slum began. Whilst the rest of the country had accepted defeat and retreated to the cool, shady relief of their drawing rooms, a steady trickle of flushed, sweaty bodies milled through the streets. Steel toe boots dragging on the dusty streets with the weight of another shift bending their necks down against the sun. Children ran past still shrilly screeching as they kicked empty cans at each other, cautiously avoiding the greasy glares of the teenagers lazily slouching against brick walls, hardly bothering to conceal the stinging fumes of White Lightning wafting off of them. 

Upon a sloping hill stood a lurid flash of sickening, canary yellow fabric, fluttering in a non existent breeze. From within, a sloping, wrinkled, man unfurled. His paper-white, long hair draped over his shoulders and his knee length beard gently gleamed in the blinding light. He paused slightly, as though gaining his balance, and peered down at the crumbing, sprawl of a forgone, derelict community through his flashing glasses, He gave a slight nod, as though he'd spotted something in that neglected jungle that satisfied him, and set out on a jaunty but hurried walk down the pot-hole ridden tarmac. The man swept up to a grimy brick house, so small and tightly sandwiched by the adjoining, identical homes that one might entirely miss it. He swept up to the door, the hem of his coat disturbing several yellowing weeds stubbornly growing through the cracks in the pavement and lightly knocked on the door, as though he had no doubt that the house was not empty, sending flecks of peeling brown paint fluttering to the ground. Faint, begrudging footsteps approached the door which cracked open, by barely a centimetre, the bronze chain firmly blocking the old man's entrance. From inside there was a glimpse of a pallid face set in a wary scowl, its pitch black eyes narrowed in irritation.

"Ah Severus, would you be so kind as to let me in, it is frightfully hot out here" he said in a low but gentle voice.

Severus said nothing, merely roughly unchaining the door, sharply swinging it open and jerkily ushering him in, his dark eyes roving the sun lit street with caution, and immense distaste. 

Stepping in to the dimly lit room he had to squint to peer through the large quantity of oddly scented steam that lay thick and heavy in the air, it curled and rose to the damp ceiling gently, leaving white misty clouds behind almost akin to the mist of the Amazon when coupled with the wet, sticky heat that threatened to choke anyone who dared attempt breathing. Of course that was where the similarities with a tropical haven ended, as the men silently made their way into the cramped kitchen. A typical kitchen that had seemingly failed to move past 1967, so covered it was in greasy, faded linoleum, peeling wooden cabinets and ancient Tupperware that might well have once been intended to be orange and faded, or was now so badly stained with decades worth of forgotten food it was now a permanently, sickly, jaundice colour. Amidst the mess however, a gleaming copper cauldron stood squatly atop a blackened, oily gas stove, the high flames ferociously licking its base, generating an ungodly heat. Through the steam, a sparking, lilac flame was spitting threateningly at the stained net curtains which had been tightly pinned out of reach. The old man perched himself on a peeling, red chair that emitted a grating creak as he nudged it forwards, resting his arms upon the cluttered table, gently brushing aside what seemed to be a large quantity of bird bones. Severus swept back in, his thin, wrinkled black shirt now conspicuously tucked in as though that might negate his flushed face and the stray greasy hair plastered to his forehead by sweat. He tried and failed to conceal the borderline rage at having been interrupted behind a façade of police irritation.

"Headmaster, I appreciate you taking the time to come and visit but as you are well aware-"

"As I've said Severus, there really is no need for such formality, Albus will suffice" 

A vein in Severus' temple twitched violently.

"Dumbledore , as you are already aware I have a lot on, least of all fulfilling all of the Dark Lord's copious orders for incredibly intricate potions, not to mention reporting to you and wasting my time in those idiotic gatherings they have the nerve to label official Order meetings" He spat with a poorly restrained amount of contempt.

"Ardenti alis?" Dumbledore asked with a pronounced tone of disgust as he nodded in the direction of the cauldron, fixing him with a piercing look. Severus twitched, as though fighting the urge to turn away from his gaze and answered with a slight shrug.

"Ah well, if anyone can manage that it is you after all" Dumbledore laughed humourlessly as he wiped his misted spectacles on his obnoxiously, vibrant sleeve. "In any case, I'm sure you have already guessed that I am not merely here to exchange pleasantries."

"No, and I fail to see what would be of such monumental importance that it could not have waited for a meeting, or a letter, or at the very least a conversation not in my house. I have told you many times but the neighbours talk, God knows what they will be saying already, after seeing you walk through the estate looking like-"

"Strange, i thought I blended in rather well, but so is the fickle friend we call fashion " Dumbledore interrupted with an airy exhaustion.

"What then? Why are you actually here? With no warning, might I add" Severus hissed, fixing him with a sharp look, his ever tightening shoulders betraying his unease.

Dumbledore shifted slightly, as though that might've made his chair more comfortable and clasped his liver spotted hands, the air seemed to become thicker.

"Severus, as I'm sure you are well aware...that is to say...that"

"That what ?" He asked softly as though might conceal the razor sharp, quavering edge in his voice.

"Potter's... situation has become increasingly precarious as of late and-yes fine, scoff as much as you desire but the fact remains, recent, ahem, developments, have compromised his security."

"His security ? Forgive me for asking what the fu-, the point of the blood wards and the constant surveillance is, if it allows his safety to be compromised? If the current, objectively extravagant measures are insufficient, then what could possibly be left to expand upon? Short of five aurors shackling him to their ankles every minute of the day? Or is the blessed Potter, as usual, above all conceivable security measures? I suppose he's too busy shooting underage hexes at his aunt again, or-or snorting smack in an underpass without checking over his shoulder?"

There was a rather pregnant pause as Dumbledore narrowed his snowy eyebrows and gave him a stern look.

"I really cannot speculate on the boy's hypothetical drug taking activities, of which I suspect are non existent, as I'm sure you do too Severus. However, as for the underage magic...well." He cleared his throat slightly "This Monday, the Ministry received a report that Harry, twice, performed the patronus charm in the presence of a muggle, his cousin mind you, but in the ministry's eyes that hardly seems to matter these days, or when it comes to Harry at the very least. Either way, I have managed to suspend his immediate expulsion for the moment but he is still due in court on the 12th of August."

Severus gave a small snort of contempt "The law is the law. He broke it and is facing due process, so forgive me if I hold back my grief. So far, I fail to see what this has to do with me."

Dumbledore traced one long finger over a delicate wisp of a bird's spine, whilst he seemed to carefully contemplate how he might phrase his next words. Caution seemed to be of vital importance based on the way Severus was now gripping the counter so hard his knuckles were threatening to burst through his skin, and a muscle in his jaw was twitching so irregularly it might be mistaken for seizure activity.

"The Weasley home is compromised evidently, hence their temporary residence at Grimmauld Place, and of course with the Dursleys' being watched and the several near misses we've already had, the 'election candidate', the ' Avon sales-woman ', Merlin only knows how they knew about Avon door-to-door sales but I digress. Privet Drive was already unstable but with this new Ministry interference-"

"Ministry interference?! I suppose that's how he how he phrased it to you. The rest of us scum call it breaking the law you know?"

"Severus be reasonable." Dumbledore said with an edge of impatience "Whoever heard of a dementor in Surrey? Humans don't even go to Surrey if we can help it. Even you could not convince yourself they were there by mere coincidence."

" IF, they were there. Potter is above all an attention seeker, it is not above him to cast a patronus just to show off what he perceives as his own talent."

There was a rather pregnant pause as the two men stared each other down, each stubbornly refusing to blink despite the increasingly acidic steam caressing their watering eyeballs.

"Severus, I do not have time to indulge these accusations and as you have already stated, neither do you. The fact remains that Harry's security is compromised, and as we have discussed moving him to Headquarters still poses an insubstantial risk-"

"And yet you let that Granger girl stay there. Its not like she contributes to the Order she's still a security ri-"

"She and her family are in danger by association as I have already explained" Dumbledore stated with a tone of warning "As is Harry. He is a danger unto himself and as it is can no longer be left so unsupervised, or without guidance, perhaps that would be a more appropriate description. The attacks will continue. neither the Ministry nor Voldemort will rest until he is eliminated."

"Revolutionary. Where are you going with this?" Severus asked, each word dripping with thick sarcasm.

"He needs somewhere safe to stay, with a trusted and competent Order member. One who can guide him, teach him to close his mind-"

"No!" He spat, flecks of saliva landing on the floor as he glared at the insultingly serene man gazing at him with an air of patient condescension fro his own kitchen chair. "I refuse, I will not sink so low-"

"I am not asking Severus"

"And I am not allowing!" He yelled with an oddly strangled cry, his cold eyes raving. "I refuse, this is over the line and you damn well know it! How dare you sit there-in my chair! And ask, no demand, order! Me to what? Host that pathetic, entitled, selfish parasite?! Humiliate me in my own house? How much more? I've given you my whole life and now you ask-no sorry of course, demand that I sacrifice the rest of my dignity!"

Dumbledore sat rigidly in a pose that reeked of stubborn and practiced patience, his lined face exposing a hint of impatience... and a twitch by his papery lips betraying a hint of condescension. 

"Severus" he began firmly, his previous warmly cordial tone ebbing "I do not wish to insult your intelligence or your convictions by forcing you to conform to the idea that you are at liberty to choose here."

His face fell, as though the hot air hiding in his sallow skin had been smacked out, leaving his thin mouth slack in a twisted slash of disgust and shock.

"By which I mean to say" Dumbledore continued, his piercing eyes fixed on those cold black pupils sternly "Your decision to refuse, would be not just against his safety, the interest of the Order, my instructions, the greater good...but against Lil-"

"DON'T!" Severus gasped in a half strangled yelp, his eyes widened and desperate. His mouth opened and closed slightly as he half heartedly raised one iodine stained, bony finger "Don't you dare use her name to try...try and blackmail me into"

"Blackmail?" Dumbledore interrupted coldly, one snowy eyebrow cocked at the speed of light "How fast being held to your sworn vows becomes blackmail in the face of an unpleasant task."

The thick and pungent steam had become almost unbearable within that cramped and sweating room, the harsh chemicals stinging and burning the scleras of their respective, stubbornly unblinking eyes. 

"If it is a matter of finances," Dumbledore began. his eyes locked on the stiffly hunched, stringy man who had begun vibrating with rage "Then I was already planning to provide a subsidiary wage to cover extra living costs. Increased security, wards and patrols would of course be implemented."

"You think I want those pricks prowling around outside my house?" He hissed, with now, only a subdued hint of shame as he dropped his pretence of southernness.

Dumbledore continued as though he had not heard him "It would at most only be until the 1st of September or the 31st of August, a flash in a cauldron, so to speak."

"Albus" He uttered through gritted teeth, his voice laced with a guttural pleading "You have taken me as a confidant. Above my objections you have insisted on calling me a friend. I have given you my life and my future. I am asking you; do not make me do this."

At last. Dumbledore broke eye contact, and pretended to content himself with airily observing the sagging, bony woman smoking a stick thin roll up across the street. Clad in a bobbly, faded hot pink, dressing gown on her doorstep. Her wispy, bleached, hair, weakly sticking to her prematurely lined forehead, her tattooed eyebrows downturned in an expression of pure misery and exhaustion as she stared at the drunken, shrieking teenagers down the street, shoulders hunched in a barely disguised longing. His own eyes seemed to soften in a resigned pity, and he held his gaze as Severus continued to glare at him and ignore the urge to also turn around and stare at Cathy. Cathy who shoved her overspilling bottles into next door's bins when she thought nobody was watching. As though the Adhikari's wouldn't blink an eye at the magically appearing bottles of Glenn's appearing in their rubbish.

Severus narrowed his tired, stinging eyes and cleared his throat awkwardly in an attempt to bring down the ancient man's air of feigned, whimsical contemplation.

"As you can see, I have many neighbours, colourful neighbours, if they see a random boy move in they will ask and they will talk."

"You are not an unskilled man Severus, I'm sure even you will find some viable excuse for his presence." He replied, still eyeing Cathy who was desperately sucking on the barely smouldering roach " I will bring him tomorrow, I trust that will be sufficient time to prepare." He rose, the cheap chair creaking as it was pushed back against the stained linoleum "I do not wish to argue with you Severus, it does a disservice to us both. I came to you not just as a last resort but as my must trusted confida-yes, scoff if you must! But your contempt will not change the circumstances imposed upon us by this war. Nor shall it change the vows of loyalty and service you have sworn to me."

Severus said nothing, simply clenching his jaw and glaring at the creeping line of mould on the wall behind Dumbledore, the shallows, sharp, jagged falls of his chest betraying his weakly concealed fury.

"It does pain me to see you so resistant and prejudic-...close-minded. I have maintained from the very start." Dumbledore said straightening out his lurid robes with a forced air of casualness. He looked up at the pained man, frozen in disbelief, betrayal and fury. He stubbornly sought out contact eyes, unsatisfied with opening the door until his peace was heard.

"Severus?"

"It is unlocked...let yourself out."

"Severus will you approach this with the same commitment and aptitude you have always displayed to me in your service?' He asked sternly, there was a stark absence of his prior warmth, whimsy, and confidence.

For several, seemingly eternal seconds it appeared there would be no response. 

The stringy, sweating shell of the man who had opened the door gave a jerky, almost imperceptible nod.

Dumbledore nodded, his shoulders loosening ever so briefly in a resigned relief, his wrinkled face twitching into a small and grateful smile. With this he swept past and out of the peeling, narrow door and pottered back out on to the baking estate, giving Cathy a polite smile as he passed, ignoring her wrinkle of disgust.

Inside, the steam choked and coated every millimetre of the dank, dark, house. Caressing and settling upon the sallow, shell-shocked face of the man who had fallen into the peeling kticehn chair. His head, hidden in his shaking hands.

Chapter Text

The taunting scent of fat charring on a smoking grill snaked its way in through the crack in the window that Harry had been forced to push open in the misguided hope of attracting a breeze. Anything to stir the suffocating heat that had invaded his bedroom, Dudley's bedroom, as they liked to remind him at every opportunity. This incredible gift, for which he was completely undeserving, unfortunately was south-facing, and did not fare well in the pure hell that was an English heatwave. Not that he could've opened the window more than a crack, not just because the hinges had never recovered from Vernon's DIY Azkaban refurbishment three years before, but because his baking cell faced the street and the Routhorn's across the street enjoyed making snide, quipped comments if they spotted him "slinking around" or heard him daring to turn the radio on...or breathe.

One particularly awful day on which all of the pollen in Surrey had invited itself in through his window, he had had the audacity to sneeze one too many times in a row. Theresa Routhorn had by all accounts been so startled it had set off her migraines, although he'd had trouble believing this. Harry had never slept well which was unfortunate for Theresa as she seized the opportunity that the darkness that three o'clock in the morning afforded her, to dispose of her shameful collections of empty shiraz bottles just before the bin men showed up, even more unfortunately for Theresa during one of these many secret trips they'd made an excruciating five milliseconds of eye contact. Ever since, her smear campaign against him had really amped up, with what Harry had to concede, was some very inspired vitriol, which had done no favours for his reputation with the rest of the neighbourhood and with his Aunt and Uncle. Both of whom were now fully under the impression that Harry had been stealing copper out of the fly tipped washing machines in the junkyard by the Heron Foods. 

He turned stiffly, his damp bed sheets sticking to him as he dreamed longingly of the sharp and bitter cold of Hogwarts during the winter. How the frozen air would bite at your fingers and make your cheeks flush, how no matter how hard you pulled your thick wool cloak around yourself the ice would seep through. He fought a smile at the memory of the first time Hermione revealed that little jam jar full of dancing, periwinkle flames. How her face had suffused with a pink glow as Ron exclaimed and looked at her with a mixture of shock and a hint of pride, how she'd quickly explained it was "just a simple charm really" as she bashfully turned her gaze to the frozen blades of grass underneath their feet.

"No. Fuck them, fuck them both." He thought with all the bitterness of those Scottish winters. 

He hadn't had a word all Summer. Not one worth reading anyway. Just those bullshit, encouraging, cryptic, condescending messages, assuring him it wouldn't be long before they could see him. Tantalising little hints dropped in, like those overly smug food bank volunteers patting themselves on the back for giving a struggling pensioner a can of Lidl's own vegetable soup, before fucking off back to their warm houses, full of family...and friends...all having a jolly fucking time.

"At least food bank workers do something useful, at least they tell people what's going on. "

From the hidden barbecue polite stifled laughter echoed. The measured, quipped, chuckles that drip off the tongues of Oxbridge alumni, sharing their latest amusing stories of the funny foreign waiter they encountered whilst summering in Corfu and smugly eyeing up who had foregone bringing picky bits from Waitrose Finest by pitifully bringing their Sainsbury's taste the difference hummus instead, a favourite discussion of his Aunt's. Not that she'd be able to satisfy her dips and organic meat gossip that night. He might've laughed, if Harry had not just received a letter of expulsion from the only place he'd ever felt a semblance of belonging, and a threat to snap his wand, to have his day in court, with friends who'd forgotten him, with that high cold laugh ringing, with Cedric's waxy face-

"No."

He screwed up his face, his round glasses slipping on his sweaty nose. He couldn't think of that, of him, not in the day as well.

He had to concede on some level it was odd. The Dursleys had been invited up until Thursday. If his Aunt and Uncle hadn't been apoplectic enough two days before with their precious darling nearly having had his, no doubt concrete thick, sludge of a soul nearly sucked out of his thick neck, owls swooping in and out of their polished double-glazed windows, and worst of all several neighbours inquiring about "the strange rumours that everyone's been spreading, oh no! I wouldn't like to say. Oh well, just that Dudley had a bit of a funny turn after being caught by him in the underpass. Yes that he was sick and swaying, and well, you know me Petunia, I hate to speculate. And Miranda said something about some birds?" And now this business with the barbecue. They'd always been on good terms with the Mayhews since Petunia and Tilly Mayhew had once been in the same mother and baby pilates class and Vernon and Roger Mayhew both enjoyed looking at each others wives, despite Petunia's seething, secret, and mutual hatred for their family, they'd always been regular guests at each others soulless, sparkling houses. Spending many a summer evening lounging on stiff garden furniture in their inoffensive, two hundred square metres of grass and patio, laughing about whatever Piers Morgan had said in yesterday's issue of the Daily Mirror. So when Tilly had rung the day before, her empty, grating voice echoing out of the phone which Vernon had taken to putting on speaker due to his ebbing hearing, and she had informed in a them that their simply wasn't enough space with their old university chums being invited and that they'd reschedule, the dumbfounded, horrified looks on their faces would usually have been an image Harry would savour for years. But even without the full force of blame being directed on him, his utter resignation from the concept of life, let alone humour had left him struggling to enjoy their pain. It wasn't as though it mattered. Nothing did. 

His eyes roved back to the spot on the wall that they always seemed to fix on, a dent where Dudley had once tried to punch his sweaty fist through like he'd seen in some film, forgetting the house was made of brick. He'd howled and sobbed and despite having been locked firmly in his squalid, little cupboard at the time, Harry had still miraculously received the blame for coercing him into doing it. His eyelids fell shut, their seemingly enormous weight kindly shutting out the world. He never believed he might even miss those days. When his biggest concern was a fist on the side of his face, at least those were tangible. Made of meat and words from people without the slightest modicum of intelligence or real power. When his parents were drunk, benefit scroungers, killed in a car crash, not hungrily staring at him in fear, pearly white, shimmering and dead as they told him to run. It had been easier having nobody when he'd had nothing to compare it to. 

From below came the that familiar, pathetic, thundering shout.

"BOY! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

He felt his eyeballs roll within their sockets and briefly considered not moving. Maybe, if he was very lucky, Vernon would stomp his way up the stairs and wrap his meaty hands around his throat, thrust his purple face into his and roar, flecks of spit clinging to his pathetic moustache. And then Harry could reach his tired hands out, and gouge out his beady fucking ey-

"BOY!"

He groaned and heaved himself upright, the room disappearing momentarily into darkness, peppered with minute pinpricks of light as the blood rushed from his head. He flung open his bedroom door and trudged down the plush, carpeted stairs with all the grace of a man ascending the gallows. As he turned into the into the pristine living room he saw Aunt Petunia sat stiffly on the plump sofa, her normally perfectly coiffed hair sticking to the back of her bony neck which was beaded with sweat. The heatwave took no prisoners, including her overly styled hair. Uncle Vernon was stood by his now restored fireplace, the mantle still adorned with Dudley's baby photos in which he consistently managed to look like Mr. Blobby's inbred spawn, but now interspersed with a smarmy teenager in a ridiculous uniform and stood in depressingly empty boxing gyms with his salmon pink chest bare. The real Dudley was thankfully too engrossed in staring at the ceiling in his own bedroom and whimpering silently as the latest episodes of Big Brother glazed past his grey, slack, face on his television. Otherwise he'd likely be raising a roaring objection to the blasphemous sight of the news at six that was warbling into the tense living room. Vernon turned to face him with what he no doubt thought was a bone chilling expression but one that would've raised a snigger if Harry could even vaguely be arsed. 

"So..." He began, his teeth bared in a sinister smile that was immediately negated by his too small, khaki shorts "Happy are we? Satisfied at long last?"

"What are you on...what do you mean? Is this still about the barbecue? Because I thought we were done with that" He sighed, too exhausted to adjusted his tone.

" What do I mean? "He repeated softly his moustache (which Harry had always felt did him no favours) quivered dangerously "Yes. This is about the blasted barbecue. I was already well aware that it has been your mission since the moment you opened those ungrateful eyes to ruin me and Petunia...and Dudley, through shame and financial ruin-"

"Financial ruin? You just booked a skiing holiday in Morzine?"

"DO NOT INTERRUPT ME!" His face had progressed to its beginning stage of port red "Do you have any idea on how much of my hard earned money had gone into keeping your useless hide alive, just for you to suck up the air in my house to spit back cheek at me, humiliate us, attempt to murder my son?!"

"I didn't try to murder Dudley! I saved his pathetic arse! If it hadn't been for me he'd be a soulless husk right now! Not that it would be a huge change."

Petunia's nostrils flared and the thick vein in her forehead seemed to writhe like a flobberworm "How dare you talk about my son like that, I don't care what little freaky spell you did to delude yourself into thinking you saved him" She hissed and jabbed one pointy finger up to the direction of Dudley's bedroom "My beautiful son is a catatonic wreck!"

Harry had to bite back his tongue quite forcefully at that, so that the largely valid observation that Dudley had been born catatonic and about as beautiful as diarrhoea did not tumble forth. An observation that was unlikely to be well received. Instead he forced his focus to lock on to the grave faced news reader echoed the latest accusation of blame for the 7th of July. A wrinkled man in a black turban yelled into the camera, a rifle flashing threateningly by his side. He forced his eyes to glaze over the grey suits and flashing red headlines as spat out his rebuttal.

"You think I wanted this? Think I sent those dementors for what? A laugh? Yeah hilarious that!" he felt his face growing hot. Petunia's eyes full of increasing hatred switched between Harry and Al-Qaeda deputy on her prized, polished, Made in Britain, television screen and it was difficult to to tell who she despised more. Harry had a definite hunch.

Vernon's thick moustache had begun to bristle dangerously as his dull eyes swelled with a fury that had been finely honed over the past fourteen years. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, to be carried away with such notions of your own importance and heroism, but let me tell you this boy" He stepped closer forcing the back of Harry's knees to collide with the plump, coral sofa as one bloated finger was jabbed into his chest "I know you. I know your game. I've watched you from the time you were a screeching, whining brat to this jumped up, freaky, lay about that stands in my lounge and smirks at turning my son into a vegetable" 

The blood was beginning to pound violently in his ears as the stench of sweat reeking from the cavernous pores in Vernon's sagging face loomed closer. 

"Perhaps in your gaggle of degenerate freaks you are a somebody, but you are not. You are a nasty little dunce with nothing to show for yourself"

Harry vision was now obscured by the damp, purple head in front of him. He wished he could blink, shut his eyes, shut it all out. Anything to get the venomous tirade out of his ears, anything to block out the burning truth that every nerve that his Uncle was right. For the first time his pathetic and vapid life, Vernon's concrete esque concept of a brain had spat out something so true and just, it was startling. He was nothing, he gave nothing, only took. Only hurt. Only killed.

"Nobody is better off for having known you"

"Ahhhh of course, try and look away all you like" Vernon sneered as he bobbed in face in every slight direction in which Harry attempted to avert his gaze "But you mark my words if its the only thing you ever do, I won't let you hurt my family one more bloody, flaming time! You have sucked us dry-"

"Unfortunate choice of words"

"And poisoned us, like a...like a" Vernon's dull eyes narrowed as he struggled to name one parasite, perhaps unsurprisingly as when Dudley had received a U in his mock biology results he had proudly exclaimed that he had received the very same and it was a mark of pride as biology was a useless soft science for blue stocking girls "A...beetle." 

"Could've had leech. That's like the easiest one."

"A filthy, ungrateful, little beetle!"

"Tapeworm would've worked. Could've done the waste of food material with that. We should probably swap places."

Petunia nodded savagely her lip wrinkling as her beloved, lump of a husband continued with his weak coleopteran analogy. But her eyes were more nervous than vindictive, in fact she'd been rather withdrawn since Dudley had shown up hurling onto her fluffy, eggshell rug. Even as she mopped his sweating brow her tiny mind seemed on a different plain entirely, a plain that he suspected whispered of cloaked, scabby devils and a dirty, word that she longed to forget. From an awful boy that Harry knew had stolen her sister and now stood glaring back at her like an unwelcome Lazarus.

"And not a whisper of apology or a hint of guilt for any of it!" He hissed "Oh no no no. Perhaps because we conduct ourselves properly, paying our taxes, working honest jobs-"

"Debatable"

"Contributing to respectable society like good law abiding, people instead, of running around turning bins into slugs and putting people's lives at risk because you think they're beneath you-"

"I don't think that." He said sharply as he felt himself flush, an echo of Malfoy's disdain ringing in his ears "I don't-I never thought Muggles are beneath me."

"Ohh, Muggles eh? No do carry on, pint-pot Merlin" Vernon spluttered, specking Harry's glasses with a shower of saliva "Tell us of your powerful superiority. No? Nothing to say?"

There was a tense silence as they stared each other down. The deep, grating voice of Bush echoed out of the needlessly large television set "They're terrorists and they're killers and they will kill innocent people... so they can impose their dark vision on the world."  Petunia glared accusingly at Harry who's fists were clenched so hard he felt as though his nails would cut through soft the skin of his palms.

"There's enough blood on them already" A voice hissed as a waxy blank face swam into his mind. His muddy yellow shirt draped over a cold and unmoving-

His thought were cut short as the sharp ring of the doorbell sounded into the sweltering house causing Petunia to gasp slightly in a squeaky shock. Vernon's face contorted in irritation as he waddled over to the door his, his bad ankle slowing him even more than usual as his varicose veins bulged threateningly. The buzzer sounded agin and just as his meaty hands grasped the handle the firmly locked door seemed to gently spring open before Vernon had finished turning the key.

In the gleaming summer sunlight, with an expression of polite impatience, stood Albus Dumbledore.