Sighing, his brows puckering with reluctance, Harry began to read.
Potter, the letter began.
Petunia says she doesn't know where your freak school is, or we'd have sent this the way normal people send post. Arabella Figg heard us talking about needing to reach you, though, and offered us an owl. We never knew she was one of those. Bet you knew, though, and didn't tell us, did you, boy? There ought to be a law.
Get back to Surrey, Potter. Your aunt's much worse. She's in hospital now; the doctors say it doesn't look good. I don't care if you come on that freak train, or if you have to ride a damned broomstick or something, you get yourself back here. If you know what's good for you, you'll make it fast, and you won't bring a single one of those freaks you associate with along. Petunia doesn't need to see anything like that. It's bad enough she has to see you.
Vernon Dursley
Harry looked up then, not knowing what to feel. It was probably wrong to be glad that Aunt Petunia was ill. Yeah, it was definitely wrong. He was supposed to be upset, at least. But he wasn't. Well, at least he hadn't sunk so low as to be happy about it. Not even the littlest bit, he told himself, swallowing back a rush of something horribly shameful.
Snape drew in a sharp breath, then it seemed he deliberately steadied his breathing. "Just how ill is your aunt, Mr Potter?"
"Don't know," Harry admitted, shrugging. "First I've heard of it."
Snape began speaking in his I-can't-believe-a-human-can-be-so-dim voice, each word delivered slowly and enunciated with maddening precision. "What does she have?"
"I told you, I don't know!" Harry retorted, a little impatiently. "Listen, sir, I'm going to be late for Transfiguration if you don't dismiss me, now. May I leave?"
Snape looked absolutely thunderstruck, just before all that astonishment converted itself to burning rage. "Transfiguration! You're still not going to ask to see the headmaster, you gibbering fool? You don't have the slightest idea what's at stake here, do you? You should have been gone on Tuesday; it may be too late already."
Somewhere in the middle of all that, Snape had grabbed his forearm. Harry tried to shake him off, but Snape only gripped him all the more fiercely. Fed up, Harry finally yelled, "What do you care if I go see her or not? It's my own personal business if my family doesn't give a flip if I live or die and I feel the same--"
Snape leaned down, practically spitting with fury. "Your personal business, is it? If your aunt dies, the wards protecting you fall, Potter! We might like to at least be aware that such a thing has happened, you selfish brat, so that we can make other arrangements to keep you safe and sane. Or do you really think that Neville Longbottom is going to rid the world of the Dark Lord?"
Harry felt like he would fall over, but that Snape's fierce grip kept him upright. "Dumbledore told you about the wards, about the prophecy?"
"The headmaster and I have few secrets. Now, as I don't trust you further than I could throw you, Mr Potter, I believe we'll both go the headmaster to arrange your departure."
"But if the wards are in danger of falling, surely I should stay right here?" Harry pleaded desperately.
"I do believe you are the most spoiled, egocentric, thoughtless child I've ever had the misfortune to know," Snape replied. "Your aunt is dying, Mr Potter. Apparently that means less than nothing to you, but your family has requested you go see her, and that you will do, like it or not."
"I can't believe you care if I see my dying aunt!"
"Quite correct," Snape confirmed, finally letting go of Harry's arm. "What I care about, Mr Potter, is that you don't irrevocably alienate what little remains on this earth of your mother's blood."
"You mean my cousin Dudley?" Harry gasped. "But you know what he's like! I mean, you saw, over and over, last year! You know, during the Occlumency lessons--"
"Do not call to mind any incidents of last year, Potter, particularly not those incidents!"
Harry mentally stepped back, realizing that it wasn't such a good idea to bring up anything that might remind Snape about how Harry had sneaked a look in that pensieve. "All right, sorry," he muttered, then spoke louder. "But Dudley? You have to be joking. He's not going to participate in any warding, I can tell you that. He'd like to see me dead, him and my uncle both. God only knows why my aunt went along, she hates me just as much--"
"You're hysterical," Snape announced. "Enough, Potter. We're going to the headmaster to show him this letter, is that clear? And you're going to go to Surrey and beg your family's forgiveness for whatever you did to offend them, is that clear? I don't care if you have to plead on bended knee, Potter, you will be warded by your mother's blood, and if that means making peace with your cousin, then so be it! Now, come along!"
"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, but he might as well not have bothered. The dungeon doors were flying open by then, the Silencio spell sizzling as its vapours dissolved, and Snape was dragging him down the hall toward the stairs.
From behind a carved granite column, Draco Malfoy smirked.
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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:
Chapter Four: Plans and Plots
~
Comments very welcome,
Aspen in the Sunlight
Chapter 4: Plans and Plots
http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=5036&chapter=4
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A Year Like None Other
by Aspen in the Sunlight
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Chapter Four: Plans and Plots
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"This is quite serious, Harry," Albus Dumbledore commented, waving a vague hand to include Severus Snape, who sat with folded arms and a tightly controlled expression. "You'll have to do as the Dursleys ask, of course. This isn't a time for family members to be apart."
Harry sat stone-faced, unwilling to give vent to his true feelings about certain family members. It was bad enough that he'd exploded all over Snape about it a few minutes earlier. Telling Snape, of all people, that his family had always hated him and always would. Well, at least the greasy git hadn't taken him seriously. He'd decided that Harry was hysterical, instead. And that was fine by Harry. He'd rather be thought emotional and immature than give Snape some true fodder for insult. God, he could just imagine it, Snape sniping at him in class about how nobody had ever loved poor, pitiful Harry Potter. Is the supply closet too reminiscent of your cupboard, Potter? he would say. Is that why you rush in and out of it in a tizzy, because being famous Harry Potter doesn't stop you from being scared of tight places? Have a touch of claustrophobia, do we, Potter?
All right, Snape would probably die before he used a word like "tizzy," Harry admitted, but he could easily see the rest of it coming out of that hateful mouth. That, and worse.