Stay Free

Chapter 1: The Visitor

Harry Potter lay on his back in Dudley's old bedroom, tangled in a mess of ratty blankets and sweat. His wand, carefully hidden under his pillow, dug into the back of his neck. Brushing a chunk of his untidy black hair out of his face, Harry stared determinedly at the ceiling, willing himself to fall asleep. But he couldn't. Not after the events of the previous year.

The mattress creaked as Harry turned over onto his side, curling up into a ball. The prophecy echoed in his mind, but he pushed it away. He didn't want to think about that right now. After many hours of intense thinking about it that day, Harry's mind was going to burst, almost like it had during his Occlumency lessons with Snape.

Forcing thoughts of his greasy haired Potions teacher away, Harry's thoughts drifted to the skies just outside his window. As usual, there were no owls bringing him post. Dumbledore had obviously given Ron and Hermione strict orders not to write him over the summer, in case the Death Eaters, or Voldemort himself, intercepted them. Or, they had just plain forgotten about Harry.

They wouldn't, Harry scowled at himself. Ron and Hermione were his best friends, and they certainly wouldn't give up on him now, at such a vulnerable time...

"Sirius wouldn't have forgotten about me," Harry whispered into the darkness, then immediately cursed himself inwardly for speaking his dead godfather's name. A lump rose in his throat, and he cradled his head in his arms. A quiet sob echoed in the room.

Slowly, Harry finally cried himself to sleep, the memories of the Department of Mysteries flashing past his mind as he slept.

* * *

Harry awoke with horror to a tear stained pillowcase. Had he, yet again, spent the night mulling over things that he couldn't change? Would he be doing this until he arrived at Hogwarts? Or would he continue?

Harry pushed himself up out of bed (pausing only to grab his wand) and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above his dresser before opening the door to the corridor. He shivered at the image; deathly pale, thin enough that his ribs poked out too far, hair that needed a cutting...He was almost beginning to look like Snape, except for the dark patches of stubble along his jaw line and across his cheeks.

Dudley squeaked as Harry made his way into the kitchen. His piggy eyes were fixated on the slim piece of wood currently poking out from under the oversized shirt Harry was wearing.

"You're not supposed to have that with you in the house," Dudley said in a high-pitched voice, looking terrified. Crumbled pieces of half-eaten food dribbled out of the side of his mouth. Harry opened the refrigerator door, only half-listening to what Dudley was saying. "Mum and Dad said so."

"You think I care what they say?" Harry snapped. He poured himself a glass of milk with more vigour than intended, and some of it spilled onto the counter. Swearing under his breath, he pressed a blue washcloth into the liquid.

"Why are you so angry?" Dudley asked, dabbing his mouth with a napkin in an odd gesture of politeness. Most of the food still remained. "You're not usually this pissed off during the summer."

"Someone I love very much just died," Harry replied without realizing it. He had to stop and pinch himself sharply on his shin to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Was he actually telling Dudley his problems? He had trouble telling Hermione and Ron, his two best friends, about how he was feeling. Why would he bother talking to Dudley?

Dudley looked truly sympathetic. "I'm sorry. I've never had someone close to me die."

"It's really awful," said Harry quietly, taking the empty seat across from Dudley. "It really is."

"Who was it?" Dudley asked timidly.

"My godfather," Harry said shortly, his chest tightening. He took a sip of his milk, and crossed his arms on top of the table. "His name was Sirius Black, and he was my dad's best friend."

Dudley's eyes widened. "The murderer that was on the news three years ago?"

"He wasn't a murderer," said Harry angrily, slamming his fist down onto the table. Dudley squealed in surprise. "He was framed. The person he supposedly killed, who ultimately caused my parent's death, faked his own death."

Dudley's eyes were as big as saucers. "Is that person, the one who your--your godfather was framed for killing, is he named Wormtail?"

"How did you know?" Harry demanded sharply.

Dudley squirmed uncomfortably, his cheeks slightly pink. "When you yell in your sleep, you say something about him. And a Bellatrix person."

At the mention of Bellatrix Lestrange's name, Harry's teeth gritted together. Dudley noticed it with a confused expression.

"She was the one who killed Sirius," Harry said through his clamped jaw. Dudley's mouth dropped open. "He was her cousin, too. I'd like to kill her with my bare hands, twist her neck--"

"Harry!" interrupted Dudley as Harry made a violent gesture in the air with his hands. Harry glared at his cousin, but Dudley continued. "Even if she did murder your godfather, it's still not right to kill her. You know...two wrongs don't make a right..."

"But you don't understand, Dudley," Harry replied, completely taken by surprise by his cousin's comment. "She deserves to die. She hasn't just killed S-Sirius, she's cursed people into insanity--my friend, Neville, she did that to his parents--and she's probably killed loads of people, she's a Death Eater--"

"What's that?" Dudley cut in. Harry shot a glance at him, but to his surprise, Dudley looked eager to learn.

"Well," Harry began, drowning the rest of his milk, "a Death Eater is someone who is a servant to Voldemort, the Dark Lord. They have a mark on their left forearm to show their loyalty--it's a black skull, with a snake coming out of its mouth."

"What do they do?"

"Whatever Voldemort says," Harry answered. It felt odd to be explaining things in the wizarding world to his cousin, who, like his mother and father, disliked magic to the full extent. "Mostly it's either killing Muggles--non-magic folk--or just blowing stuff up and murdering innocent people." Harry looked down at his hands. "Or trying to find me."

"What do they want with you?" Dudley inquired, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean, you're just a regular w-wizard, like the rest of your people, right?"

Harry heaved a sigh. "No, Dudley, I'm not." He hesitated again, but continued, "Voldemort wants to kill me over all people."

Again, Dudley's mouth gaped open. "You? Why you? What's so special about you? No offense," he added hastily.

"It's complicated," Harry said uneasily. On instinct, he found himself looking over his shoulder for eavesdroppers. "I can't really say. I'm not exactly supposed to."

Dudley nodded. "It's top-secret, right?"

"Right."

They sat in silence for a couple of moments. Dudley opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say something, but an owl flew in from the kitchen window, hitting him on the back of his head sharply.

"I think that's for me," Harry apologized, taking the letter from the barn owl with care. "Thanks." It pecked at the back of Dudley's head before leaving, swooping out of the window.

"Is it a letter from your school?" Dudley asked curiously as Harry opened the envelope.

Harry shook his head. "Doesn't have the crest on it. I think it's from one of my friends."

"Can you read it out loud?" Dudley said, looking frightened. Harry stared at his cousin for a full minute before registering what he said.

"All right..." said Harry hesitantly. "I'll read it to you, if you really want to hear it."

Dear Harry,

It's Hermione writing. I'm so sorry I haven't been in touch with you very well this summer, Harry, but Dumbledore made me promise not to write until he said it was all right. There's a whole bunch of hexes, jinxes, and charms on this envelope, in case someone that wasn't you tried to open it. Dumbledore, Lupin, and Moody were working on them for hours.

You're probably wondering where I am right now, but I can't say. So, you know what that means.

Harry stopped at that, squeezing the letter tightly. Hermione was at number Twelve, Grimmauld Place? Sirius's old house?

Dudley seemed to notice that something was wrong, because he began to back away. Harry began to read again, and Dudley quickly returned.

Almost all of the Weasleys are here with me. Ginny's gone to visit Dean Thomas for the summer--much to Ron's fury--and is staying there until the beginning of term. Bill and Charlie are here as well, and they send their love. The twins wanted to send you a toilet seat, but Mrs. Weasley wouldn't let them. (You're probably wondering about Percy. Read about him in Ron's letter--it's also in the envelope.) Lupin and Tonks are also here. They both send big hugs.

I've got to be going now, and I hope I see you soon. Do write back--Ron and I miss you terribly.

Love,

Hermione

Harry finished reading and immediately began searching through the envelope for Ron's letter.

"You have a lot of people who care about you," Dudley said, looking at Hermione's letter. "Her, the Lupin man and Tonks woman we met at the train station, the entire family of redheads that blew up our living room two years ago--"

Harry interrupted Dudley by beginning to read Ron's letter.

Harry--

I'd ask how you're feeling, but I don't think you want yet another person asking you that question. I'm sure Hermione's letter was full of motherly advice, so I'll skip all that and move onto the good stuff.

Percy hasn't returned any owls. Dad's tried talking to him at the Ministry, but he acts as though he isn't there. You would think after all of last year, he would realize the truth...but that's Percy for you. A stuck up, follower of rules, way too ambitious person that probably belonged in Slytherin.

Hermione and I miss you lots. There isn't any Gryffindor Trio without you here, Harry. We're hoping we'll be able to see you soon--we asked Dumbledore, but all he said was that he couldn't make any promises. Oh, by the way, you'll be getting a visitor soon. No idea who. Dumbledore won't let me say. (He's reading over my shoulder to make sure I don't put anything in the letter I shouldn't.)

All the best,

Ron

"A visitor?" Harry mused, reading the letter again. Who was coming to Privet Drive? He hoped the mystery person was going to be Lupin; he hadn't seen his favourite ex-teacher--not to mention the other best friend of his late father and godfather--since he got off the train. "Who's going to be visiting me?"

"It isn't going to be the man with the scary revolving eye, is it?" Dudley asked fearfully, twisting his large hands together.

"Probably not," Harry replied, the image of Mad-Eye Moody popping into his head. A faint grin flitted across his features as he thought of Mad-Eye visiting Privet Drive. "Ron's making it sound important, and I don't think this a routine check-up or something."

"Who could it be?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably Dumbledore. Hopefully Lupin."

* * *

Harry let his head fall back onto the deep cushions of the new couch in the living room, bought by Uncle Vernon's promotion. It reminded him strangely of the armchairs by the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Which meant that it felt like home. Which also meant that it was strange to consider something at Number Four, Privet Drive, home.

It had been a day since Harry had received the letters from Ron and Hermione, and he was anxiously awaiting the visitor's arrival. Harry sincerely hoped that the person was going to be Lupin, who was the only other person who had been hit with Sirius's death so hard.

Swallowing the weight in his throat, Harry turned to look out the window for what had to be the hundredth time. The streetlights were still on, which meant that the visitor either didn't have a Put-Outer, or just wasn't there yet. There were no footsteps on the front porch, no people flying on broomsticks in the night skies, and no wand sparks.

Harry heaved a sigh, and glanced into the kitchen. His Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were happily crunching away on pieces of apple pie, while Dudley was out 'having tea', meaning he was beating up little kids on street corners.

Harry turned on the television to wait. He flicked through the channels aimlessly, finally deciding on a movie. His eyes began to droop as the people droned on and on, and the remote control dropped from his hand...

An abrupt banging on the door jerked Harry awake. He stole a quick look at his watch, and noticed that he had taken an hour worth of a nap. Snoring from the upper floor concluded that the Dursleys were asleep.

Taking out his wand, Harry crept to the front door. He peered through the glass, trying to get a glimpse at the person standing on the small porch. From what he could tell, the person was probably male. That was about it.

Harry carefully took the doorknob, turning it slowly and holding out his wand in front of him. With one quick twist, he wrenched the door open.

For one wild moment, Harry was sure the man standing in front of him was Sirius.

He was tall and thin, a hood of a cloak hiding a mess of shoulder-length black hair. His hand was stuffed in his pocket, presumably clutching the handle on his wand. He kept glancing over his shoulder, as though expecting someone to jump out behind him. The rain outside left droplets of water clinging to his robes. Harry stood gaping, unable to speak.

His dreams shattered when the man spoke.

"I do not appreciate being goggled at, Potter."

Harry took one look at the man under the cloak, and slammed the door shut. He kept his wand tip at the door. What was Snape doing at Privet Drive?

There was some intensive cursing on the other side of the door (which Harry stored away for later use), and a muttered spell. Snape walked through the door, and kicked it shut with a booted foot. He tossed his cloak into the corner, and turned around to face Harry.

"What are you doing here?" said Harry rudely, keeping his wand pointed at Snape's chest. He had promised himself he would never, ever forgive Snape for what he had done, and he wasn't going to start breaking said promise now. "Come to tell me more stories about my father, Snivellus? Or about calling my dead godfather a coward to really add some flavour to it?"

"Potter, I did not ask to come here," Snape replied through tightly clenched teeth. He couldn't ignore his childhood nickname; a faint pink flush appeared in his cheeks, which Harry noted with glee. "Dumbledore has requested that I spend a couple of days here at Privet Drive."

Harry almost dropped his wand in shock. "You? You're my visitor? I thought it was going to be Lupin!"

"Rest assured, I did not beg," said Snape curtly.

"Well, what does Dumbledore want you to do, then?" Harry challenged, folding his arms over his chest.

"I am here to teach you Occlumency," Snape answered, his dark eyes glittering. "Yet again," he added with a sneer.

"No," Harry said forcefully, backing into the living room. "I won't."

"Yes, Potter, you will," said Snape icily. He sat down on the couch that Harry had been napping on previously, slouching down so he looked more like a sullen fifteen-year-old, rather than a thirty-ish teacher. "Dumbledore's orders."

"Why should I?" Harry shot back. He remained standing. "Tell me why I should continue to have my mind poked at over and over again, and you won't even tell me how to block it out! Why should I bother? You don't want to teach me this, and I don't want to learn it from you!"

"If you had bothered to learn it, Potter," Snape spat, the colour in his face draining, "then perhaps Black would still be alive!"

Harry's muscles tensed. By Snape's triumphant look, his fury was showing in his face.

"Well," Harry began, his voice dripping with dislike, "if a certain teacher had bothered to tell his student how to actually learn it, then maybe Sirius would be alive!"

"If a certain student wouldn't poke his nose into a certain teacher's business, then maybe he would have learned it!"

"I don't have time for this," Harry snapped, the grip on his wand white-knuckled. "I'm going to go owl Dumbledore now, and you're going to leave."

"What right do you have to order me around, Potter?" Snape retorted. He had jumped to his feet. "You still have to stay here, where as I can go wherever I please."

Harry turned on his heel and stalked out of the living room, heading for the stairs. Before he could reach them, however, Snape bellowed, "Legilimens!"

Harry fell to the floor, his knees scraping against the worn carpet as memories flashed past. He was standing in Umbridge's class, saying the truth about Voldemort's return...Lucius Malfoy was sneering from under his mask, his hand out as he demanded for Harry to give him the prophecy...Sirius took a Stunning Spell to the chest, and he fell into the veil...Harry tried to hold onto the memory before it disappeared, it had been so long since he had seen his godfather's face in detail--

Then it was gone. Harry blinked his eyes, trying to erase the memory out of his mind. Wiping his eyes, he picked his wand up off the floor, and managed to stand up clumsily. He held onto the banister tightly, trying to force his weak legs to support him. Snape was standing in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You see that, Potter?" Snape hissed. Harry watched the front door with hope. This all had to be a bad joke. "You're lucky I took the spell off of you before your memories spilled out onto a puddle on the floor! You are doing just as well as you did at Hogwarts, and that isn't much. The Dark Lord will be able to kill you in a mere second!"

"Why would you care?" Harry muttered, taking a seat on the steps. He noticed that he was shaking slightly. "You'd like it if I were to die, wouldn't you?"

"I wouldn't wish death on you, Potter," Snape replied coolly. He raised his wand. "Get up. We're trying this again."

"But it's the middle of the night!" Harry protested, glaring at Snape from behind his dark fringe. "And I didn't agree to this!"

"Up."

Grudgingly, Harry got up off the stairs.

"Good. Now, at Hogwarts, you used your wand to take the spell off you. However, that uses a lot of energy, as I'm sure you already know. I want you to put your wand on the floor."

Harry stared at Snape as though he were mad. Put his wand on the floor? Unarmed, with Snape in front of him, in the darkness of the Dursleys' home? Had Snape gone completely mad?

Harry must have voiced his last thought, because Snape was shaking his head. "No, Potter. I'm not insane. Your wand on the floor, please."

Harry bent down and dropped his wand. It rolled down the hardwood floors, stopping at the wall. He felt a slight twinge in his chest; without his wand, he was powerless.

"All right, Potter. Now, when the spell hits you, do not watch the memories. Look away. Think of something else. Eventually, you will be able to push it all away."

"Is that how it works?" Harry said curiously. "All this time, I just had to push it away?"

Snape looked grim as he rolled up his sleeves. "It's one way of learning Occlumency, but it takes a lot of hard work. Most wizards can't do it." He said the last phrase clearly, implying that Harry wouldn't be able to master Occlumency. "You remember the drill, do you not?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly, and closed his eyes. He tried to calm his shaking limbs; the corridor was cold, despite the warm summer breeze that was floating through the open window.

"One--two--three--Legilimens!"

The spell hit Harry enough to knock him off his feet. He felt the stairs digging into his back awkwardly as memories flew past his eyes. Harry tried to block it off, but his eyes were still fixated on a detention with Umbridge, where he had used the quill that carved words into the back of his hand. He winced; the pain had begun flowing through his hand at the memory.

The spell was jerked off of him. Harry immediately opened his eyes, and realizing his hand was curled onto the stair in pain. He glanced down at his right hand, and saw the faint white scar of I must not tell lies marked on the back of his palm. Shivering, Harry looked up at his teacher, who was paler than normal.

"Potter," Snape said, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, "why didn't you tell anyone that Dolores Umbridge was using that quill?"

Remembering that eye contact was useful in Legilimency, Harry looked down at his trainers. "If I said anything, I probably would have gotten expelled. Or gotten Dumbledore suspended earlier. Or anything equally awful."

Harry chanced a look, and cringed. Snape looked as furious as he had been when Harry had accessed his memories, without permission, in his Pensieve.

"That sort of quill is hard to find, even in Knockturn Alley," said Snape quietly. "The only other person I know of who has it is Lucius Malfoy. I can't recall the name of it, but it's Dark Magic."

Harry traced the scar with his index finger. "Great. Now I've got another Dark scar on me."

"You seem to attract them. Tell me, she used this quill for every detention you did with her?"

"Yes," Harry mumbled.

"Did you do anything to numb the pain?" Snape asked. He sounded concerned, which baffled Harry to a high extent.

"Yes," Harry repeated. "After one of them it was bleeding really badly, and Hermione gave me a bowl of murtlap essence. It helped a lot, sir."

"Good thing someone pays attention in my class," muttered Snape. Harry noticed that his left arm was shaking slightly. "Dumbledore should have left her in the forest with the centaurs. Would have done us all a favour."

Snape swore loudly. His wand was in his belt, and he was holding onto the area where the Dark Mark was burned into his skin tightly. He closed his eyes, his knuckles white.

"Er, Professor..." Harry began hesitantly. "Is there something I can do...?"

"No," Snape said through gritted teeth. Beads of sweat were appearing on his forehead. "It's the Dark Mark. I didn't join my fellow Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, so I'm being punished."

"But doesn't he have to touch another Dark Mark to do it, sir?" Harry inquired hesitantly. He remembered Voldemort touching the Dark Mark on Wormtail's arm during the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, and that brought the rest of the Death Eaters to him. "I thought all of them were in Azkaban now."

"Yes. It's probably Wormtail. The Dark Lord wouldn't do it to Bella. She's his favourite." Snape winced again.

"Why doesn't Vol--sorry--Dark Lord just use the Cruciatus Curse?" Harry pressed on. "That causes enough pain."

Snape gave a shaky laugh. "The Dark Lord knows I've had enough of that, Potter. What do you think I did after your fourth year? How else was I to get in the Dark Lord's inner circle? I was tortured all summer. And every weekend during the year. I'm almost immune to it by now."

Harry flinched at the thought of the Cruciatus Curse being used on him weekly. The curse had been used on him before, but only for a few seconds. Perhaps Snape was a lot stronger than he thought. "So...you're back with them, then?"

"After a lot of bluffing, yes." Snape looked to be a bit more relaxed; his arm wasn't trembling as much. "I promised him you. And Dumbledore. I'm the only one close enough to both of you. Of course, I'm not even supposed to be allowed in this house. The Headmaster had to take down a couple of wards to allow me in."

Harry began to question about the wards, but a surprised shriek at the top of the stairs caused him to jump up. He knelt down by the floor, grabbed his wand, and pointed it blindly in front of him.

There was a snort. "Potter, you're as jumpy as Mad-Eye. It's your cousin. Name's Dudley, correct?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, feeling his face burn up. He had been too jumpy; after all, he was safe in the Dursleys house. As long as Aunt Petunia was there with him, he was perfectly safe. Voldemort couldn't touch him at Privet Drive. "Dudley, it's all right. It's just one of my teachers."

Dudley clicked on the light, and Harry blinked to get used to the blinding florescent light. He looked at his cousin, who was glancing between Snape and Harry with confusion.

"What's he doing here?" Dudley whimpered. He was holding onto the banister tightly, as though he were afraid he was going to fall. "That isn't the Lupin man, is it? Because if it is, he looks a lot different."

Snape snorted. "I never thought the day would come when someone would confuse me for Remus Lupin."

"Who is he?" Dudley pressed on.

"This is Snape--sorry," Harry added hastily at Snape's dark glare. "This is Professor Snape."

"What does he teach?" Dudley asked, beginning to walk down the stairs. He flinched as Snape withdrew his wand again.

"Potions," Harry answered. "Kind of like chemistry."

Dudley nodded. "Is he checking up on you, or something?"

"I don't know," Harry said truthfully. "He, er, just showed up a few minutes ago. I think he's going to be staying."

"Not if I can help it," Snape muttered under his breath.

"Do you want me to go get Mum?" Dudley said, recoiling back as Snape spoke. "Or Dad?"

"I dunno," Harry said, looking at Snape. "Professor?"

Snape made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Go get your parents. If they don't want to get out of bed, I can do it for them."

Dudley squeaked in fear, and sprinted with surprising agility for one so large to his parent's room.

An awkward silence followed Dudley's hasty retreat. Harry turned to his teacher, asking, "Who's at...er, the headquarters?"

"All of the Weasleys, minus Percy and Charlie," Snape began, ticking people off on his fingers, "Granger, and Lupin. People drop by occasionally, for dinner and such. But that's who is living there at the moment."

Harry nodded. "Do you think I could write something for Ron and Hermione, and then you could bring it back to them? I can't use Hedwig, because she attracts too much attention. And I think Voldemort knows who my owl is."

Snape jerked horribly when Harry spoke Voldemort's name, but he spoke as though nothing had happened. "Lupin thought of the same thing...I've got a bundle of letters in my cloak. Don't get them now," he ordered when Harry moved to the corner. "We must have a small chat with your aunt and uncle first."

As though on cue, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon padded down the stairs, looking tired and confused. Dudley followed behind them, looking pleased that he been able to awake them.

"What's the meaning of this?" Uncle Vernon snarled as he yanked bits of his moustache out angrily. Petunia backed away, one of her bony hands gripping her son's shoulder. "We have been treating the Potter boy fine, he gets his meals--though he never eats them--there's no reason to awake myself and my wife!"

"Who are you?" Aunt Petunia demanded, leering somewhere over Harry's shoulder. He followed her gaze, and noticed that Snape had shrunk back into the corner with his cloak. He stepped into the light so she could see him. Petunia took one look at him and let out a cry.

"I know you!" she shrieked, pointing an unnaturally long fingernail at Snape, who was grimacing. "You always visited Lily during the summer! You did something to my nose!"

"I cursed your nose hair into ringlets," Snape muttered. Harry tried to suppress a snort, but failed miserably. Snape glared at him again, and he closed his mouth abruptly.

"And gave her that necklace that bit people!" Aunt Petunia finished dramatically.

"It bit everyone but Lily," Snape said, his arms crossed over his chest. "I assume you tried to steal it, and it tried to bite you the moment you attempted to put it on. She did say that it was missing for a couple of days, but somehow it was returned."

Harry was staring at Snape, thoughts swirling in his mind. He had given his mother a necklace? Snape had visited his mother? It didn't make sense...In the Pensieve, Snape had called Lily a Mudblood, implying that he was just about as kind and thoughtful as Draco Malfoy. So why did they exchange gifts? Were they friends? Sirius and Lupin had never said anything about that, and neither had Dumbledore. But no one ever told him anything, anyway, and Harry doubted that he could find it out from them.

Uncle Vernon was stuttering while he looked at Snape, a horrified expression on his face. "A-are you a v-vampire?" he finally managed to say.

Snape's face twisted. "No, Dursley, I'm not." He gave Uncle Vernon another venomous glare before saying, "Dumbledore has requested that I stay here for a few days, then I'm taking him away."

"Why?" Uncle Vernon spat.

"Why do you care?" Harry demanded. "I thought you really didn't care what happened to me, considering you made me live in a cupboard until I was eleven."

Snape turned to Harry. "They made you live in a cupboard?"

Harry nodded. "That one." He pointed to the door just below the stairs, behind Dudley.

"And I thought my parents were bad," Snape snorted, and turned back to the Dursleys. He reached into his pocket, pulled out an official looking paper, and thrust it into Uncle Vernon's hand.

"Under the orders of Albus Dumbledore, current Headmaster of Hogwarts, I am here to stay," Snape said with an oily tone. "At least until next week. Then Potter's coming back with me to the school."

Harry tried to hide a groan. A week? With Snape? Why had Dumbledore done this to him?

Uncle Vernon seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Harry, as he was beginning to look furious.

"This Dumbly person does not have any right to order myself or my family around," Uncle Vernon growled.

Snape took a step closer, his hand in his pocket. "If it weren't for Dumbledore, Dursley," he hissed, withdrawing his wand and pointing it between Uncle Vernon's eyes, "you wouldn't even be alive. Yes, your wife's blood protects Potter, but that does nothing to save your skin. Watch what you're saying, or the wards around this house will 'accidentally' fall."

Uncle Vernon sputtered, but no true words left his mouth. Snape placed his wand back in his pocket, looking satisfied.

"Now," he began, surveying the Dursley's with loathing, "I believe that it is time for you to return to your beds." He waited, but the Dursleys didn't move. "Now."

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia scampered up the stairs, whispering frantically to one another. Dudley remained at the foot of the stairs.

"Are you going to be all right, Harry?" Dudley muttered, his eyes flicking between Harry and Snape.

"Yeah," said Harry, nodding. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

As Dudley trudged up the staircase, Harry turned to Snape. "Can I see the letters from my friends, please?"

"Yes," said Snape grudgingly. He reached into his cloak, and pulled out a stack of letters. They were bound together with a piece of string.

Harry felt a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He picked the first one off the pile, stopped, turned to Snape, and asked, "Why did Ron and Hermione bother sending me a letter by post if you were going to bring these?"

"Decoy," Snape answered. He began walking into the living room, and Harry followed. "To see if the Dark Lord, or his Death Eaters, would try to intercept them."

"Did they?" Harry asked.

"Yes. They were actually sent from the Burrow, making the Dark Lord believe that was where headquarters were. That's why the letters were all babble, except for the visitor part, but he already knew that people were going be visiting you this summer," said Snape. He was sitting on the couch, his legs stretched out onto the coffee table. "He wasn't very pleased when the minute he opened the letter, he turned into a chicken."

Harry allowed himself a small smile, picturing high and mighty Lord Voldemort being turned into a chicken.

"One of Fred and George's new tricks," Snape continued. "It worked perfectly. We never thought of using their items to confuse the Dark Lord."

Harry nodded, and fingered the stack of letters.

"Potter, I didn't bring you those letters just so you could look at them."

"Right," Harry said quickly, and sat down in the nearest armchair. He undid the string, and took the first envelope. It was thicker than usual.

"To Harry, from Remus," Harry murmured, reading the script on the front of the envelope.

Dear Harry,

I can picture you reading this; sitting in your room, (or the living room); the Dursleys completely scared out of their minds; Severus looking as grumpy as he always does; you, not feeling like you want to spend the rest of your week with the Potions Master. I wouldn't worry too much; I'm sure the feeling is mutual.

I wish I could be talking to you face-to-face, rather than talking out loud to my Dictating Quill that Molly got me for my birthday last year. I know you're probably not very happy that it's Severus at Privet Drive, and not someone more (Here, there were lots of crossed out words and scribbles) kindly. But Dumbledore believes it's for the best.

Have you been receiving the Daily Prophet? If not, I'll be sure to set up a subscription for you; they're actually writing real news and not the load of (More cross outs) lies they were writing before. Although they still haven't truly apologized for what they had done last year, it's still a connection to the wizarding world I'm sure you miss.

Look in the rest of the envelope. There's a paper in there that is very important. Don't lose it, and if you do, try not to forget what's in it.

I'll let everyone else tell you what's going on around here, as I'm sure you don't want to read the same things over and over again. Enjoy your summer the best you can. I'm available by Floo Powder (at Grimmauld Place) if anything goes wrong, or if you just feel the need for a chat.

Remus

Harry finished reading the letter, and set it aside.

"I wonder what this could be," he muttered to himself as he pulled out an

official-looking note from the envelope. It had a Gringotts seal on it.

Dear Mr. Harry J. Potter,

Your attendance is required at Gringotts Bank on July 22nd to discuss Mr. Sirius Black's will. Your guardians are not required to attend, though it is suggested that an adult accompany you. Please be prompt and arrive at 8:00am in the Third Meeting Room.

Sincerely,

Olivia Swee

The bottom of Harry's stomach dropped out. Discuss Sirius's will? In two days? With, considering he had no idea who the author of the letter was, a complete stranger? Well, he could take someone along with him, so there was some sort of plus to it.

"Do you know who Olivia Swee is?" Harry asked Snape, who was slouching into the sofa.

"Potter, what was it that I said about calling me sir?"

"Do you know who Olivia Swee is, sir?"

"She works for Gringotts and the Ministry," Snape answered, his eyes flicking to the staircase. It looked as though he was trying to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "When someone dies, she makes sure the right person gets their money."

Harry nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat, and began opening the next letter.

After a span of about forty-five minutes, Harry learned what had been going on the past month. Percy, like Ron's fake letter, still hadn't returned any owls to the Weasleys; Fudge was still a fool--though he had realized Voldemort was back, he still refused to believe Sirius was innocent; Fred and George had rented a place in Diagon Alley, and were getting ready for their grand opening; Voldemort had killed no less than fifty Muggles in the last week alone; None of the Death Eaters had escaped Azkaban, though the Dementors had left.

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair. Although it was good to get letters from his friends, he still felt empty. He hadn't truly seen Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, everyone else; he only had their handwriting.

Harry glanced at Snape. To his surprise, the Potions Master was asleep, sprawled over the couch. His mouth was open slightly.

"Er, Professor?" Harry whispered.

Snape grunted in his sleep, but did not awake.

Harry silently walked back up to his room, clutching his letters underneath his arm.