AN: Hello everyone...a new fic from me, a HP one this time. My inspiration's been all over the place lately, and I'm jumping from working on one story to working on another, but I have finished the first story arc of this one at least, so I can now post it without having to worry that I will leave you hanging in the middle of something unresolved (like I did with some of my other stories, ehm. Sorry about that.)

I think think it's fair to say that this story was probably influenced quite a lot by The Best Revenge by Arsinoe de Blassenville, my favourite "Harry's life changes when someone else gets him from the Dursleys" story. So go read that if you haven't.

Also, I have a favour to ask: could you please check out this survey about HP fanfiction? I need it for a paper I'm writing...it's fully anonymous. Thanks in advance! Here's the link (just take away the spaces), or you can find it on top of my profile page: forms/FQuqpzABTv

And of course, I don't own a thing. Or a character.

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Harry Potter was sweeping snow from the front lane of number four, Privet Drive when he noticed a stranger approaching the door. He obligingly moved out of the way, but instead of continuing, the stranger stopped when he saw him, and looked at him in a very curious fashion. Now that he could see him up close, Harry noticed that the man was very well dressed and seemed quite rich, if his fur-trimmed coat was anything to judge by.

He kept staring.

Harry was getting rather unnerved by the time he spoke, and then it turned to shock when the man said: "You are Harry Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," he almost stammered.

"What are you doing out in this cold?" The stranger asked.

"Sweeping the path, sir."

Harry could almost sense the man refraining from rolling his eyes. "Yes, I can see that. But why is it you doing this? And in such flimsy clothes, too."

"It's my job to do it," Harry explained helpfully.

"Who says that?" The questions continued.

"My aunt, sir."

"Well, then I will simply have to have a word with your aunt," the man said and moved to approach the door.

"Oh no, please, sir, don't!" Harry begged. "I would get in so much trouble for complaining!"

"It appears, from what I hear, that it will rather be your aunt who will get in trouble." And Harry was powerless to stop him as he knocked on the door.

It was opened by Aunt Petunia, who took the stranger in with one look and put on her pleasantest smile as she said: "Good afternoon, may I help you?"

"I hope so. You are Petunia Dursley."

"Yes. And you are...?"

"Alduin Travers. May I come in?"

"Of course, Mr Travers, though I don't quite see..." Petunia trailed off, stepping back to allow the man entrance.

Curious, Harry followed inside. Aunt Petunia took her unexpected guest to the living room. "Can I get you some tea?"

"That would be pleasant, thank you," the stranger assented, taking off his gloves and sitting down.

"Boy!" Petunia shouted, noticing Harry in the hall. "Make tea for us."

As Harry bustled with the preparations, he heard the conversation from the living room. "I take it," the stranger was saying, "that the boy is not your son."

"No indeed. He's my orphaned nephew." The distaste in Petunia's voice was clear.

"I see." The man paused. "I confess I was surprised to see him working outside in such cold."

Harry could imagine Aunt Petunia shrugging as she said: "Some chores will do him no harm. He is so spoiled, always expecting to get everything for free!"

"Is he now." This time, Harry imagined a raised eyebrow on the man's face. He seemed like the type to raise eyebrows. "Has he done something particularly troubling recently?"

"Oh no, not especially. He is a generally troublesome boy."

"Because, you see," the man continued in a questioning tone, "I was wondering if this sweeping snow in so little clothes and preparing tea was a form of punishment."

Aunt Petunia paused. "I am sorry, sir," and her tone was sharper now, "but I still do not see what you are doing here – meaning no offense," she added at the end, on the off chance that he really was someone important.

"None taken," he replied, sounding almost amused. "You see..." he paused, and waited for Harry to come with the tea things before saying: "I am here because of Harry Potter."

Harry was astonished, and Petunia was immediately nervous and on her guard. "On what business?" She asked aggressively.

The man smiled a very tight smile. "I am his first cousin, once removed."

Harry's mouth fell open, and Aunt Petunia actually jumped up from her chair. "Are you...are you one of them?"

"I am unsure what you mean by that, but if you are asking whether I am a wizard, then yes, I certainly am."

Aunt Petunia actually shrieked. "Get out of my house!" She shouted then.

"My dear madam, I am afraid it won't be quite as easy. I have seen some disturbing things here, and I will not leave until they have been clarified." He turned to Harry. "Now, come here and tell me, what chores exactly are you expected to do?"

"It isn't too bad," Harry answered, not wanting to sound like he was whining. "I do the dishes and vacuum clean and do the garden, and I make breakfast, and I clean the bathrooms and wipe the dust."

"I see." The man appeared to ponder it. "And what about the other members of the household?"

"Well, Aunt Petunia cooks and does everything connected to the laundry and washes the floors and the windows, and does the shopping...that is all, I think." He paused. "Dudley or Uncle Vernon don't do any housework," he clarified. It seemed obvious to him, but perhaps the man didn't know.

"Thank you." Mr. Travers turned back to Aunt Petunia. "A little unequal, don't you think?"

"How I run things in my own house is none of your business," Petunia answered, but Harry could see she was worried.

"Now that is not entirely true," the man pointed out, again with that tight smile that contained very little mirth. "As I have said, I am Harry Potter's relative."

"If you don't like what we have done for him, you are welcome to take him and leave. We give him a roof over his head and keep him fed, he should be grateful to us." Harry privately thought that when it came to being kept fed, it wasn't so great, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Quite." The man turned back to Harry. "Your Aunt's suggestion has some merit, however. Would you be willing to leave with me?"

Harry hesitated. He hated it in Privet Drive, but even he knew one shouldn't just leave with strange men. "Are you really my cousin?"

"Yes. My mother was your father's aunt. Rowan Travers, née Potter."

Harry wondered what it would have been like to have an aunt from his father's side, not just Petunia and Marge, who wasn't really his aunt at all anyway. But there was something else that had caught his attention before. "And what did you mean by saying you were a wizard?"

The man blinked, then turned to Aunt Petunia. "You mean he doesn't know?"

Petunia bristled. "Certainly not, and if he is to stay under my roof, you will not tell him."

"Tell me what?" Now Harry was getting really curious.

"You heard your Aunt, Mr. Potter. I am afraid I cannot answer your question properly unless you agree with me...I can, however, show you." And before Aunt Petunia had time to do something, the stranger pulled out a thin piece of wood from under his jacket and waved it in the air – and suddenly he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Wow," Harry said, "how did you do that?"

The man almost smirked. "I'm afraid that explaining would violate your Aunt's direct instruction. You are free to make your own hypothesis, however."

"A magic trick, right?" He had never seen a magician before, but he had heard about them, naturally.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Perhaps another demonstration is in order?" And Harry felt himself rising in the air.

"Stop it!" Aunt Petunia shouted. "I will not have one of you in my house, I will not."

"Ah, my dear madam, but you already have, you have had for ages." Was it only Harry, or was there some malicious enjoyment in the man's tone?

"No!" Petunia's voice was becoming louder and louder. "We agreed, my husband and I, when we took him in, that he will get the nonsense out of him."

The man's features lost the last traces of good humour. "I see." He said. "Well, Mr. Potter, I believe it's time to make up your mind. Will you leave with me?"

"What happens if I do?" Harry asked, still unsure.

"Likely, you would move to my house," the man explained. "Apart from that, not much would have to change, at least for the following six months. Then, you would leave for your new school - Hogwarts."

"And living with you...what would it be like?"

"I cannot fully answer that, since it depends on you too. But you would have your own room, enough food and clothes, and if you wished me to, I would leave you alone."

Harry was undecided – could he really trust this man? But on the other hand, this seemed like too good an opportunity to pass. He might never have another chance to get out of Privet Drive in his life. He contemplated this, but before he got far, Aunt Petunia took a deep breath and said: "Leave right now and take him with you. You have told him too much already."

That rather seemed to clench the matter, and so Harry turned to Mr. Travers and said: "Yes, I will go with you."

"Pack your things, then."

Harry headed to his cupboard, and as the stranger followed him to the hall, Harry was startled by his sharp question: "What are you doing there?"

"Packing my things, sir," Harry replied from where he was trying to gather all his belongings – not that there were many.

"Why are your things in a cupboard under the stairs?"

"This is where I sleep, sir," Harry replied, emerging from it.

Mr. Travers quickly whipped around to face Aunt Petunia, who squeaked. "This is not the last you see of me, Petunia Dursley," he said in a very menacing tone of voice. "I have an uncle which I think I would like you to meet..." The he turned back to Harry, and said sharply: "Come."

Harry was wondering if he had made the right choice, but then again, had there really been any choice, in the end?