Rating: PG-13
Pairings: AD/MM, H/G and R/H (maybe on the last two)
Categories: Drama, General
Warning: Uhm...I suppose there's some child abuse mentions/scenes in here, but nothing seriously awful.
A/N: So, I'm back. This is actually a redone story that was half written way before the release of HBP, so it's AU now because of that tragic book. I'm sort of putting this out here to see if anyone's interested. Hopefully a few of you are. This has a lot of AD/MM in it, so if you don't ship this, it might rock your boat a little. With all that said, I'll get on to the main event. Read on!

I don't like it Albus. I don't like it one tiny bit!" I snap, in a voice I normally save for misbehaving students.

Albus Dumbledore sits at the dining room table with me, sipping his tea, the twinkle gone from his eyes. With a slow look at me from across the table, he takes a deep breath and begins.

"Minerva-"

I don't want to hear it. The proverbially straw has drifted gently down and positively crushed the camel's spine. "Don't even start with me, Albus!" I cry, shaking my finger at him for emphasis. "'Harry is safer there, Minerva, it's for the best Minerva, he's fine, Minerva!' Well let me tell you, you old coot, that is simply utter foolishness, and I will not stand for it any longer! Even Alastor is worried, for Merlin's sake, Albus!" Perhaps calling him an old coot is a bit below the belt, but his empty reasonings have gotten on my last nerve.

Albus smiles at me gently, seemingly amused by my tirade. I'm not impressed. "If you will kindly listen to an 'old coot' for a moment, Minerva-"

"I will not! Every time you talk, Albus, I find the word 'yes' popping out of my mouth, or find my tongue so tied and my brain so warbled I can't form any response at all! I don't know what it is you do, Albus, but you shall not stop me this time!" I pause here to take a breath, but hurry on before Albus can speak a syllable in his dangerously soothing voice.

"Mr. Potter has not replied to letters in a week and a half, Albus. We have heard no word from him, and Order Members have seen no sign of him at that house. Something is most definitely wrong! Whether he is simply grieving over the death of Sirius, or scared out of his wits at the prospect of what's been set before him, Albus, no one is doing him any good where he is staying!

"For fifteen years I've listened to your absent-minded ramblings and constant twittering! You say it is the best place for him, and he is fine, but he is obviously not fine, and I can think of several places better for him, and one place safer! So I have decided, Albus, since you will obviously do nothing of the sort! I am taking matters into my own hands! I am bringing the boy to his godmother's house, where the blood of his mother still protects him through designated bond! Why you will not let it happen, I do not know, and I no longer care! I am retrieving Mr. Potter tonight, and there is nothing you can do about it!" Finished, I sit back, crossing my arms over my chest in a manner which I know must look childishly defiant, but I am determined to get my point across once and for all. If you were to ask one of my students, they would very likely tell you that rule number one in my classes are to take my word most seriously, or the consequences will be highly unpleasant. Albus, however, never has been one to follow the rules as others see them, and begins to chuckle softly, the sound eventually developing into an all out laugh. "What, pray tell, is so very amusing?"

He calms himself after a moment, but, with a glance at me, I can see another laugh rising to the surface. I narrow my eyes in warning. Coughing subtly, he forces it away, and says with annoying calm, "Well, that saves me from having to give you my speech! A very dull one it was to be, too, all about how though Harry may be uncomfortable staying with his godmother and her admittedly…'eccentric' husband, it is for the best, as Harry's life is more important than our war-game." He chuckles again at what I'm sure must be an utterly gob-smacked expression on my face. I find his thought tendencies down-right eerie sometimes, particularly when they coincide precisely with mine. This will not, however, stifle the sudden excitement and joy I feel at having his approval for what I want to do.

"So it's settled then, Albus? I retrieve him tonight?" I ask, my giddiness creeping into my voice against my will.

Albus shakes his head very seriously at me, causing my heart to plummet momentarily, before he speaks. "We retrieve him tonight, Minerva. Now, if it suites you. I only hope he will not mind me staying here, after the events of last spring…" I don't wait to hear any more, rising from the table and pulling him into a very tight hug before he has the chance to blink. He gives me an amused look. "Well, hello. Come to apologize to 'the old coot'?" Never let it be said that Albus Dumbledore does not give as good as he gets.

I smile at him, leaning close to whisper in his ear, "No, but I will tell you this. I knew there was a reason I married you…even if you remain an old coot."

He laughs and kisses me gently on the lips, before replying, "Touché, M'dear, touché."

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Fifteen minutes later, my feet hit warm cement as Albus and I arrive on the familiar well-trimmed sidewalk of Privet Drive. Albus, who is invisible beside me, wrapped safely in his invisibility cloak, returns the Portkey (a maroon sock) to his pocket. It was decided by the both of us that it would be best if Harry only deals with me when I first retrieve him, as Albus remains certain that the boy still holds anger towards him. I disagree, but can say nothing to change my husbands mind on the matter.

We pause for a moment, and I take a look around. It hasn't changed a bit in the almost fifteen years since I last sat perched on the edge of the road. I find the very thought unnerving. As obsessive about neatness and order as I may seem to my students, I find this pristine little neighborhood decidedly foreboding. Nothing should stay set for so long: it takes all the color out of life.

We walk down the sidewalk, along a row of perfectly kept, completely identical houses, toward our goal : the residence of number 4, Privet Drive.

I can still remember the first time I laid eyes on it, that Halloween Day all those years ago. It had been sunny, and unseasonably warm – a day made for celebration.

And that's exactly what it had been. For all, it seemed, except myself. Looking back on it now, I realize it was most likely no party for young Black either, but the rest of the world was abuzz with excitement, for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been conquered. Conquered by The-Boy-Who-Lived. Conquered by Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Was-Now-An-Orphan.

But it seemed that no one had considered that. There was no mourning for Lily and James Potter, only rejoicing that their death's were the last to be brought about by the Dark Lord. No one cared that a charismatic young man, and a brilliant, loving young woman had been wiped off the face of the earth.

I knew James and Lilly Potter better than anyone today would dare imagine. I was, in fact, the third person to hold Harry, after his mother and father, and before Sirius swept him up into his own arms, looking as though he was the father instead of James.

Lilly's own parents had been killed in a car accident in her fourth year, leaving her in the care of twenty year old Petunia Evans, her older sister. Petunia, as I learned, was so consumed by jealousy of Lily, that she kicked her out of the house. At the end of Lily's fifth year, she had nowhere to go to for the summer holidays. And so, I took her in myself.

She was a good deal like Hermione Granger, if a tad less bushy-haired. Once she buried the hatchet with James, her humor could pop up in surprising places, startlingly witty, and so utterly dry that I was never entirely sure whether to laugh or not. She was one of the most compassionate people I have ever met.

Albus and I had not been married until we were too far on in years to deal with raising a child. I never officially adopted Lily, but she was as close to a daughter as anything I had come to know. Would ever know.

I got to know James almost as well; his father had been a fervent supporter of the Dark Arts, as slippery as Lucius Malfoy in his dealings. James did not hold with his principles, perhaps one of the reasons he was so nasty to Severus in their youth. I grew as fond of him as Lily, over time.

They both knew of my marriage to Albus. James had quite a bit of fun with the news, but faithfully never told Black or Lupin. Lucky for us all, he never told Pettigrew.

Both were killed when they were twenty four.

So you must forgive me if I did not celebrate on that day so long ago, and that coming back here now is not so pleasant for me. The only thought that gives me any joy at all about this place is that I will soon be able to take Harry away from it for good.

As we pass Number 2, a comforting if not visible hand come to rest on my shoulder, and Albus says quietly, "You ought to wear muggle clothing more often, Minerva, it suits you." His voice trails off in an amused tone, and I refuse to dignify his jibe with a response, first because we both know that I am not at all fond of muggle clothing, and secondly because I feel a bit stupid responding to what appears to be thin air. Predictably, Albus chuckles.

We're at Number 4 now, walking down the immaculate sidewalk and up to the stark white front door. With a quick, steeling breath, I raise my fist and knock sharply. I barely have to wait a moment before the door is thrown open brusquely by a wide, stout man with no neck, a purple face, and a hideous mustache. Vernon Dursley.

"What?" He snaps, looking very much as though he'd rather slam the door back in my face than hear my answer, but I am not about to let anything of the sort happen. I feel Albus shift a little behind me, and wonder what he's thinking.

Dursley is still eyeing me with ill-concealed impatience, and I consider hexing him for the briefest moment just for a little amusement, but in the end decide I ought to do this right. "Hello," I reply with a little smile, hoping to keep this interaction civil. "I don't believe we've met, but it is important that I speak to you. My name is Minerva McGonagall. May I come in?"

Dursley's watery eyes look me over once, and his mouth open to answer with an obviously rude response when he is interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hall. "Who's there, Vernon?" A shrill, unpleasantly familiar voice enquires. "Is it another one of those salesmen? Because if it is, you tell them-" and as she comes to the doorway behind her husband, her voice dies abruptly, and her face pales.

"Hello Petunia."

"Y-you!" She breathes, her tone wavering between outrage and fear. Judging by a familiar anger boiling under my skin, I think fear would better suit her with the mood I am in.

"Indeed," I reply softly, and watch as Dursley's face contorts in blustering confusion.

"You know this woman, Petunia? Who is she? Where-"

The former Evan's ignores him, still staring cautiously at me. "What do you want?"

"Petunia, who-"

"To begin with, I'd like to come inside out of the sun."

"Who is-" Dursley tries again, and is once more cut off.

"I'd much rather you didn't," she says stiffly, her nose upturned a little. Albus shifts again, and I wonder whether he is amused or irritated. Sometimes it is difficult to tell with him.

"Who-"

"Fortunately for the both of us, I've never had the slightest interest in your preferences," the words slide curtly out of my mouth, and two patches of pink appear on her pale cheeks as she opens her mouth angrily.

"I-"

"Now wait just a moment!" Dursley's snarl rises above his wife's words, and he takes a small step towards me, trying his hardest to look menacing and, I must admit, doing a rather decent job of it. "I want to know who in the bloody hell you are, and what you think you're doing, speaking to my wife that way!" His face turns rather more purple, and his brows are furrowed angrily. Trying my hardest to curb the upsurge of loathing inside me, I take a slow, deep breath, and try again.

"I see we are not going to get anywhere this way. I am, as I have said Mr. Dursley, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. I believe you are familiar with the place?"

The change in Vernon is immediate. The color in his face recedes, and his mustache quivers in a flustered sort of way. "Get. Out. Now," he hisses at me, glancing up and down the street as he speaks, no doubt to see if any neighbors are watching.

My patience thinning rapidly, it is only Albus's hand on my arm that let me keep my head. "I am afraid I cannot do that, Mr. Dursley, as I have not yet been invited in." He gapes at me, swelling in anger, and I am quick to cut him off. "I am here to speak to the two of you, Mr. Dursley, about your nephew-"

"We have no nephew," he growls, and I am taken aback for a moment by his absurd statement.

"Why on earth, Dursley, would you say something like that, when I know very well that you do indeed have a nephew as I have taught him in my class for the past 5 years?" His lip curls. "I must insist you stop wasting my time, and let me get down to matters of more importance than your absurd stories!"

"I will not have another freak in my house!" He rages at me, careful not to speak loud enough to attract attention. His choice of words sends a lance of angry fire through me, the implications of the statement twisting my gut. "I will not permit you inside, and I demand you leave at once!"

Petunia stands motionless beside him, paling further when I step forward and draw my wand, any hint of a polite attitude completely evaporated. "You're acting as though it were a request, Dursley. That's your mistake." Without another pause, I push past the two gaping forms rather more roughly than necessary so they do not notice Albus slipping in behind me. I can sense a definite restlessness from my husband now, impatience and irritation slipping into his usually tranquil state.

Just past the two angry people in the doorway, I come face to face with the enormous boy with piggy little eyes, about Harry's age. Dudley has apparently not grown up much since I last saw him 15 years ago. He has obviously been much too busy growing out.

When he sees me, his eyes fall to my wand, and his mouth opens in a squeal before his hands spring into action, one going to try and cover his massive behind, and the other clamping itself on his tongue as though he is quite afraid it will fall off. With another muffled squeal, he stumbles backwards away from me, and disappears into the kitchen. I think I hear a quickly stifled laugh behind me, but of course I cannot give any indication Albus is with me. Too disturbed by this deranged behavior to find humor, I turn smartly back to the two elder Dursleys, my eyes focusing on Petunia. "Now, let's not waste anymore time with this foolishness. Where is Mr. Potter?"

Petunia gives a defiant sniff, but before she can speak, Vernon seems to come out of his haze, his eyes darting back and forth between myself and his wife very rapidly. "How do you know this- this woman, Petunia, dear?" He asks, sounding confused and anxious, trying for fury but falling sadly short. I've no patience for the surely jaded explanation that will be given from the haughty woman before me, and cut the conversation off at the throat.

"You can explain the whole horrible thing in however twisted a manner you wish, Petunia, after I am through here," I say, and my voice rings through the sudden silence. I can feel the muggles' clear awareness of my wand pointed casually in their direction.

An unpleasant rumbling noise erupts from the depths of Vernon Dursley before he grumbles out, "What do you want with the boy?"

I had wanted to discuss this matter a bit before taking action, but the hostility in the room is too stifling for me to attempt it. "I've come to collect Mr. Potter."

Immediately, both of their faces light up, and Vernon looks positively gleeful. "Your taking him for the summer then? He won't be back 'till next year? This is earlier than usual, but don't expect us to take him back again this summer, I won't have his abnormalities in my house again until we've had a little peace! You people can't-"

Abnormalities. My hand clenches my wand so tightly sparks spit out, and Dursley is quiet at once, lucky for him. I force myself not to utter or think a spell, not to even consider turning them both into slugs and then stepping on them- Albus's arm slips around my waist for the briefest instant, and I let out my breath slowly. "I am taking Mr. Potter away for good, Dursley."

His mouth drops open, incredulous. "For…for good?" A twisted little smile is curling up the corners of his mouth.

"He will not be retuning, Mr. Dursley, that is correct," the words are biting, and a beast of fury is clawing inside my chest, screaming to be let out.

Petunia looks as if I've handed her a million Galleons. "You say he won't be returning," She says softly, almost as if afraid to believe the news. "You mean…ever? he'll never come back?"

Red haze is creeping around the edges of my vision. "He will never be returning to your care, Petunia. I would never wish a fate so horrible on any but your own children."

My words make their mark, and a shadow a of a flinch spreads through Petunia, but it is gone immediately, as Dursley claps his hands together, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Well then! I'll go up and get the boy!" His tone is jovial, his eyes squinted in a menacing delight.

Perhaps a spider would fit Dursley better, I consider. That way I could pull his legs off one by one and then grind him into the carpet. My eyes find the equally excited face of Petunia, and I can feel the spell rolling easily off the tip of my tongue, shrinking her down into a flower and pulling the petals away… "Shhhh." A nearly imperceptible hushing in my ear, and I can feel Albus's presence beside, try to keep the rational part of me in tact, try not to maim either of the disgusting creatures before me--

"I would rather we all go," I say, my voice steady and cold. Dursley deals me a cold nod and lumbers to the stairs, Petunia close behind him. I am suddenly hard pressed to keep pace with them as they take the steps two at a time, apparently so glad to be rid of a child who has never had any control over the incontinences dealt to them. The ache in my stomach grows steadily worse.

Going noisily to mask the sound of Albus's footsteps, I follow them up the steps and then down a long hallway, to a worn looking door at the end, with no less than five locks on the outside, and what looks to be a pet door in the bottom. I cannot stifle my gasp, and cannot quell the sense of rage growing inside me with every passing instant. Albus's touch is no balm to the fire I feel coursing through me now. "What," I ask through tightly clenched teeth, "Is the meaning of this?"

Petunia exchanges a frightened look with her husband, who blurts out, "He- he insisted we put them on. Gone mad he has, acting more the freak than ever. Talking about…Dementies and that Lord Voldithing all the time." Dursley's voice evens out as he gets into his stride. "We've had to put up with this foolishness for the past four ridiculous." It is a lie I might have believed, had he not made the mistake of saying 'four years.' I know all too well that Harry knew nothing about the Dementors before his third year. I find breath struggling into my lungs, being forced out harshly through my nose, my fury all-consuming and white-hot.

"Open. The. Door." There is no hiding my anger, and there is certainly no hiding from it. With fumbling fingers, Dursley pulls a handful of keys out of his pocket and struggles to fit them in their proper locks. I might do it much faster with magic, but I fear destroying the door in my current state. Finally, Vernon wrenches the door open, stumbling back against the wall to reveal the sight within.

Sunlight streams in through the barred window to cast an almost inappropriate cheery light on the scene. A small twin bed is tucked in the corner of the tiny room, covered in a threadbare, tattered blanket. There is a small, rickety night table beside it, and on the other side, an owl cage with the huddled, obviously ill form of Hedwig tucked inside. The only other things in the room by way of furniture I can see are a broken chair, and a mangled little table at which a pale boy is sitting, scribbling away silently on a piece of parchment with a Potions book open. He is so intent on his study that he is not even aware of my presence.

"BOY!" The sharp bellow makes me start, and I look around to see Dursley just behind me, and looking furious.

Harry's head jerks up from his work, his bottle of ink spilling across the table and dripping onto the floor as his hand flies to the waist of his jeans where I see the handle of his wand sticking out. His eyes dart quickly to the doorway, landing first on his uncle, and then on me, confusion spreading rapidly across his features as he leaps to his feet. "P-professor!" He says, stepping forward hesitantly.

Before anymore can be said or done, Vernon is suddenly in front of me, towering over Harry, though they are really the same height. "What the hell d'you think you're doing, boy?" He roars, and Harry stares at him blankly.

"Wait…I know this one. Standing! No…no, I'm breathing! Yes, that's it!" I watch as Harry gives a broad smirk. "Do I win the prize uncle?" Both have apparently forgotten my presence, and I find myself somehow hypnotized by the scene playing out before me. Petunia slips back into the shadows of the hall, obviously not wishing to incriminate herself in front of me.

"You win something you little freak," Dursley snarls, taken yet another step towards Harry, so that the 15-year-old is forced to shift backwards, though he does not flinch. "What do you mean by having that sort of thing up here? You know damn well I won't tolerate all your- your abnormal business under this roof! It's been kept under lock and key since you got here, so what do you mean by having it out?"

I watch Harry's face pale a little further, but his voice holds a cold sneer I have never heard before in him. "It's simple, really. I picked the locks while you were all out last week at dinner, and went downstairs, picked that lock, and got myself a book, some parchment, a quill and some ink. Now I'm doing my Potions homework, and I'm just on the question about the uses of lacewing in various potions for-"

"Enough! You ungrateful little bastard, after all we've done for you, you have the, the nerve, the indecency to have this garbage out? I won't allow it! I won't have it!" He thunders past Harry, knocking him back onto the bed with a small grunt and I watch as he snatches up the script-filled parchment and tears it into a dozen pieces and tosses the remnants into the air before grabbing the Potions book up.

"What do you want with that?" Harry asks angrily, clambering back to his feet. His eyes linger briefly on the scraps of paper on the floor before returning to his uncle. "I mean, surely you can't give it to Dudley? His grades indicate he doesn't even know how to read, much less-"

"Enough!" Vernon bellows, and his arms swings the book heavily at Harry's head, my gasp lost as Harry ducks it quickly. "I will not have you insulting my family, boy! Remember, you don't have one of your own to go to! It's merely by our charity that you've managed to live all these years, boy, and I will not have you forgetting your place!"

"I haven't!" Harry shouts back, but the fight seems to have left him as quickly as it has come, and he falls silent, looking at the floor with slumped shoulders. Dursley gives a sickening scoff, and rips the first twenty pages of the Potions book out of the spine.

The horror-struck numbness coursing through my veins leaves me with an almost painful suddenness, and I can feel Albus's rage, ice-cold behind me, mixing with my own fiery fury. I had heard Harry complain, of course, to Ron and Hermione, about the 'stupid muggles,' had heard Molly bemoaning how thin Harry was, heard tales filter through of rescues by the Weasley boys, but never, never had I imagined for a moment the sort of treatment he was forced to suffer every summer, never dreamed-

"I think perhaps you ought to stop destroying Mr. Potter's property." My words do bring a swift and startled halt to Dursley's actions, but I see they startle Harry more, as he jerks backwards away from my voice, flushing and looking shamefaced. Another coil of fire loops inside me at the realization that he is ashamed and embarrassed of what I have just seen. And what have I just seen? Harry's guardian attempt to strike him, over an argument that started because…Harry was attempting to do his homework. The most bitter part of it all is that Harry is obviously well-practiced in this sort of senseless abuse.

The silence that has fallen since my last words is broken by a sneer from Dursley. "And who are you to stop me, eh? You think just because you're a-"

"Vernon, don't!" The words come from behind me, from a panicky Petunia, who edges past me, her horse-like face craning on her overly long neck towards her husband with an imploring expression. Dursley bites his tongue and says nothing further, lucky for him. Nowhere near calm, I turn to Harry, fighting for control.

"Mr. Potter," my voice is sharp and cold, and he winces at it a little, sending a lance of guilt through me. The monstrous rage is stronger though, and there is nothing I can do about it. "Get your things. We're leaving."

His face clouds in confusion as Dursley and Petunia stand silent and angry. "L-leaving, professor? I-I don't-"

Of course he doesn't understand, and I feel terrible for it, but I've got to get him out of here as soon as possible. I've got to get me out of here as soon as possible. "Now Potter!" His face pales a little further, and the bruises under his eyes speaking of sleepless nights stand out even starker in contrast. I feel Albus put a restraining hand on my arm, though his whole aura is still like ice.

Harry does not question me further, giving a quick nod and a mumbled "yes, Professor," his head bowed as he begins a nervous scramble around the room to collect his things. He grabs up several pairs of huge, tattered jeans and shirts and tosses them on his bed, before shooting a wary look at his Aunt and Uncle who are watching his every movement with loathing gazes. I see his thin frame shake in a soft sigh as he crouches down beside his bed, reaching under it and lifting up a loose floorboard, from under which he pulls a photo album, his invisibility cloak, and a small, shattered mirror. Petunia lets out an indignant noise at the discovery of this apparently secret stash, and Dursley looks furious, but a flash of red stars that fire out of my wand keeps them quiet.

Shoving the three items under his clothes, he turns back to me, not meeting my eyes. "My… my trunk's downstairs, Professor." His voice is a little shaky, and I know the hiss of fury that escapes me helps nothing.

"Well go and get it then, Mr. Potter," I tell him distractedly, much more occupied with attempting to burn holes is both Petunia and Vernon with my eyes. When there is no movement from him, I look back to see a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"I, I can't Professor. It, it's locked up," he mutters, still not looking at me. I feel a small guilty flush creep onto my own cheeks; I had already heard as much. I know I am not making any of this easy on him, but I am only seconds away from hexing every person in this room, and cannot just yet grasp the sense of calm I usually keep with me.

"Go and get Mr. Potter's belongings. Now, Dursley!" A quick look at me, and Dursley is off at a quick pace, out of the room and down the stairs. Petunia shifts nervously in his wake, and I can see her trying to give me defiant glares, but they quickly melt away to that haughty fear I've always seen in her.

I turn back to Harry, to see him scuffing at the floorboards with the toe of his trainers, and shooting me wary glances every few seconds. "What about your bird, Potter?" I ask, trying very hard to soften her tone, but I know I am not at all successful. He is under the impression it is him I am angry with, I know, though he does not know why. It's the furthest thing from the truth, and as I see his apologetic gaze fall on me for a moment, I know it is I who should apologize. For everything.

At my question, Harry seems to withdraw even further into himself. "She's very ill, Professor. I haven't been able to get her to eat, and I'm afraid to move her." He catches my gaze again and adds a very hasty "Sorry," before dropping his eyes and turning to move towards the cage in which the silent form of Hedwig rests.

"No matter, Potter," I tell him, and I feel Albus give a wave of his wand behind me, before the cage disappears before our eyes. Harry looks back at me, startled, and I hurry to make it look as if I had just cast the spell. "Don't worry, Potter, I've just sent her on ahead for us." I had meant to start calling him Harry, but cannot seem to get the name past my tight throat. He nods at me gratefully.

Vernon is thundering back into the room now, wheezing as he drags the trunk behind him. He gives me a look through narrowed eyes, and shoves it carelessly at Harry, who steps backwards to avoid it, and stumbles over the edge of the bed. He regains his balance before I can move, and struggles with the trunk for a moment before opening it and carelessly cramming the items on his bed inside. I look around the room for anything else of his, but, of course, find nothing.

"Is that all, Potter?" I ask him just to be sure, and Harry gives a miserable nod at my indignant question. Albus has told me for over twenty years that I must learn to control my temper, but I never been able to master it as I should.

Nodding curtly back at him, I close my eyes for a moment to gather the last of my control, before turning to the two vile excuses for human beings. "This is not the end of the matter," I tell them harshly, and Dursley looks insulted and befuddled.

"What matter? You are taking him aren't you?"

"Of course I'm taking him, muggle," I spit, and Dursley swells up further at the term. "The matter of which I speak is your deplorable treatment of Mr. Potter. For some deranged reason you seem to be under the impression that the kind of ill treatment you hand to him is acceptable, but that is a notion I promise you will not last for much longer. Rest assured, there will be retribution."

At my words, Dursley turns an altogether new shade of purple, his mustache quivering and a vein in his temple beginning a throbbing cadence of fury. He great mouth opens at me, and I can hear a rumble starting from somewhere deep within him, but he is stopped before he can properly begin by Petunia, who is not silencing him, as I had expected, but instead, seems ready to say her piece.

"You're going to punish us?" She shrieks, her bony face flushed and her eyes, so unlike Lily's, wild and angry. "Going to punish us for keeping the boy for you all these years? For letting him live under our roof, partake of our hard-earned food and clothing, for-"

"For treating him as if were no more than a servant or some sort of prisoner in this house, yes, Petunia, I think youwill indeed be punished!" I cut across her rant, and see Harry looking utterly unnerved by what is playing out.

Unwisely, Petunia is not finished. "It's no better than he deserves!" She cries, and the breath leaves my lungs in a rush. "Showing up one morning on the doorstep with nothing but some stupid letter by way of explanation! Taking up time that should have been spent on our son, not the dirty filth my stupid sister spawned! Always doing such abnormal things, and trying to show up our Dudley- never grateful for all we've given him! Getting in trouble at school for doing freakish things, and always going on about magic and flying motorcycles!" Her face is twisted in such hate that she looks nearly demented, and I am too taken aback by the resentment and accusation flying from her to do more than stare.

"Ruining Dudley's birthdays, and Vernon's business contracts! Talking back to us, not showing the tiniest bit of respect due to us! Blowing upMarge because she told the truth about his disgusting parents, having freaks in our house in the middle of the night and blowing up the fireplace in the living room!" She continues on, her hate-filled eyes now on Harry who is staring blankly back. "Always waking us up in the middle of the night screaming, first getting that Cedric boy killed and now I hear he's gone and gotten his good-for-nothing Godfather offed too! Getting letters from that filthy school of his at all times of the year about the trouble he's caused, and almost getting Dudley killed by- by Dementors! He's been nothing but trouble, and he's a danger to our family! He gets what he deserves, and nothing more! Ungrateful, nasty worthless little freak, we've done nothing but put him in his PLACE!"

A silence settles over the room, all encompassing except for Petunia's heavy breathing, as she continues to glare at Harry, who is still meeting her gaze, his expression utterly unreadable. Even Dursley is look rather shocked by his wife's outburst. I can feel the angry pulse of blood in my head, and realize my wand is raised and pointing at Petunia's heart. If I were any less a witch, I would strike her down now.

"I am not here to discuss the asinine reasoning you keep for you treatment," I say, keeping my voice slow and steady to block out all my rage. "I'm here to collect Mr. Potter, and warn you that whatever pathetic excuses you may put out, there will be consequences for you behavior." Petunia does her best not to look frightened, but I know she very well ought to be. There are going to be a lot of dangerously furious people out for her and her husband's blood, once I report this horrible discovery. The coldness seeping through the room makes me certain Albus will be at the top of the list.

Gritting my teeth, I turn to Harry, sending his trunk away with a wave of my wand. He flinches when I cast the spell, as though expecting me to hex him, and the very idea makes me, if possible, even more livid than I already am. "Come along, Mr. Potter," I say, my voice carefully soft this time. He steps towards me without question, though his eyes stay warily on his aunt and uncle, who both look as though they would like nothing more than to hurt him as badly as possible. With the nasty turn of events I've just been witness to, I wonder how many times before this they actually have.

Once he is beside me, I turn yet again to the sickening forms before me. "One thing should be made very clear now, to the both of you." I pause here, the fire in my voice burning all through me, considering how best to make my point. "A child never deserves to be struck, or spoken to in that manner. There is nothing that they can possibly do to deserve it, regardless the circumstances. If you do not believe me now, I promise you that it will be made very clear to you before this is all said and done." But I can see before I've even finished that my words fall on deaf ears. Nothing I say will accomplish anything, and the best thing to be done now is to take Harry and get as far away from this place as soon as possible.

Subtly, Albus hands me the Portkey, keeping a small part of his hand touching it in preparation for our departure. I hold it out in front of Harry, whose eyebrows arch in confusion. "Come on Potter," I tell him, my eagerness to be gone from this place making my tone short and impatient. "Take hold."

He does not do as I ask immediately, instead continuing to stare at the sock with a very wary expression. "A Portkey, Professor?" He questions hesitantly, and I can feel nervousness from him.

"Yes Potter, a Portkey. Now grab hold, please." I wait as looks from the sock to me, seeming uncertain. He says nothing further though, looking over to the dangerously quiet Dursleys before wrapping his hand around the object next to mine, and with an almighty pull, the Portkey takes the three of us away from Number Four, Privet Drive, for what I sincerely hope is the last time.

So, loved it? Hated it? Have the sudden, overwhelming urge to beat me with a big stick? Review and tell me about it! Thanks for Reading!

Asphodel