Chapter Four –

Severus Snape needed a drink.

The boy was in bed, his wounds healed (or healing, under the direction of the Skele-gro). He hadn't stayed awake long enough even to pull off his other shoe. For a brief moment, Snape had considered pulling it off for the boy, tucking him into bed like the teenager was a child. Then the boy had made an involuntary movement in his sleep, brushing his hair aside with one hand, and he had reminded Snape of James Potter so strongly that he turned away from the boy with a sneer.

Let Potter pull his own damn shoes off. Hadn't Snape done enough today?

The answer was yes, he had done enough. It was time to call in Dumbledore, to let Lupin and the Weasleys know where the brat was, to make preparations to get him out of Prince Manor as fast as humanly possible. Snape had used up his quota of human kindness, possibly for the year. Besides, he still needed to deal with Dursley. He'd been in too much of a hurry to get Potter out of the house earlier to deal with the rotund bully, but now he had a little more time.

He left the guest room, leaving the boy snoring on his stomach, laying on top of the bed in his over-large jeans and single shoe. Down the stairs again, heading to his own study, where he could both get a drink and start Floo calling everyone he needed to.

But he was only halfway down the stairs when Potter's words unwittingly came to mind. "I'll do it myself then, I've done it before."

Of course Potter had done it before, treated his own wounds. Because what Snape had seen in the boy's mind may only have been the events of today, but it was clear from the way the boy reacted (both in the memory and while standing in the living room with his uncle and professor) that Potter was familiar with the treatment. And Snape had seen for himself that the current welts on his back were layered on top of old ones, half healed and clearly from more than one occasion.

How was it that no one had known? Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have left Potter in a home with people who were beating him, no matter the blood wards. Being safe from Voldemort wasn't worth much if you're being attacked by your own relatives. And other members of the Order had been in Harry's house, not to mention that house elf from years ago. How had no one ever noticed?

Even if the Order hadn't noticed, why had Potter never told a friend? Perhaps he had, and those dunderhead friends of his didn't think it important enough to report to someone.

Snape shook his head. He was eternally unimpressed with that Weasley brat, but surely the insufferable Granger girl would have reported it had her best friend been abused.

No, the more logical explanation was that no one knew. Potter had never told anyone, had kept the injuries hidden, had lied through his teeth about what his childhood (and his summers) were like. And with this realization, Snape poured himself a tall glass of firewhiskey.

Because what Potter was doing … was exactly what Snape himself had done, twenty years before. Hiding the injuries behind baggy clothes and mediocre first aid supplies (although the more Snape had learned about potions, the less mediocre his supplies became), lying to people who asked him how he was doing, how his summer was, what he did on holidays. Keeping everyone away, and especially any adults.

Everyone but Lily.

He closed his eyes in pain. Lily had known, had supported him, even helping him clean up once after a particularly bad day at Spinner's End. Lily, who had argued over and over again with him to tell someone, to get help. Lily, whose trust and love he had lost in a moment of fury as a stupid teenager.

Now her son, the only part of her that remained, lay in a bed upstairs in Snape's own house. And Snape knew, without having to make the conscious decision, that he would not just turn the boy over to Dumbledore and the others. That he wanted to help, in whatever way he could. Whatever way the boy would accept.

With that, Snape Floo-called Albus Dumbledore.

The great man came through the fireplace within ten minutes, his long white beard catching on a hook above the mantel and making Snape snicker as Dumbledore detangled himself.

Finally, the old man was free and clear of the hooks, and turned his smiling face on Snape. "Well, Severus? How is Harry?"

"Upstairs," Snape said shortly. The twinkling look in Dumbledore's blue eyes disappeared for a moment.

"Please explain." While Dumbledore's words were calm, Snape could detect the undercurrent of both urgency and anger. Dumbledore may have been doddering, but he was certainly not a fool. He would know that if Harry were no longer with the Dursleys, Snape would have a good reason.

So Snape explained, going into a fair amount of detail as he described what he'd found at the house, and what Potter had admitted to as Snape healed him.

"This has happened before?" Dumbledore said in shock.

"My guess is many times, possibly for most of the boy's life. I haven't yet questioned him to know the full extent," Snape said.

Dumbledore sunk into a chair across from Snape's desk in the study. "I knew he was … unhappy with his relatives, but I had no idea…"

Snape felt a moment of compassion for the old man, whose face was getting lost in the guilt he clearly felt. "You couldn't have known, Albus."

Dumbledore gave him a sharp look. "Do not placate me, Severus. Of course I could have known. Should have known. I could have checked in on him, could have sent someone earlier." His voice trailed off, then he gave himself a little shake and turned a beaming smile on Snape again. "But you have gotten him out, my boy. Thank you."

"I don't think Potter is as grateful as you are that I know what's been happening to him," Snape said sardonically.

"Of course not. But he will be, eventually. Now, to consider what to do next. He clearly can't go back to the Dursleys house this summer, possibly ever. Nor is Grimmauld Place an option anymore, not with Sirius gone. The Burrow?"

Snape knew that Dumbledore was thinking aloud now, not really expecting a response. Thus, Snape's answer was as much as surprise to Dumbledore as it was to Snape: "He will stay here for the summer."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows high into his wrinkled foreheard. "Stay here? With you? You cannot possibly be serious, Severus."

"I am quite serious, Albus."

"Um, I don't mean to be insensitve, my boy, but this is Harry Potter you are referring to. The boy you have complained about nonstop for the last five years. I would not subject you to the boy's company for two full months." Dumbledore left unspoken that he wouldn't want Potter subject to Snape's company either, but both men knew that was part of it as well.

"Believe me, I have no great enthusiasm for his company," Snape said, speaking slowly as he sorted out his thoughts. "But I saw what they did to him, Albus, and I refuse … I … I can't explain it."

Dumbledore nodded in kind understanding immediately, of course. Snape had never discussed his own abusive father with Dumbledore, but naturally the man knew all about it anyway. Snape could see the thoughts whipping across the man's eyes, probably setting a plan in place that extended out for years.

"I will probably regret it," Snape said.

"Yes. Perhaps we will have a backup plan in place. But the idea has merit; here the boy won't be coddled, but he'll be with someone who understands. Perhaps you can get him to talk about what happened, so that he can begin to deal with it," Dumbledore said.

Snape winced. He was already regretting his spontaneous decision to keep the boy. Getting him to talk would require a different kind of communication from what Snape preferred, and more infernally, emotions. It would be torture, for both him and the boy.

But it was Lily's son, and he would do for the boy what no one had done for him.

"I will … try," he said.

"Very well, then." Dumbledore stood up. "All that's left to do is deal with Vernon Dursley."

The look in Dumbledore's eyes reminded Snape that this was the only man that the most evil wizard of all time feared. He shivered. He wouldn't trade places with Vernon Dursley for love nor money.

The old man went on. "We could call in the Aurors, or even the muggle police, but young Mr. Potter would probably prefer to keep the situation from getting into the courts system, either magical or muggle."

"To protect his privacy," Snape agreed, seeing where this was going.

"It will be best to deal with this ourselves. I'm assuming you'd like to join me." Dumbledore said.

Snape wouldn't miss this for the world. "It would be a pleasure, headmaster."

"Shall we need to leave someone to tend Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"I gave him a fairly powerful sleeping potion. He will be fine for a few hours." Snape stood, his jaw clenched.

"Then come, my boy. Let us right a wrong. We are years late, I'm afraid, but …"

"Better late than never?" Snape supplied.

"Precisely."

With that, the two men headed to the fireplace. A Floo and an apparation later, they were standing in front of Number 4 Privet Drive. The lights in the house were dark, but a muggle vehicle stood in the driveway. The Dursleys were likely home.

Snape could hear Dumbledore casting two or three spells under his breath as they approached the house. He felt as they slid through some sort of magical barrier, almost like walking through a stationary waterfall, and then they were in front of the door.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, reaching out to grab the potions professor's arm. "I am going to count on you to be the voice of reason here."

Snape pursed his lips in shock. "Albus?" Was the old man losing his mind? When was Snape ever the voice of reason when it came to Harry Potter?

"I find I feel … significantly angry. I trust you to step in if necessary."

"Yes, sir," Snape said. What else could he say?

With that, Dumbledore waved his wand and the front door unlocked. Dumbledore was through the door with his wand waving angrily before Snape took a single step. The living room was empty of Vernon Dursley, but a woman Snape recognized sat on the couch, reading a gossip magazine. Petunia.

Lily's voice echoed in Snape's ears, telling him about her sister who hated the magic. Blood rushed in Snape's ears, and he lifted his own wand.

But he was too late. Dumbledore was already creating some sort of complicated spell that had Petunia screaming and running from the room. Seconds later, the massive form of Vernon Dursley came thundering down the stairs.

"What in hell's name is going on down here?" the man demanded, but came screeching to a halt when he came face to face with the two wizards. "You!" he said, pointing a bulbous finger at Snape. For the moment, he was ignoring Dumbledore, a move that Snape thought wouldn't lead to a long and prosperous life.

"Dursley," Snape said, his tone silky.

"You came for the boy. But you left, everything was fine. Did that boy say something to you?"

"He didn't have to," Snape said. "You're going to tell me everything." Snape wasn't sure what Dumbledore was doing at his side, although he could see the man's wand waving in his peripheral vision. But Snape concentrated on Dursley, and specifically, the man's beady eyes. It took only a moment for Snape to legilimize the man, pulling the memories from today from his odious mind, but then reviewing previous years of abuse.

Potter, standing in front of Dursley earlier today, wincing as the man gripped his broken arm and threatened his friends and belongings.

Potter as a younger teenager, sporting a hand-shaped bruise across his face as he raced up the stairs ahead of his uncle, who was pulling the belt from his pants as he moved.

Potter as a child, looking up from the broken remains of a glass bowl he'd clearly just dropped on the kitchen floor, his eyes seeking out his uncle's in fear. The bruises the boy gained on his arm as his uncle dragged him out back to the lawn shed, the switch, already hanging on the wall, that left deeper welts even than the belt.

Potter as a young boy, barely not a toddler, crying as his uncle shoved him roughly into a cupboard under the staircase, blood streaming from the boy's nose.

"Vernon Dursley," Dumbledore said in a low voice, pulling Snape from the man's mind. Snape had to blink a few times to clear his thoughts.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" Dursley demanded, but his voice was less assured, and the beginnings of fear were descending. At that moment, Petunia returned from whatever hiding place she thought she'd found. She cowered behind her large husband.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore," Dumbledore said, his voice still low and dangerous. "It was under my direction that Harry Potter came to live with you. I had hoped that he would thrive with his only living relatives."

The headmaster seemed to grow larger as he spoke, and the room darkened, until Dumbledore himself seemed as large the ceiling and the only point in the room that had any light. His eyes flashed with anger, and both Dursley and Petunia shrunk back, their eyes unable to leave Dumbledore's face.

"Instead of showing him the love any child deserves, you have beaten him, abused him, neglected his needs, and destroyed his childhood."

"We never wanted him," Vernon tried to say, but Dumbledore raised his wand and the man shut up with a squeak. Dursley and Petunia continued to shrink back, and Snape realized that they weren't just cowering in fear, they were actually getting smaller. While Dumbledore had grown, the two of them shrunk until they were the size of large mice.

"You have ruined his entire childhood. Now you will spend some time contemplating your actions," Dumbledore said, his voice more tired now than angry.

"Put us back to size, you … you—" Dursley started, but his voice trailed off when he realized that what was coming out of his mouth was not his regular booming tones, but the timid squeaks of a rodent who'd learned English. His hand covered his mouth.

Snape resisted the urge to laugh. Or step on the man.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a dollhouse popped into being in front of him. It was large, with multiple floors and a tiny working kitchen, just the right size for a pair of mice-sized people. The two Dursleys gave loud squawks of alarm and tried to run off towards the staircase of the real house, but Snape swooped down and picked them both up before they could run off. He plunked the two down into the dollhouse.

"It seems apropos to ruin your lives, the way you ruined Harry's," Dumbledore said, his voice now sad as he contemplated the two tiny humans. "But don't worry, I'll allow you to become normal sized again. All it will take is remorse. Each time that you feel genuinely guilty about what you've done to your own nephew, you will grow slightly bigger, as will the dollhouse you're living in. When you have fully comprehended the enormity of your actions, and you've apologized, you will return to your own size."

Mini-Dursley did not like this. He began shouting at the top of his lungs, but all that came out was a squeaking voice more amusing than concerning.

"How long will it take? How long are you going to leave us like this?" Petunia said, her voice even higher pitched than her husband's.

The dark look came back to Dumbledore, and he narrowed his eyes. "That's up to you entirely. To be honest, I find that I. Don't. Care. Come, Severus, time to go."

And the two of them were off, leaving two living dolls raging behind them.