Chapter 3 – It Can be a Warning

Or, the chapter in which I become a part-time private investigator and discover a number of unpleasant facts as a result

In many respects, my life felt as if it was improving after the events described in the previous two chapters of this journal. However, I found myself regularly thinking with unease over the next couple of weeks about the unknown quantity that was Harry Potter. Here are the facts, as I saw them:

After the events of Halloween 1981, the Headmaster was instrumental in arranging the boy's new home. I didn't know where he lived and I wasn't aware of anyone who did. (Professor McGonagall might be in on the secret, but I held off on saying anything to her just yet in case she chose to tell Dumbledore).

The Headmaster would undoubtedly have placed significant magical protections on the boy's current residence, and taken other precautions for his safety. Potter could be using a false name or living abroad, for example.

Dumbledore had seemed to dislike the fact that I asked a few simple questions about Potter's welfare. Why? He trusts me, so what would be his reason for keeping those facts a secret? And finally…

Was I going to do anything about this? I didn't have to, after all – it wasn't my job. I was only expected to protect Potter after he arrived at Hogwarts; anything before then was Dumbledore's problem.

That would be the same Dumbledore who hasn't even gone to visit my son once, would it?

Yes Lily, that would be the one. Thank you for pointing it out.

How on earth did I manage to pick up aconscience, of all things?!

Anyway, to get back to the issue at hand: was the boy well? Did he have a good family looking after him? I'd find out in two years, but I had a feeling that imaginary Lily wouldn't wait that long. So… let's think this through logically. Dumbledore would have needed to choose a family whom he trusted. More than likely he'd have selected a British one, because although sending the boy to live abroad might have been safer, it would also have come with various disadvantages. For one thing, Potter might not have wanted to attend Hogwarts if the country he lived in had a magical school of its own. He might not even have been taught to speak English well. Also, he'd be outside the jurisdiction of the British Ministry of Magic, thus giving a foreign magical Government scope to potentially intervene at any point and subvert the Headmaster's plans. So it was more likely that a British magical family had taken Potter in, and that he was living with them under a suitable disguise. If so, it was possible that I could have walked past him in Diagon Alley one day without even knowing it. Actually, that might explain Dumbledore's reticence when it came to talking about the boy's current location; he may have agreed with the family concerned to keep it a secret. They might even have made it a condition of taking him in, to protect themselves.

Well, those were quite likely explanations, but the truth of the matter was that I just didn't know. I mulled over the issue for a while before deciding that something had to be done. If Lily could speak – I mean, really speak – then she would instruct me to check on the boy and make sure that he had everything he needed. And I decided that there was no need to over-complicate matters; I would simply write to him and ask.

The letter, though, was difficult to compose and it took several attempts before I was satisfied with it. There were so many things that I didn't want it to be perceived as, i.e. not too casual, too formal, too friendly, too distant, too unctuous, too eager and so on. Most of all, I didn't want it to appear as if I was trying to scrape the acquaintance of the famous Boy Who Lived just because he was famous. Eventually though, the note was prepared. It read as follows:

Dear Mr. Potter,

I have decided to contact you because I knew your parents (we were in the same year at school) and I was at one time friends with your mother. I apologise if this letter is unwelcome, and there is no need to reply if you would prefer not to. However, I did just want to let you know that if there is any way in which I could assist you then you are welcome to get in touch with me at any time. As you will be attending Hogwarts in two years then you will meet me there, of course, since I am the school's Potions Master. The owl will be instructed to wait with you for a while, in case you would like to send me a response and you have no bird of your own to hand. Feel free to send them away if you do not wish to reply, however.

Yours sincerely,

Severus Snape

Not bad, hmm? It seemed unlikely that Potter or any of his adopted relatives would take offence at it. I summoned my personal house elf Mafty and told him to take the letter to the Owlery for despatch right away, and to use one of the long distance owls in case Mr. Potter was out of the country after all.

After Mafty left me, I speculated to myself for a while on what the boy's reaction to hearing from me might be. Would he be pleased to be contacted by an old friend of his mother? Possibly not, if he knew of me by repute. I'd only been on the path of virtuous redemption for a few weeks, after all, so if he'd heard my name before then it would probably have been in a negative way. The next day however, Mafty popped into my office while I was preparing my lesson plans for the following week. I noticed that he was carrying my letter to Potter, and also that he had several deep scratches on his arm.

"What's happened?" I asked.

"Your letter could not be delivered to Mr. Harry Potter, Master Snape," he replied. "I is not knowing why but the owl came back with it and they was very angry, with lots of squawks and flapping of feathers. They did not want to hand over the letter but I got hold of it from them. I was sensing new magic on the owl, it was like the magic around the Hogwarts boundaries."

"Hmm, interesting." I took hold of the letter. Clearly the owl was very dissatisfied about being unable to complete their assigned delivery. I delved into a drawer in my desk and pulled out a jar which I passed across to Mafty. "Put some of that on your scratches now and they'll heal within a couple of hours."

"Thank you, Master Snape," Mafty replied gratefully as he did so. He'd been working for me for nearly six years now. All Hogwarts professors had an assigned elf, whose duties included cleaning their quarters, running errands and ensuring that incoming and outgoing post ended up in the correct places. I'd tried out over twenty of them in turn during my early years as a professor, with each one seeming more tiresome than the next. (Though looking back, I have to admit that the fault might perhaps be at least partly mine). However, Mafty and I got on very well. I approved of him as he was more sober and quiet than the average elf (possibly since he was one of the oldest), and he displayed very little of the usual elvish histrionics. He had quickly grown used to my ways and was practically indispensable to me.

"When an owl brings a letter back then there are two possible reasons for this," I said. "Either the person concerned refused to accept delivery of it or there were magical enchantments in place to stop it reaching its destination." Actually there was also a third reason – that the recipient had died – but I didn't allow myself to dwell on that. "Given what you've said about the magical residue which you sensed then it's probably the latter. Did you reassure the owl that it wasn't to blame for the unsuccessful delivery? You know how they take these things to heart."

"I was not thinking of doing that, Master Snape, because I was mostly trying not to be killed by its vicious owl talons and beak. I is very sorry for making that my priority."

I grinned. On the rare occasions when it surfaced, I always appreciated Mafty's sly, deadpan sense of humour. "Fair enough. Which owl was it, anyway?"

"Octavia, Master Snape."

I nodded with satisfaction. There was no need for any damage control, then – Octavia was a tempestuous owl, but her short-term memory was poor; she would have forgotten the whole incident by tomorrow or the day after. "Fine. I will take the letter to the Owlery myself. I have a spell which might assist it to reach its destination. Thank you, Mafty."

"You is very welcome, Master Snape," he replied, and popped away.

Well, no time like the present, etc. I made my way to the Owlery and selected a reliable bird, one which also had something of a calmer temperament. "Hello there, Miruko. Another owl has tried to deliver this letter already and failed; I think there may be a magical block of some kind in place at the other end. I'm going to tie this onto you, and then apply a spell which might help you to get through to Mr. Potter, but don't worry if you can't – it won't be your fault and you can just bring the letter back. However, if you do find Mr. Potter then please hang on afterwards, in case he'd like to send a reply." The owl hooted happily as I cast a spell of my own invention, designed to enable owls to pierce through most magical barriers. I sent her on her way, musing that I would need to come up with a Plan B if this attempt also failed. Fortunately, this was not to be required because I received a response from Potter in a couple of days, and a very curious one it was too. It read:

Dear Mr or Mrs or Miss Snape,

Thank you very much for the letter. I was ever so pleased to get it. The owl you sent is lovely. I had no idea that they could carry letters to people. Are they like homing pigeons? It must take a lot of teaching to help them not to get lost. I gave the owl a drink of water but I don't have any food for birds, sorry. I hope they won't be too hungry by the time they get back to you. Do you live far away? Could I maybe come and see you one day? I would be very well behaved, I promise. I've never met anyone who knew my Mum and Dad, apart from my Aunt and Uncle and they haven't told me much about them. I don't want to trouble you, but could you tell me something about my parents? I've often wondered what they were like. What does Hogwarts mean? I don't think there is a school called that near here so I don't think I'll go there. And what is Potions? Is that like medicine? Sorry for asking lots of questions and please, I hope you write to me again very soon.

Bye for now,

Harry Potter

Initially I was amused by the fact that Potter, clearly being uncertain if I was male or female, had carefully covered every possible option when addressing me. This quickly gave way to disquiet however, as I took note of all of the things which he appeared not to be aware of. Even if the boy was living abroad (and that seemed unlikely, given the prompt arrival of the returning letter, the boy's request to visit me and the fact that he'd written in colloquial English) then he should still have heard of Hogwarts and potions, and be familiar with owl post. Worse still, he appeared to know little about his own parents. What else had he not been informed of?

What kind of a family had Dumbledore given the boy to, anyway?

I knew that I would have to find out.

I decided that I would speak to Professor McGonagall and ask her advice. I knew that she was close to the Headmaster, but I hoped that she would be willing to talk in confidence to me about this issue. Over the last month she and I had started to become good friends, and I had always trusted and respected her, so she was the natural person to turn to for assistance. I met with her shortly afterwards and explained everything.

"So you see Minerva, I made the decision to write to Mr. Potter and establish for myself if he was being well treated," I concluded. "The Headmaster would disapprove of my actions, of course."

"Well, I don't!" she exclaimed. "I'm glad you thought to reach out to Mr. Potter, even if it eventually turns out not to have been needed. Leaving him with those dreadful muggles, you never know what might have happened!"

I was still getting over the revelation that Mr. Potter was living with the odious, resentful shrew who was more commonly known as Petunia Dursley. "Indeed not."

"Hmm. Did he write back to you?"

"Yes, and that is partly why I'm here. I would welcome your advice on the next step to take. You'd better read it."

Minerva took one look at the letter and exploded. "What in Merlin's name are those Dursleys thinking? Mr. Potter seems to have been deliberately kept ignorant of all of the important facts pertaining to magic, not to mention his own parents' lives. I told Albus at the time that they were the very worst kind of muggles. You already know his aunt, but believe me, the others are just as bad, if not worse!"

"You were there when Mr. Potter was originally handed over to the Dursleys?"

She sighed. "Yes, myself and Hagrid. Neither of us were very happy about it, but Albus said it had to be that way." And of course, she had complied. I suppose I might have done the same in her place, but it didn't make me feel any more comfortable about the situation.

"What was the Dursleys' reaction when they first saw the boy?"

"That I can't tell you – we didn't hand him over in person. Albus left him on the doorstep with a note."

"What do you mean, you left him on the doorstep?"

"They would have found the boy the following morning. There were charms in place to keep him warm and various other defences," she added quickly. "Oh, I know it wasn't the best way to break the news about the Potters, but—"

"But Dumbledore said it had to be done that way?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

I did not criticise her for her actions. Like myself, she was very used to doing things as the Headmaster specified, and I'm sure he left her little choice. "I did not make any reference to magic in the letter that I sent to Mr. Potter, but I have accidentally revealed some facts about our world because I assumed that he knew of them. I can't just leave it like this, and indeed I still have no assurance that he's well. In fact, to me the letter indicates a certain amount of neglect, though it's only a nuance and I can't be sure."

"I think you might be right. Albus made me promise a few hours after Mr. Potter was left with his relatives that I'd never go there again, but you're not bound by any promise. You should go and see him."

"I was thinking the same, but it will have to be done carefully. I'd like to discreetly scope out the situation first. I don't suppose you have an invisibility cloak?"

She brightened. "No, but a friend of mine bought one only last year and I'm sure she'd loan it to me. I'll floo her later on tonight."

"Good. Using that, I could make an unseen assessment of Potter's living conditions, so that we have a better idea of what we're dealing with. If I were to apparate directly into their home, would that register in the Ministry as underage magic?"

"No, you don't need to worry about that. At his age they wouldn't even be looking for such a thing, but don't cast any wand-based spells if you can avoid it."

"Understood. So then, I'll find out for myself if there are any issues with his upbringing and we can go from there."

She glanced at the letter once more. "He does seem like a rather pleasant boy, don't you think?"

I nodded slowly. "I had formed that impression. His concern for the owl's welfare, for instance; that indicates a considerate disposition."

"Lily would be proud of you for the interest that you're showing in him," she told me with a smile.

"It's nice of you to say so," I replied politely, though I didn't really believe it. "I just hope that I'm worrying for nothing."

"As do I," she replied soberly. "Yes, as do I, Severus."

Professor McGonagall was able to acquire the invisibility cloak, which she passed to me that evening, together with the Dursleys' address. As I'd never been there before, I would not be able to apparate to Privet Drive for my first visit. That meant a floo journey to Diagon Alley and muggle transport thereafter, which couldn't be done until the weekend. Since Mr. Potter had seemed keen to hear back from me, I penned a holding reply and sent it via the same owl, with instructions to deliver it only when the boy was alone and to wait for a reply. This read:

Dear Mr. Potter,

This is just a brief note to confirm receipt of your last letter. I am happy to answer any questions you have, but it's clear from what you've told me that I have much to explain and it really would be better for us to speak face to face. I will try to come and see you within a couple of weeks. Should you be concerned about your family's reaction to my arrival then by all means don't mention to them that we've been corresponding, and I will say nothing about it also. Don't worry about feeding the owl, but I'm sure a drink of water would be appreciated.

And finally, I thought you might like the enclosed picture – it was taken of your parents on their wedding day. Apologies if you already have a copy, however.

Until we meet in person,

Severus Snape (Mr)

The photograph was a close-up of the married couple taken just after the ceremony, both of them looking luminous with happiness. I had frozen it in place before sending it. Though I had a number of pictures of Lily from our younger days, naturally I had none of James Potter. Fortunately however, Professor McGonagall had been able to supply me with a copy of this picture from her own collection. I had not found it as difficult to look at as it might have been in years gone by – curse you for being right, Dumbledore! – and I felt that perhaps the boy might appreciate it.

So, that bought me a little time to investigate. I sent Mafty out to purchase a camera plus several rolls of film and then waited restlessly until the weekend. I did receive a second letter back from Mr. Potter that Friday, starting with fervent thanks for the photograph and following up with various cautionary statements regarding the likelihood of my being made very unwelcome by his relatives. Everything he wrote resonated with a clear apprehension as to how the Dursleys would react if I showed up, which made me all the more determined to act. When Saturday finally arrived, I left the castle just after breakfast and made my way to Diagon Alley. I'd sent the Headmaster a note saying that I would be away for a few hours on personal business, and I knew he wouldn't check up on me. One good thing about Albus Dumbledore's leadership style is that he is not a micro-manager. Like all of the professors, I am trusted to manage my own workload, and to schedule any time away from the school for occasions when I can reasonably be spared.

Muggle London on a Saturday in late November was a crowded place, filled with eager shoppers keen to make a start on their Christmas purchases. Some of them even looked as if they were enjoying the process. The Headmaster had mentioned the Yuletide season only the other day, when he'd reminded me with a hint of malicious glee that this year I'd be expected to take part in the staff's Secret Santa present exchange. Apparently, the maximum spend was five galleons or twenty-five muggle pounds and the gift could be anything you liked, as long as it didn't contain dark magic. (Dumbledore said that many of the professors liked to go berserk and buy each other gifts that were staggeringly inappropriate and unsuitable. It's treated like a competitive exercise in bad taste for humorous effect, I gathered. I told him that this suited me very well, because it would be a lot easier to choose a lunatic gift than one which someone was actually supposed to like).

For myself that morning though, it was pleasant to enjoy an unusual feeling of anonymity; I had dressed in suitably casual muggle clothing and people walked by without giving me a second glance. I successfully negotiated the tube journey to Waterloo Station, followed by overland rail to Surrey and then onward on foot to the Dursleys' home. I'd purchased a local map in London, and once I could see that I was close enough to the house then I found a quiet corner to slip on the invisibility cloak.

I knew enough about muggle Britain and its housing market to be certain that the properties on Privet Drive would not have been cheap to buy. Doubtless the people who lived in them had lucrative middle-class jobs, drove flash company cars, played golf every weekend and habitually looked down at everyone else. I despised the entire neighbourhood on sight, even though it was far more prosperous than the seedy, decaying location in Cokeworth where my own house was situated. I suspect that I've spent too much time in the magical world – where every house has its own customised and individual style, however bizarre that might be – to appreciate the stifling, relentless conformity that this Surrey suburb exuded.

The Dursleys' house looked the same as all of the others; bland, functional, well-maintained and soulless. The fact that a car was parked outside indicated that they would probably be at home, but there were net curtains on all of the windows – surely one of the muggle world's most abominable inventions! – so I was unable to immediately confirm this. However, I had brought with me a pair of Kestler's Truly Remarkable ListenMore Ear Muffs, which would allow me to hear if anything was being said inside. I put them on and listened for a couple of minutes, without picking up any sounds other than footsteps and doors closing. I was just starting to think that I'd need to come up with a different plan when a deep voice boomed in my ear.

"Are you ready now, dear?"

"Just coming, Vernon!" a female voice called back. I recognised it as Petunia's, even after all of those years. The sounds of movement accelerated. This suggested that they were getting ready to go out, which would be exceedingly useful for me. I had every intention of making a through search of their property at some point anyway, and why not right now? I idly wondered how many muggle laws I would have broken by the time I'd finished with all of this; quite a few, with luck.

"Does he have to come?" a third person asked. "I don't want him to!"

"You know he does, Dudley dear," Petunia said, sounding resentful. "He can't be trusted on his own. Don't worry, you'll still get to spend time with Piers after we've finished at Waitrose, and I'll buy you a nice present on the way back."

Ah, a trip to the supermarket, perfect – that would keep them occupied for at least an hour.

"You'd better behave while we're out, you hear me, boy?" the man boomed. "If you cause any trouble then it's no dinner tonight and you'll spend the rest of the weekend in your cupboard." There was unmistakeable menace in the man's tone, and I didn't like the sound of it one iota.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," replied a boy's voice listlessly. I was quite sure that this was Mr. Potter.

The door opened, and I stepped quickly back onto the lawn to get out of the family's way. Mr and Mrs Dursley emerged first. She had not aged well, I decided – life seemed to have embittered her. I noticed that she immediately straightened her face and made an effort to smile when she spotted some passing neighbours. She then looked carefully around the street to check if anyone else was in view. This made me conclude that Petunia was the type of woman who cared about keeping up appearances, which could be helpful. Vernon Dursley was a self-satisfied man, encased in respectability and smugness. I could imagine him in his spare time writing letters of complaint to the Daily Telegraph about declining standards and how things weren't what they used to be. Next out of the door was a rounded, spoilt-looking boy who was clearly their own child. I'd been a professor long enough to immediately recognise a bully of some experience when I saw one; this would not be a pleasant boy to live with. Mr. Potter was last, and I felt my breath catch as I looked him over. A much thinner and smaller boy, wearing clothes that hung off him. Too thin really, though some children were naturally built that way. Nobody who knew James Potter would be in any doubt as to whose child this was – the same features, the same hair… though not the same expression. No arrogance here; Mr. Potter looked resigned, perhaps also rather apprehensive. As he got into the back seat of the car, I witnessed the other boy deliberately push him forward so that his head banged against the seat in front.

"Ow! Stop it, Dudley!" Both of the Dursleys turned and glared, but at Mr. Potter rather than their own child.

"Get in, boy!" Vernon Dursley hissed at him. "I told you not to be any trouble. Stop messing around!"

The four of them climbed into the car and drove away. I watched them depart, thinking about how much I'd learned about Mr. Potter's treatment at his family's hands, and how I wished that it hadn't confirmed so many of my suspicions. With muggles like those in the world, some might say that the Dark Lord had the right idea after all... but I suppose it's too late for me to re-join the glorious cause of blood purity and start exterminating them all? Please?

Well, no time for such idle thoughts – I had a house to break into.

It occurred to me a second too late, i.e. just after I'd apparated into the hallway, that the property could potentially have a burglar alarm which might be triggered by my arrival, perhaps via noise or heat monitors. Fortunately I found no evidence of such a thing in the hall so I took off the invisibility cloak and went forward to look over the place. Merlin, what hideous spaces these were… stuffy, lacking in taste and simply revolting to witness!

In terms of layout and furniture, the downstairs rooms were conventional. I found nothing of any particular note in the living room or dining room, except that there were no photographs of Mr. Potter anywhere, while I counted eleven pictures of the Dursley boy. (And really, who would even want a photograph of that beached whale?!) The kitchen had various childish drawings posted up on the fridge, all signed 'Dudley' in atrocious handwriting. I carefully photographed every surface, in case there was anything important here that could be picked up through a more careful review later on. A brief inspection of the paperwork in the kitchen drawer revealed nothing suspicious, though did I find a couple of letters from the boys' primary school, as well as Dudley Dursley's last three school reports. (I'm not familiar with muggle marking systems, but from the teachers' comments, I could tell that he was not exactly a natural scholar). There were no reports in the drawer for Mr. Potter. I made a note of the school's name and address, together with the name of the form teacher. I was also able to find details of the company where Mr. Dursley worked; I thought I might pay them a visit sometime soon.

I made my way upstairs, checking each of the bedrooms carefully. There was something odd there, in terms of room usage. I found a double bedroom for the adults, a spare room (clearly not recently used, as the air felt stale and there was no bedding on the bed), a crowded and untidy child's room with one single bed and finally, another room filled with broken toys and other oddments. This had a single bed too, but it had no bedding on it and I found no clothes in the chest of drawers. So, who slept where?

It was a while before I realised that I hadn't looked into the cupboard under the stairs when I passed through the hallway. I went down and opened it. I wished I hadn't when I saw the contents; there was a mattress and a thin pillow, some little toys and clothes and a couple of drawings signed 'Harry'. The crockery in the kitchen rattled for a few minutes with the force of my anger. They kept him here, in this confined little space? I couldn't begin to comprehend the reason for this in a four-bedroomed house. Even I used to have a room to myself as a child, simple though it had been. Surely Petunia wouldn't put her nephew in a cupboard? Perhaps I was misunderstanding the situation, though; I very much wanted to believe that I was.

It could be so, of course. Mr. Potter could be using the cupboard purely for recreational use. After all, children of his age like having little dens of their own to play in. I remember visiting Malfoy Manor a couple of years before for dinner, and Narcissa Malfoy telling me amusedly that after buying their son Draco a good few expensive presents for his birthday the previous week, he'd played with them briefly and then spent most of the day building a pretend Hogwarts castle for himself and his friends, using the blankets from his bed and half a dozen dining room chairs. So maybe…

But what would the Headmaster say, if this cupboard was actually the child's 'room'?

I considered this. I wanted to imagine that he'd become ferociously angry and storm down here in a righteous fury, smashing Dursleys left and right – but those whom we admire do not always act admirably. Albus Dumbledore's list of priorities might not have room for this, so it was best not to mention it in advance of sorting out the problem, I decided. Minerva and I could address this matter between us… but first, I needed proof. Well, that would be easy enough to obtain; I could apparate here now, so I'd return tonight when everyone was asleep and confirm the boy's location. In the meantime, I grimly took several pictures of the cupboard before making one final check of the house to ensure that I'd left no trace of my presence and apparating away.

It was entirely not a surprise when I returned to the house at Privet Drive just after midnight and found the hallway cupboard to contain one small, sleeping boy. They had locked him in, I saw. I opened the cupboard door and discovered Mr. Potter curled up under a single blanket, shivering slightly. The picture I'd sent of his parents was next to him on the pillow. How I wanted to do something to immediately help the boy, in that moment! However, caution had to be my watchword just then; for all I knew, even the casting of a simple warming charm might get either of us into trouble with the Ministry. I therefore resisted the temptation to wake him up and closed the door, though I couldn't bring myself to lock it. This situation, I vowed to myself, would not continue for very much longer.

Minerva was waiting for me back at Hogwarts. I felt it was fortunate that the Headmaster was away from school for the night, since otherwise I doubt she could have kept from hexing him into next week.

"Those muggles!" she spat, once I had brought her up to speed with my day's activities. "I knew they were no good. Didn't I tell Albus at the time? Didn't I say?"

"You did," I replied gravely, "and you were correct."

"I wish I'd been firmer with Albus at the time," she said sorrowfully. "I should have stood up to him. There wasn't anybody else who could have, but me! You know what Hagrid's like – he worships the ground Albus walks on."

"Yes, I know. Your regrets are understandable, Minerva. Believe me, I have plenty of my own, but all we can do now is look to the future. I don't think either of us would be comfortable with allowing this situation to remain as it is, and I have a plan to deal with those Dursleys."

"That's good to hear. What is it?"

"Well, Mr. Potter has to remain living at 4 Privet Drive, according to the Headmaster. That means we can't just turn the Dursleys over to muggle Social Services and have them dispense justice on our behalf. However, they don't know that's not an option for us, do they?"

"No, they don't," she agreed with interest. "So we threaten them with the prospect of Social Services proceedings to make them change their ways?"

"Yes. I would have thought that the threat of prosecution would be more than enough to scare them into submission. I don't like to say this, but I think that in order to ensure Mr. Potter's safety then we will be unable to punish the Dursley family as they so dearly deserve. They should be in prison, but they wouldn't be able to be his legal guardians from there."

"But once Mr. Potter turns seventeen and is legally of age then it will be different…"

I smiled. "Quite. At that point, we can do with them whatever we like. And we shall."

"Revenge postponed? I'll settle for that. Now tell me what you have in mind."

"Are you willing to help me? The threat needs to be a realistic one, and my plan will be easier to implement with two people involved."

She hesitated. "Of course, but it doesn't sit well with me to break my promise to Albus, even in such circumstances."

"What was the exact wording of that promise?"

"He said: 'Please give me your word that you will not return to Privet Drive in the future, Minerva. We must leave the family to bring up Harry on their own'." She snorted with derision. "And a fine job they've made of it too!"

"Then all is well," I replied smugly. "As long as your part of this operation takes place anywhere other than on Privet Drive then you will still be keeping your promise to the Headmaster."

"Slytherins," she said with exasperation. "Always looking for a loophole!"

"And finding one, in this case," I pointed out. "Now, shall we start planning?"