"You," Petunia said seething and pointing a finger in Snape's face, "What are you doing here? Your kind isn't welcome here."
"I don't plan to stay with you Muggles long enough to smell the same. I'm just here to check on the Potter boy, see how your family is faring," the man carefully explained.
"Well, you've seen him. Now, get out!" she yelled, her skin crawling in his presence, feeling as if she needed to run a hot bath after showing him the door.
Snape brushed past her as he entered the kitchen, unwavered by her anger, seeing as he still had a task to accomplish and he took note of the place. He touched a counter, removing no trace of dust. He had expected the house to be in a state of disrepair considering Harry's condition, however, the house was spotless. The tiles gleaned from polishing, furniture arranged worn with use but still in good condition, and frames of all sorts portrayed a loving family, mainly filled with their son, Dudley, but none of which housed Harry.
Just as Snape was about to ask Petunia where her husband was, divorced, dead, or in debt, Vernon came stomping heavily down the stairs. "Our boy is sleeping like a log after the medicine. What was all the ruckus about? Please tell me it wasn't another idiot Mormon," he said, mildly out of breath.
The stout man didn't have to look long when getting to the ground floor before his beady eyes latched onto the cloaked wizard that was standing behind his wife, indignation turning his face a beet red. "What right do you have to be here in my house?!"
"I can see time has been better than most to you both," Snape said, handing a slip of parchment written by McGonagall over to the angry man, glancing at how the couple were dressed in fine clothes, befitting of winter for a middle class family. "It has come to my concern that Harry hasn't been treated right while living here in Little Whinging," he stated, wisely saying his words to see their reactions.
The letter informed the couple that under Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's orders, Harry was to have an annual check up, done by Professor Severus Snape and signed off by temporary Headmistress McGonagall while Dumbledore was away on business. While usually the assessment would be done by Dumbledore's chosen team of owls or wizards, whatever he did to write up a report Snape didn't know, but the two professors had expedited the secret event ahead of schedule. It didn't say anything about his true motivation of assessing whether or not Harry needed to be pulled early to the Wizarding World if he could prove or determine that there was a serious sensitive matter at play.
"We haven't done anything," Vernon quickly said, his hands shaking as he crumpled up the letter.
"That's right," Petunia tacked on, her face losing color again as her palms clenched into fists.
"I haven't accused either of you of the sort." Yet, he thought. "Do you know of the extreme cruelty the school has been doling out to Mr. Potter? Is he being bullied?" Snape inquired, an eyebrow raised minutely at the inclination that the Dursleys did had more to do with Harry's scars and unusual survivalist personality traits, further developed and evident with war veterans or traumatized victims.
The husband and wife, joined at the hip in their self defense, lowered their guard hearing that it had nothing to do with them. "Bullied? Nonsense," Vernon declared, ranting, his spit sticking to his moustache. "The school and its professors are saints for letting his pathetic excuse of a student continue studying at their prestigious place. Why, if you ask me, they're taking it way too easy on kids these days. Back in my day, we got the belt and paddle. A bit of discipline never caused me to grow up bad. The Fr-" he stammered as he cleared his throat, "The boy deserves punishment, for nothing deters him from misbehaving!"
"Discipline does not yield to range the confines of scars, cuts, and bruises on the hands, all of which he has. A quick rap on the knuckles or slap on the palm would suffice if it had to be done. Children's main purpose of going to school is to learn, not to be fearful of discipline," Snape sternly informed them. "Are you low on funds? Maybe it's a case of improper attire rather than his behavior," he said, giving them a plausible reason to wind their way out of guilt, but digging them into his meticulously crafted trap as everything else he saw said otherwise.
What had started out as a half hearted evaluation meant to take a few minutes maximum evolved into a personal issue Snape was willing to stake himself on, switching up his tactics for the truth. He'd only spent the afternoon with the scrawny child, but Harry was more of a timid mouse with a snarky mask rather than a misbehaving devil that they were painting him out to be. The pieces were shifting into place as Vernon reminded him of an upset rotund clown, Petunia, a sniveling housewife, and Dudley, an overindulgent child of saccharine youth from what the most recent pictures showed.
"The stock has been going down," Vernon happily lied, knowing his salary as a banker had no change in effect from that. "It's given us quite a conundrum as we've had to choose whether to feed our family or clothe them well for school."
Petunia, catching onto her husband's scheme to perhaps swindle money out of the man, added, "Yes, that's it. My Dudley has caught a cold too because of that, but we're happy to have enough food to nurse him back to health."
An inferno of rage burned inside of the potions professor, urging him to shout at the couple who were so self immersed in their own bubble that they couldn't mention an utterance of care for their nephew, invisible and ghostly to their reality. If Snape could speak simple curses on them, he would have, but he knew the Ministry of Magic wouldn't see his actions as legally correct in court proceedings, even if he felt it was morally so.
"I'll write to make sure someone does something to financially help if that's the case," Snape said through gritted teeth, barely maintaining a cordial tone. "Before I go, can I hear from your nephew?"
Vernon rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, yelling, "Why I oughta-" before Petunia stood in front of him, shushing as she lowered his arms back down. She scoffed. "He's too busy with homework and probably scared out of his wits with you following him back here. You've asked your questions. Now leave, before we call the police on you for invading our home without invitation," the nicely sounding threat hiding her fear, wishing her husband carried a shotgun instead rather than fists.
"Really?" Snape asked, his voice raising in intonation, his inflection less of a question and more formidable. "He seemed fine when I was walking him here. Why don't you call him out and we'll see what he says instead?" he continued, calling her out on her bluff.
"Did I say homework?" She laughed nervously, her hand grasping at straws as she grabbed her husband's hand for support. "I think he could take a break from his laundry. Harry!" she beckoned.
The short brunette shuffled in from the inside garage door, his green eyes darting around with confusion at the sight of the nice man not driven out yet and the way his aunt scarily smiled at him. He smelled of soap and readjusted his glasses. "You called, Aunt Petunia?" he asked, looking at their clothes and fumbling with his hands. Harry wasn't accustomed to having everyone gazing at him and knew better than to make eye contact when he wasn't allowed to, his aunt always slapping him when he did so; she claimed it was his way of enchanting her with his wickedness and acting like he was better than her.
The woman spoke in an abnormally cloying manner, one Harry wasn't used to from her, "Tell this man how you like it here, so then he'll leave and you won't have to see his face again."
Harry knew better than to ignore her orders. He looked up at Snape's black eyes, the gentle gaze irregular to his grim frown on his pale face. Reciting lines he had told more times to a caring social worker or pitying stranger, he plainly said, "I love it here. Although we don't have too much money, my aunt and uncle treat me well. My cousin Dudley and I have a lot of fun playing with toys. Thank you for your concern, but I don't need anything else. May I go now?"
His uncle nodded, giving him permission to. Harry's eyes burned as he looked away, the rehearsed words making his true feelings and need for help patronized and invalid. He had tried to ask for help before but adults didn't take him seriously when he did or it arrived too late, Harry taking the brute force of the ire as a result. Uncle Vernon had a lot of authority in Little Whinging, the bank he worked for backing most of the community's funding and his word held power. One wrong move and people were sued for laundering, foreclosed on houses, or blackmailed into secrecy.
As he was about to leave, back to fold clothes until dinner was served, Snape grabbed onto his shoulder and pulled him close. "Wha-" the spectacled boy cried, unsure of the swift turn of events.
"I thought you knew better than to lie. I don't believe a single word," the professor glowered, his anger brought forth to the surface, directed at the supposed guardians rather than reprimanding Harry. "Aegritudo medicamentum," the man incanted with the faintest of sounds and a touch of the boy's hands, the diagnostic spell letting him see a white hue surrounding the boy, multiple spots glowing blue, purple, orange, yellow, and worst of all, a few shimmers of red.
He had expected a few lashes, bruises from clumsiness, or scrapes on the knees from running around recklessly, but was held in stark disturbance at the scan. Harry was suffering from multiple maladies of mistreatment, no doubt at the hands of his captors, the ones who were supposed to give him a home. The analysis he could depict was that Harry was lacking proper sleep, malnourished, slightly dehydrated, and extremely prone to illness, closer to a dramatic drop in life expectancy if not given remediation. Highlights scaled numerous bruises and cuts in varying sizes and stages of healing, jagged scars etched too many to count all over the child's back, chest, arms, and legs, anywhere that could be covered by lengthy clothes.
"How could you do this to a child?!" he roared, startling Harry, anger unearthing and erupting, bubbling over as his face turned the darkest shade of crimson it physically could. "Never have I seen anything more painful in all my years," his voice breaking, his heart melting to weep what his eyes found hard to do.
If he had anything to say about it, he'd brave any storm to protect the boy, thankful for the rude awakening and hoping to become the intervention that was unquestionably needed. Snape stooped down to the boy's level, trying not to hurt him as the boy was encapsulated with a brush of his cloak, drawn to the protective dark warmth of cashmere. "Would you like to gather your things and come with me?" he asked tenderly as if the child were a wee babe found in the wilderness. Harry looked up at him, nodding, tears spilling from his eyes, drawn speechless. Snape stood up, Harry timidly grabbing his hand as they headed to the hallway.
Petunia dashed out in front of them, blocking the entry archway from the kitchen to the hallway with her arms outspread, not letting them pass. "He can't go with you. We're his legal guardians. I bet you freaks, with all your rules, don't have proper jurisdiction here," she said, sure that the letter Vernon held was all Snape was allowed to do, inspect and return with a report. "Go back to your nasty piece of planet without him and never return."
"Yeah, if you think you've got such rights, show us proof and we'll let him go, fair and square," Vernon boasted, stepping in and ripping the parchment he originally held, grabbing Harry's free arm, his nails digging into the boy's tender flesh, causing Harry to cry out in muffled pain.
Snape let go of Harry with great reluctance, Vernon loosening his claws but still maintaining a tight grip on Harry's arm, reining him in like a dog on a leash. The professor hated to admit it but they were correct. He had no right to authority over Muggle citizenship, let alone civil documents pertaining to adoption and seizing of guardianship. In the court of law on either end, he would be labeled as a traitor to Dumbledore's allegiance and painted as a villain for trying to kidnap the Boy Who Lived, separating the child from his blood family.
"I'm sorry," he said mournfully to Harry, the boy's face clouding in despair. "I'll be back when I can," Snape promised, unsure of how he was going to fulfill the statement.
The malicious couple smiled, glad to get back to their normalcy, as they parted to make room for Snape to walk out of the house, Petunia closing the front door with a slam. "Good riddance," she said blissfully.
The potions professor found himself back out in the cold, feeling like he had lost a piece of himself as the warmth of Harry's hand, which had been holding onto him for dear life, dissipated in the cool afternoon breeze. The sky, a delightful hue of violet, golden, and amber streaks, were marred by the emotions that stirred inside him in turmoil. Taking out a piece of parchment and quill from the inside of his cloak's magical pocket, he wrote a letter on the flat trunk of the Dursleys' neighbor's car. Inside, he informed her that he'd be returning to Hogwarts, needing an emergency way to untie Harry from his aunt and uncle, and that her suspicions had been correct. He whistled, rolling up the small scroll, McGonagall's brown messenger owl arriving. He slotted the message into the case tied to the owl's leg.
"Get this to Minerva as soon as you can," he ordered, the bird hooting and flying off with gracious and lifting speed. The man made his way back to King's Cross Station to catch the black and red Hogwarts Express on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, willing luck to be on his side as his mind raced with worrying thoughts of what the Dursleys could do to the eight year old based on what they were capable of.
Inside the house, Vernon dragged Harry back inside the garage, the boy struggling and trying to break free from his uncle's painful grip. "Please," he pleaded desperately, "I'm sorry. We can pretend that never happened."
"Are you telling me what to do?!" His uncle asked, shouting, as he threw Harry onto the barren concrete, crashing him into a basket of folded laundry. "Oh no," the man said manically, a deranged laugh echoing from him. "How dare you bring that filth into our house, thinking you'll get away from it scotch free? I'll teach you hell."
His aunt smiled, holding a tray of warm chocolate chip cookies. "Don't be too noisy. Dudleykins needs his sleep to heal."
"Thanks, honey," he said, taking one, knowing he'll need the energy of the sweet baked treat. "We'll try our best. Isn't that right?" he asked Harry, his emerald eyes widening in terror, a whimper unraveling from his mouth as his aunt closed the door.