Court Ordered Diet
by Surplus Imagination
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Dudley Dursley and the other characters of the Harry Potter Universe belong to J.K. Rowling. This writing is for pleasure only. No profit is intended.
A/N I know this chapter is late in coming. Sorry about that. HBP monopolized my attention for a while and led to writing WooDoo, an HBP One-Shot. I hope you take to time to read that little bit of humor. There are no real HBP spoilers in this chapter.
Spinner's End
Severus Snape lounged on a tattered settee in the sitting room of Spinner's End. He was awaiting Potter's reply to his offer. The drab surroundings created the perfect foil for his brilliant blackmail plan. This tasty bit of coercion was the only pleasant item on his summer agenda.
It wasn't that he hated the boy. Not entirely. Despite Dumbledore's accusations to the contrary, Severus did realize that Harry was not James Potter. Where James had been conceited and arrogant, but entirely admirable as an enemy, Harry lacked the selfish mean-streak that defined James. Severus was sorely disappointed in James' son.
Severus had spent the last five years on guard against potential pranks by Harry Potter and his annoyingly loyal friends. Five years of watching out of the corner of his eye, and not a single prank. Five. Long. Years. What a wealth of wasted opportunity. Instead, he had to deal with Potter's endless fame and annual death-wish antics. Not a year went by that Severus didn't have to save the brat's life. How annoyingly tedious.
His school days at Hogwarts had been the best years of Severus' life. The superbly intense rivalry with Potter, Black and Lupin had filled his days with a buffet of wild schemes, attacks and sweet pay-backs. Oh, how he longed for the heady days of youthful, yet somewhat innocent, malice to return.
Savoring a sip of fine red wine out of a dented tin goblet, Severus glowered at the blank parchment centered on the nearby table. His plan was perfect. Potter would sign the binding wizard's oath. The Boy-Who-Lived would then be at his academic mercy. Unfortunately, this delicious blackmail really didn't matter anymore. Potter had only earned an Exceeds Expectation on his OWL. The score had come in just this morning. It was a very high Exceeds Expectation, only two points from an Outstanding. This high score puzzled Severus. Potter was consistently horrible in his Potions class.
The parchment gave a vibrating hum. Severus gripped his goblet tightly and watched Potter sign his Auror career plans away. The signature has heavy, obviously written in anger. Severus uncurled an evil smile when the parchment tore under the pressure of Potter's upset hand. Yes, this was a satisfying piece of blackmail, even if it was unnecessary. Leaning forward, Severus maliciously penned his reply:
Wise choice, Potter. I will arrive to administer the antidote tomorrow afternoon at 4:30 p.m.. Make yourself available at that time.
The antidote was a simple infusion of Bezoar shavings and sassafras. This was combined with an even simpler, although little known, incantation to banish excess gas in the intestines. True, only Severus knew of this cure, since the weight loss potion was his own creation. He had been trying to invent a potion for weight gain, and had suffered unexpected results. He told no one of his apparent failure, or inadvertent discovery. The needed infusion was already brewed, awaiting the following afternoon's anticipated delivery.
A loud metallic clang rang throughout Spinner's End. Severus scowled at the sound of his unwanted houseguest rattling around in the kitchen. The rat was undoubtedly looking for his tenth snack of the day. Maybe Severus would use Potter's potion on the unsuspecting rodent? That, too, would be amusing. He made a mental note to confiscate the potion after he cured the brat's uncle.
Severus hadn't lied when he said that the potency of the potion changed when used on Muggles. The potency decreased on the non-magical and the symptoms were notable dampened. Although unlikely, evisceration was theoretically possible when used on wizards. Yes, Pettigrew deserved an introduction to this potion, and an even closer fellowship with the commode. Severus' summer was looking brighter by the minute.
Folding the precious parchment and placing it into his inner robe pocket, Severus called to his house-elf to prepare a light dinner. Tomorrow, he would meet Vernon and Dudley Dursley. He had already met Petunia Dursley, who was Lily Evans' sister. Severus had met her briefly during his and Lily's graduation ceremony from Hogwarts. He recalled little of her, other than her extraordinarily long neck.
Tomorrow afternoon ought be interesting on many levels. Severus wanted to see for himself if the memories wrested from Potter during Occlumency lessons were even remotely true. He also wanted to find out if Dudley Dursley was as bad as the Muggle newspaper reported. Yes, this should be interesting.
Privet Drive
Harry lay on his shabby bed dreading the coming day. This afternoon, Severus Snape would cure Uncle Vernon of his magically induced diarrhea in exchange for Harry's agreement not to take Snape's Advanced Potions class. The whole weight loss potion had been a clever setup by his least favorite professor. Harry was somewhat impressed by the length Snape would go to keep him out of class. His anger at being blackmailed had mellowed into irritated amusement.
Harry had given it a lot of thought in the quiet hours of the sleepless, early morning. It wasn't that he hated the man. Not entirely. In order to orchestrate that slimy bit of coercion, Snape must have been really desperate to keep Harry out of his class. Desperate, or very bored.
In an effort to cheer him up before boarding the Hogwarts Express, Remus had told Harry stories about an ongoing prank war the Marauders had with Snape, back in their own Hogwarts days. Remus' eyes glowed with passion as he told those stories. 'They were the best of times,' Remus had avowed. Harry always felt that Snape took his hatred of James out on his look-alike son, but maybe he was just throwing down the prank gauntlet. Now that he was out of Advanced Potions, Harry was free to engage in a little payback. Plotting revenge cheered Harry immensely. It was almost as fulfilling as working in the garden.
Harry lay in his bed until the dawn broke and sunshine filled the room. The Dursleys were all still asleep. Even Uncle Vernon hadn't made a trip to the loo in a while. Harry rose, showered quickly and headed out to the backyard. The house smelled too heavily of Uncle Vernon's sickness to stay inside for long.
The dewy morning gave way to the heat of another summer day. Harry finished laying the stone edges of the troublesome pond and carefully replanted sod over the electrical wire trench. He planted the rest of the violets, tied up the climbing roses to the fence and pruned the privet hedge.
At one point, Aunt Petunia came out. She glared at Harry for a long moment before retreating back into the house. She locked the door loudly behind her. Harry really hadn't paid her much mind. He discovered several unwanted plants lurking in the flower beds and was frantically eliminating the weedy threat. His mind concocted revenge scenarios against Snape in between the weedy pulls.
"You're getting sunburnt again."
Harry paused from his digging to notice two puffy white feet standing in his newly tilled flower bed. The plump toes of the feet were digging into the freshly turned earth, reminding him of angle worms. Angle worms were disgusting and creepy. Maybe Harry could leave a mess of angle worms on Snape's seat in the Great Hall. Or better yet, find a way to fill his shoes with the nasty nematodes.
"I'm fine, Dudley. Don't you have anything to do?" Harry took his weeding claw and poked at the digging toes. The feet took a step backward in a hopping motion. "Where are your shoes, Dudley?"
"I left them in the bathroom last night. Dad got up in the middle of the night, and . . . well, he kinda of . . . sprayed them." The feet were back. This time, the white toes were curling upward in a flexing motion. Harry resisted the urge to poke at them again.
"What do you mean by 'sprayed'?" Harry wondered, yanking on a dandelion root.
"With . . . you know . . . poo," Dudley stammered. "Can I wear a pair of your shoes, Harry?"
Visions of poo-sprayed shoes swamped Harry's imagination. He had no illusions who would have to clean that nightmare mess up. He shuddered at the thought.
Dudley's feet took no notice of Harry's shiver. "I promised Rita that I would meet her at the shelter by one o'clock." The plump feet started shifting nervously, side to side. "I have to leave right now to catch the bus."
Harry sighed and sat back on his heels. Sweat burned into his eyes as he took in Dudley's jittery form. "The shelter is closed today. It's Sunday, you know."
"I know that. Rita asked me to come special. She needed a favor." Dudley looked pleadingly at his cousin. "Please, Harry? Rita was the only one nice to me at the shelter last week."
"Why don't you wear some of your other shoes? Last time I cleaned your room, the closet was full," Harry wondered, while trying to clean his glasses with his discarded shirt. The shirt wasn't very clean. Harry put the glasses back on, a little less dirty, but very smeared.
"I kinda threw them all away when I first got home from Smeltings," Dudley explained. "I wanted some of those new Nike shoes. You know, the ones that blow up to fit your feet? Well, Dad said, I had dozens of perfectly good shoes. He wasn't going to waste money on such nonsense. Not until I really needed new shoes."
"So you just threw away all of your perfectly good, clean, and might I add, unpooed-on shoes, just so you could get new inflatable trainers?" Harry marveled, gazing at his own wrecked footwear through dirty glasses. "You could have saved a pair or two for me, Dudley."
"If I had done that, Dad would have just made me take them back." Dudley spoke slowly, as if a two-year-old. His fat arms made sweeping gestures in the air.
The two teens just stared at each other. Harry's face was closed with irritation. Dudley's face was open with expectation. Suddenly, Dudley reached over and snatched the filthy glasses right off Harry's face. Before Harry could protest, he watched Dudley wipe the lens clean with the hem of an overlarge purple shirt, and plunk them back on Harry's nose. Harry was stunned. Had Dudley just cleaned his glasses? Why did he do that? Harry felt disorientated from the whirl of thoughts in his head.
"Please," Dudley begged, stretching the word out for emphasis.
Kicking off his shoes, Harry handed them over with a flourish. "Far be it from me to let Rita down. Here you go, Dudley." The shoe lace tying up the broken sole was unraveling into thin shreds.
"You have got to be kidding me!" Dudley looked at the battered shoes with horror. "I can't wear these. Don't you have another pair?"
"I think you are confusing me with someone with a full closet. This is my only pair. I guess it's either these, or the poo shoes," Harry grinned. "Just make sure you are back by four. I may need help with your mum."
Dudley grumbled as he put on Harry's battered and worn shoes. "I should be back by then. Do you need anything else while I'm out?"
Surprised at the polite request, Harry answered glibly, "Thank you, Dudley. I need daffodil bulbs, water lily plants, bugs spray for aphids and a new end for the hose. Oh, and some new trainers. Mine are shot." Dudley just stared.
"You are going to miss that bus," Harry reminded. "You don't want to let your girlfriend down."
That launched Dudley into action. Flopping his overlarge body down on the grass, Dudley struggled to reach his feet with the battered trainers. Eventually, he managed to get both shoes on and wrestled himself to his feet. Harry smothered a laugh at the sight; super large purple shirt with the collar half sticking out and dirt stains on the hem, white and green checked Bermuda shorts, no socks and severely dirty and torn trainers about two sizes too small. To finish the ensemble, Dudley's baby fine blonde hair stuck up in sweaty tufts, rivaling Harry's own messy, raven locks.
"She's not my girlfriend," Dudley panted, trying to loosen a tight shoe. "At least not yet." The shoe gave off a groan and split a seam. Dudley sighed in relief and straightened back up. "All I have to do is pour on the Dursley charm," Dudley waggled his eyebrows up and down, in a suggestive fashion.
"Right," Harry coughed to hide a snort. "Go knock her dead."
Dudley's smile drooped. "I'm done with hitting people. Why do you want me to knock--"
"It's an expression." Harry interrupted. He lightly punched Dudley's shoulder. "It means to impress her with your wit and charm, until she feels like you've 'knocked her dead'."
"Oh, right," Dudley exclaimed, grinning widely. "Not to worry. I'm all over this one." Dudley turned and trotted out through the gate, to the bus stop beyond. Harry shook his head at Dudley's antics and got back to work.
The hours passed unnoticed. Harry neither stopped for breakfast, nor lunch. In fact, he didn't stop at all. He finished all his tasks in the backyard and went on to polish the front yard. His mind occasionally flashed on unpleasant but familiar memories: Umbridge and her blood-drawing quill; Hermione lying lifeless in the Department of Mysteries; Professor McGonagall's face as he was given a lifelong Quidditch ban; Sirius falling through the veil. Each time his mind flashed on a sore spot, Harry drove the memory away in a burst of weeding, mowing and pruning.
The memory flashes hadn't been this bad since he first immersed himself in yard work. All this was stirring up again, no doubt, because of Snape's impending visit. However, things had improved somewhat. This time, when Harry realized that he was in a frenzy of yard work to block bad memories, he would try to redirect his mind toward revenge against Snape. It proved to be a natural switch. The morning quickly passed into afternoon.
"You are getting a sunburn. At least, on the parts not covered in filth."
Harry stopped in mid-clip. He had been leveling out a section of boxwood with pruning shears. Sweat poured down his face and splatted on the insides of his glasses. Dudley's cleaning job was now just a memory; Harry could barely see through the grime-smeared and sweat-splattered lens. However, he didn't need his eyes to know who was standing right behind him. Was it half past four already? Maybe if he stayed very still and didn't answer him, Snape would just go away.
"Has the sun addled your brains, Potter? Turn and face me," growled a low, dark voice.
Harry finished the rest of his snip and carefully placed the boxwood clipping in the lawn rubbish bin. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face Severus Snape.
"An interesting fashion statement you've created here. The earth-crusted socks are just the crowning touch," Snape drawled. His hard, black eyes took in every part of Harry's filthy form. "Where are your shoes?"
Opening his mouth to respond; Harry was surprised that no sounds came out. Merlin, but his mouth was dry. His throat felt like he hadn't had a drink all day. Quickly, he realized that was true. Carefully, Harry cleared his throat and answered, "Sorry, sir. I meant to clean up before you came." He gave a little dry cough and continued, "Dudley has my shoes." His voice broke from dryness, at the last word.
"I believe you need some water." Snape's eyes bore intently into Harry's. Thoughts started swirling immediately. He was being Legilimized.
Harry quickly broke eye contract and threw up the best Occlumency shield he could muster. He felt Snape push harder. Drawing all his strength, Harry reinforced his shield and shoved back, mentally. After a moment, he felt Snape stop probing.
"You have improved, but you still let me penetrate." Snape spoke softly, without feeling.
Dizzy from the unexpected mental assault, Harry swayed a moment while breathing hard. He hated a Legilimency attack. He shook his head to clear it. He felt Snape put a steading hand on his arm. "Water, Potter," instructed Snape's flat voice.
Giving a nod, Harry shoved the pruning shears into his gaping back pocket, picked up the rubbish bin and headed for the backyard. He noticed that Snape lingered in the front yard, examining the landscaping.
Harry stowed the bin and opened the back gate. He headed straight for the hose and turned on the water. After a few seconds, a clear cold stream of water arched out from the hose end. Harry bent and drank greedily, pausing every few seconds to take a breath, before drinking again. It seemed like he drank for an hour. Finally sated, Harry let the hose run over the top of his head pouring down his face. The cold stream cleared his head of dizziness. He eventually turned off the hose and faced his professor.
Severus Snape had continued his examination into the backyard. Harry watched while Snape walked the perimeter, lingering at the small pond. If he noticed the magical plants scattered among the Muggle variety, he gave no indication. Finally, Snape turned contemplative eyes toward the teen.
Harry was overly aware of his apparent state; shirtless, shoeless and covered in dirt. He was quite sure he didn't smell very good. The water recently hosed over his head dripped from his hair in muddy streaks down his bare torso. Harry tensed, waiting for the criticisms to begin, but none came. After several uncomfortable minutes, Harry walked over to his discarded shirt. It was the only dirty item in the immaculate backyard. It was even dirtier than he was.
"If you would permit me . . . " Snape pulled a wand out of his black trousers and proceeded to charm off the worst of the grime. First on Harry's shirt, and then on Harry's body.
Nodding his thanks, Harry donned the freshened T-shirt. He would still need a shower, but he was no longer completely disgusting. Now that his glasses were relatively clean again, he noticed that Snape was appropriately dressed in plain black trousers and a simple white button-up shirt.
"Are you responsible for the grounds?"
Harry nodded again, tensing himself for a lecture against magical plants. To his surprise, Snape only said, "They are beautiful. It seems that you might have one redeeming talent in your waste of a life." Harry's jaw dropped. Was that a compliment from Snape?
"What are you planning to include around the pool?" Snape asked, gesturing to the pond.
"I want to put in cattails and water lilies. I was thinking of yellow daisies around the edge. I want to plant them in patches to look like a natural drift of flowers." Harry surprised himself by answering civilly. "What would you suggest, sir?" It surprised him even more, to realize he really wanted to know what Snape would suggest.
"I think yellow daisies would be too informal for these surroundings. I would suggest Convallaria magalis, Liliaceae family, or commonly known as Lilly of the Valley, tucked between some of the rocks. I would also add magical Koi to the pool. They look very much like Muggle goldfish and would bolster the Fairy Lure you've already planted," Snape advised. "I'm assuming you are, in fact, trying to attract Fairies?"
This conversation was becoming surreal. Harry stifled the urge to pinch himself, to be certain he wasn't dreaming. "Yes, sir," Harry answered. "I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but why are you being so . . . nice?"
Snape's dark eyes glittered like black diamonds. "Have you never encountered a gracious winner, Potter?" He paused, as if savoring a victorious moment. "Seeing that I will never again have to endure your bumbling presence in my classroom, I see no reason not to treat you reasonably. In fact, I truly believe that you require some intervention in your life. Tell me, Potter, when was the last time you ate a meal?"
Harry looked quickly away. "Who can eat with that stench in the house? I'm fine, sir. My Uncle is the one who requires intervention." Harry gestured toward the kitchen door. "Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon don't have any idea that you are coming. I'm assuming that you can handle them . . . reasonably."
Snape only snorted in return as he followed Harry up the back steps. Of course, the door was still locked. He sighed heavily as Harry banged on the back door.
After a good two minutes of pounding, Aunt Petunia appeared in the door's window. She peered through the glass intently. Harry called out, "Aunt Petunia, I've brought someone who can help Uncle Vernon. Will you let us in?"
Muffled by the windowpane, Petunia snapped back. "Who's there with you? Move aside, boy."
Harry obliged by leaning back, out of the way. Aunt Petunia face showed shock. No, it was recognition. Her surprised face bloomed into . . . joy?
"Severus!"
"Hello, Petunia . . ."
Tbc . . .
I'll give you one guess on just how Petunia regards Severus. If you get it right, I'll name you in the next chapter. Please toss me a review :)