1Court 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 just couldn't help myself with this chapter. I think you'll see what I mean by the end.
Thank you, thank you, Acacia59601!
It's Harry's Fault!
Harry shuffled his way tiredly out of his uncle's bedroom. Dudley was cornered between the doorway to his and Harry's bedrooms. Snape was at his menacing best, looming over a terrified Dudley. All Harry wanted was a cold drink, something solid to eat that didn't taste like potpourri, and a moment to sit undisturbed in the garden. Alone. Without Snape's blackmail, Dudley's problems, Aunt Petunia's snideness, or Uncle Vernon's heavy-handed tyranny. Harry really didn't want to save Dudley's hide. At least, not right now. Not with the feel of Uncle Vernon's squishy stomach still fresh on his mind and between his fingers. A person could only take so much on any given day. Harry was at his limit.
"Mr. Dursley, maybe you can tell me just how your father came to be . . . indisposed?" Snape questioned, with an intense monotone voice.
Taking one step backward toward the wall, Dudley stared with a slack-jawed expression. Harry fancied that he could hear his cousin's panic-stricken heartbeat, just like in those old Muggle horror movies.
Snape crowded Dudley even closer. "Perhaps you would like to accept culpability. After all, the potion was obviously intended for your consumption." A half-curtain of greasy black hair fell across Snape's glowering face. There was still no response.
"Mr. Dursley," Snape fairly growled, "I am accustomed to receiving immediate answers to my questions." With an irritated expression, Snape shifted his weight so close to the teen, Dudley had to plaster himself flat against the wall to gain any space. "What is the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Long, tapered fingers nimbly picked up one black cat hair and waved it in front of the fear-struck face.
Dudley made a little nonsense sound of terror and tried to get away, thudding solidly into the door jamb on his right. Harry could see Dudley's chest heaving in panic. as his cousin tried to escape through the plaster and wood. So much for a quiet moment in the garden.
"Professor Snape, I see you've met my cousin, Dudley Dursley," Harry called loud enough to draw Snape's attention. "Dudley, this is Severus Snape, Professor of . . . Chemistry . . . at my school."
"Master of Potions," Snape corrected, waspishly. He did, however, step back giving Dudley space. Harry watched Dudley minutely relax.
"Harry, this man is scaring me," Dudley whined, his double chin wobbling alarmingly.
"Just answer his questions. He won't hurt you," Harry promised. The smell of baking scones drifted up the stairwell. After today's stench-fest, the aroma was heavenly. Snape's odor-banishing charm had worked wonders on clearing the fouled hallway air. Harry felt lightheaded with hunger and fatigue.
"I don't know what he asked," Dudley's voice trembled. "I didn't understand him."
Harry deliberately stepped between Snape and his terrified cousin. Capturing Dudley's gaze, he answered, "He just wants to know why your Dad got sick. He wants to know who's at fault."
"That all? Why it's your fault, Harry." Dudley poked Harry in the chest. Peering around Harry's form, Dudley confidently informed Snape, "It's Harry's fault. Mum has your scones all done." Dudley pushed himself away from the wall, all fear was lost now that Harry had been firmly blamed.
"Mr. Dursley, are telling me that Potter here dosed your father with the weight loss potion? Wasn't that potion meant for you?" Snape stepped around Harry, blocking Dudley's path to the stairs.
"Um . . . yeah," Dudley stammered. "Like I said, it's Harry's fault." The quivering chins were back.
"Indeed? Why would I believe that, Mr. Dursley?" Snape snarled, dangerously.
Harry had to give credit to Snape for pure menacing intimidation. The man was as welcoming as a dark, stormy night, complete with thunder, lightning and hail. Harry was impressed that he was able to penetrate Dudley's usual oblivion; not much ever did. Maybe he could get Snape to threaten Dudley to keep to his diet? Harry briefly considered what bribe might tempt Snape to agree. The only thing he had, that could be counted bribe worthy, was his father's invisibility cloak. No way Harry would give that up, especially not to Snape. His father would roll over in his grave.
"Why? It's always Harry's fault," Dudley affirmed, gaining courage in the familiar routine of casting blame. "He's a . . . you know . . . freak." Dudley pointed a thumb at Harry, while brushing some of the cat hair from his purple shirt.
Harry groaned internally at Dudley's declaration. He didn't need Snape inflamed. That word, 'freak', particularly in reference to wizards, was certain to cause a ruckus. Harry reached out to pull Dudley away from Snape's reach, but was stopped by a band of steel in the shape of his professor's hand.
"A freak? How interesting. Tell me, Mr. Dursley, how exactly did the 'freak' here make your father ill?" Snape stepped further back, amused. A sly smile crept on Snape's face as he let go of Harry's arm and slowly crossed his arms over his chest. "Enlighten me."
Emboldened by Snape mocking smile, Dudley happily answered. "Harry didn't give me any sausage for breakfast."
"Sausage? How did your lack of fried breakfast meat cause your father to ingest the potion?"
Snape asked, cupping his chin with one hand. Harry was not fooled by the man's amused expression. This definitely wasn't going well.
With a heavy martyred sigh, Dudley explained, "Dad was teasing me with his sausage because I wasn't allowed to have any." He stopped to scratch vigorously at one armpit. A thin cloud of black cat hair took flight out of the sleeve.
"Hold still and finish," Snape ordered.
"Well, then Dad started barking orders about what I could and couldn't eat . . ." Dudley trailed off, scratching at both sides of his stomach.
"Wrong day," Harry cut in, absentmindedly. Both Dudley and Snape turned to look at him. "The sausage teasing was the day before the poison, I mean, potion incident," Harry explained with a shrug.
"Right," Dudley continued. "Then it was when he was threatening me not to binge." Dudley scrubbed his forehead in puzzlement.
"Wrong again. I was the one who threatened you about that," Harry sighed. It was time to change the subject. "Why don't we all go downstairs for some nice, hot scones?" Harry shuffled in the direction of the intoxicating baking smell, hoping the others would follow.
Snape took one step toward the center of the hallway, blocking Harry's path. "I will get to the bottom of this," he hissed. Talking over Harry's head, Snape continued. "Did Mr. Potter give your father the potion?"
Dudley's eyes refused to meet Snape's as he tried whistling loudly, the very appearance of wide-eyed innocence.
"Mr. Dursley . . . Mr. Dursley . . . will you stop that infernal noise?" Snape snarled. Harry tried to take advantage of the distraction to make his escape. A large, bony hand gripped his shoulder firmly, keeping him in place. Harry never realized Snape was so strong . . .or that he had feet that large. Harry glanced down to see a huge booted foot crushing his sock-clad toes. Harry struggled to pull his bruised foot out from under Snape's boot. After a moment, he won free, but had sacrificed his filthy sock and some skin off of the top of his foot. Snape, by contrast, hadn't even made an attempt to take his weight off Harry's toes.
Wiggling his now bare and tender digits, Harry was relieved to see none were broken. When he tried to bend to retrieve his sock from under the boot, Snape tightened his hold painfully, digging deep into the tendons. With a yelp, Harry knocked Snape's arm loose and stumbled backwards. "Enough! I'll tell you what happened. As Dudley said, it's all my fault," Harry snapped.
Dudley started nodding manically, pointing at Harry with one hand, while scratching under his shirt with the other.
"Well, Potter? I don't have all day." Snape reached down to dislodge the empty sock from under his boot. Grasping the grimy tube by one edge, he held it out at arms' length.
Harry snatched the sock back, angrily. "Uncle Vernon was upset that I hadn't controlled Dudley's binge. He threatened to keep me from school until Dudley had lost all his weight, regardless of how long it took. He and Dudley had been arguing already that morning. They were already both upset. When Dudley jumped in to defend me, Uncle Vernon started in on Dudley, too."
"I did?" Dudley asked, surprised.
"Yeah," sighed Harry. He was so tired of all this. "I think that was a first. Anyway, long story short, Dudley's dose of potion ended up in Uncle Vernon's tea."
Snape was very silent.
"I think I remember now," Dudley mused. "I was so mad at him that I dumped the rest of the bottle right into his tea." He scratched the center of his chest, absent-mindedly. "Yeah, it really is your fault, Harry."
"Wait a minute," Snape stepped in, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let me get all this straight. Your father blamed Mr. Potter for your actions. You stepped in to defend Potter, apparently a novel concept for you. Then, you exacted revenge for your father's ire in the form of giving him a massive overdose of an unfamiliar potion. All this is somehow Harry's, I mean, Mr. Potter's fault?"
Both Dudley and Harry nodded.
"You are both giving me a headache. This is absurd. Now Mr. Dursley, this is Harry's fault . . . because?" Snape questioned, blearily.
"He made the thingy I used," Dudley yawned, scratching under his chin. Harry could see a red rash rising on the puffy surface of skin.
"And you, Mr. Potter, just why is this your fault?" Snape asked, closing his eyes. Harry doubted that the man really wanted to know the answer, but his responded anyway.
"Because I didn't control my uncle well enough. If I had been thinking straight the day before, then Dudley wouldn't have binged, Uncle Vernon wouldn't have gotten upset and the potion would have never been made." Harry rubbed at the sore spot on his shoulder. He hoped that Snape hadn't left a bruise.
"The two of you deserve each other. Asinine, the both of you! I have encountered rocks with more sensible logic paths," Snape snarled. He started to enlighten them further, but was interrupted by a call from down stairs.
"Oh, Severus, the scones are ready for you." Aunt Petunia's screechy voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Even Dudley flinched at the sound.
Tiredly, Snape merely gestured for both boys to proceed him down the stairs. Harry was grateful for the distraction.
Down in the kitchen, Petunia wore a frilly apron and was happily serving her unexpected guest a plate of fresh scones. Snape and Dudley sat at the table while Harry fixed tea. The table was prettily set for three.
"Your husband should recover nicely. He'll be fine when he awakes." Snape inclined his head toward Petunia, accepting a hot scone.
Dudley snatched the biggest one off of the plate earning scowl from Snape. Predictably, his rudeness was not noticed or reprimanded by his mother. Without breaking sight of the baked treat, Dudley called out loudly, "I already ate a salad, Harry. This one is scone number one." Dudley broke the scone, blew one long breath on the steaming middle and crammed both halves into his mouth at one time. Snape looked on with disgust.
"Not so fast, Popkin. Don't want you to choke," Petunia chided, stoking Dudley's back. Calling back over her shoulder, Petunia barked, "Where's that tea?"
"Coming, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied. The fact that the table was set for three wasn't lost on the teen. Looked like he was expected to make himself scarce, as usual. Harry poured himself a cup of tea, which he left on the counter, before bringing the teapot to the table. Maybe he could snag one of those scones and take his tea outside.
"This is number two!" Dudley announced, still chewing on scone number one. Bits of chewed scone sprayed out over the table. Snape quickly moved his plate out of the projectile path.
"Slow down, Dudley. The food's not going anywhere." Harry poured three cups of tea, while Petunia removed her apron and took the third seat. "You'll want to make that next one last. You promised to eat only two, remember?" Harry set down the teapot and went to fetch the cream and sugar bowls.
Petunia made a fluttering motion with her hand to cover Harry's comment, obviously embarrassed. "Dudley here is on a strict training diet for his boxing team at Smelting," she confided. "He's the Junior Heavyweight Inter-School Boxing Champion of the Southeast, you know."
"Indeed?" Snape appropriately responded, taking a sip of tea.
"Yes, we are very proud," Petunia beamed at her son. Dudley, on the other hand, appeared to be engrossed in picking up every possible crumb left of scone number two. He was licking his finger so that the crumbs would adhere better.
Snape grimaced at the display. "I can see why." Equally fascinated and disgusted, Snape watched Dudley vacuum the tabletop free of crumbs with a rapid-fire, one-fingered table to mouth motion.
Harry quietly made his way around the table to snag a scone. With Snape and Aunt Petunia's attention on Dudley, he had a fair chance to grab one before being noticed. Smoothly, he reached out toward the plate. Just as his fingers touched the baked goods, Aunt Petunia slapped his hand away.
"What about Potter . . . I mean, Harry?" Snape asked, clearly puzzled why Harry wasn't allowed a scone.
"Oh, that one. He goes to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. He's an embarrassment to the family." Petunia moved the scones away from Harry and gestured sharply for him to leave the room. Stomach audibly growling, Harry headed for the back door. He doubted that his aunt would even allow him to retrieve his tea cup. He'd just have to sneak something later.
"Stop right there," Snape ordered.
Harry froze in mid-step, conditioned by years of being in his classroom. Even though he knew the smart thing to do was to go right out that backdoor, Harry stopped and turned back to the table. What happened next was truly astounding. Harry later wondered if he had been fevered or hallucinating at the time.
Snape set his teacup sharply down onto the matching saucer. "It is my understanding that Mr. Potter here attends Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, not some Muggle penal facility. In case you had forgotten, Pet, I am a professor at that ancient and honorable academy."
Petunia was stunned. It was very clear that she saw Snape as her teenaged savior, not as a member of the despised 'freaks'. That he might be a wizard had probably never entered her
mind. Harry winced in sympathy for his aunt's shattered illusions. It did, however, feel good for someone to finally repute the ludicrous claim that he attended St. Brutus's.
"I was not referring to Potter's school," Snape continued. "I was referring to his lack of presence at your table," he snapped, throwing his napkin down. "The boy is clearly faint from hunger, yet you forbid him even a scone. When I arrived this afternoon, he was locked outside, apparently the entire day, without food or water. Have you even looked at your nephew?" Snape paused, pointing to Harry. "In case you can 't recognize the symptoms, he is malnourished!"
"But . . . Severus . . . I . . ." Petunia sputtered. Her horsey face had a look of panicked confusion, glancing from Harry to Snape. "Surely, you don't think that?"
"How could I not? I've had my suspicions of abuse. Each year he arrives at Hogwarts practically emaciated," Snape growled, tilting his chin upwards in defiance.
Harry stood very still, hoping that no one really would notice him standing there. Abuse? Harry wracked his brain, but he just couldn't comprehend the concept as it might apply to himself. Yes, the Dursleys never treated him the same as Dudley, but was it abuse? Harry held his breath for his aunt's answer, his knees practically knocking together in nervousness.
"I will not be subjected to these . . . these . . . unfounded accusations," Petunia shrieked, rising from the table. "You have no idea how I've suffered. The burden your darling Lily placed on me when she got herself blown up! I just wish that the brat had gotten blown up with her."
That's no surprise, Harry thought, quickly smothering a feeling of hurt. He knew he had never been wanted. But abuse? He had never been truly beaten, nor completely starved. So that ruled out abuse, right? Harry's mind flashed to his half empty plate at a full dinner table, sitting upstairs while the 'family' opened presents and being locked in the cupboard under the stairs. Neglect maybe, but not abuse. The Dursleys' did take him in when he didn't have anywhere else to go. He ought to speak up and defuse this situation, but his voice didn't seem to want to work. His heart pounded loudly in his own ears.
"Unfounded accusations?" Snape snarled. "I had heard the stories about the Boy-Who-Lived-Under-The-Stairs. Frankly, I had dismissed them as teenage pity-mongering and youthful imagination." The Potion master stood slowly from the table to advance on a retreating Petunia.
"It makes a good tale, don't you think? The famous boy who defeated the Killing Curse of the most powerful dark wizard of our time, locked up in a cupboard under the stairs? By no less than his Muggle relatives charged with his well-being." Snape stalked his way deliberately around the table's edge. "Are you aware, Petunia, that your cupboard under the stairs radiates latent
accidental magic? I'm beginning to think those ludicrous stories were true after all. Are they true, Pet? Have you incarcerated and starved your nephew?"
Petunia, for her part, slowly backed away, shaking her head tightly in denial. As Snape got closer, her mouth opened in a silent scream.
Harry felt frozen in place, yet he could still feel the blood draining from his face. This was horrible. No, worst than horrible. Were all the embarrassing parts of his childhood fodder for the school rumor mill? And what was going on with Snape? Harry noticed for the first time that
Dudley appeared to be as disturbed by this scene as he was. It was time to step in, but he never had the chance.
Dudley Dursley stood up abruptly and tipped his chair back onto the floor. Turning to Snape, he held out one hand firmly. "You leave my mother alone, you big . . . um . . . bat!"
Much to Harry's surprise, Snape actually stopped at Dudley's gesture. What happened next was even more surprising. Satisfied that he had stopped the attack, Dudley turned to his mother and asked quietly, "Mum, you don't mean that, do you? About wishing Harry blown up?" Dudley's watery blue eyes struck Harry to the core. Dudley cared?
The kitchen features started to take on an odd tilt. A strange hollow buzzing sound filled his ears. Harry watched Aunt Petunia throw her apron over her head and run crying from the room. It all happened in slow-motion. Blurry slow-motion. The buzzing sound was back and it was really strange. Harry batted at his ear while he looked around for the source. Maybe some of those pixies had broken into the kitchen?
Suddenly, Dudley's concerned face appeared right in front of him. His cousin's portly features seemed to waver and pull as if reflected in a funhouse mirror. From far away, Harry heard the dark, gravelly voice of Professor Snape saying that he'd better sit down before he fell down.
Harry muttered that he was fine, even as the world faded to black.
Severus Snape spat the most vile curses in his repertoire as he carried an unconscious Harry Potter up the stairs, to the boy's bloody bedroom. His very skin crawled from contact with the
dirty form in his arms. Merlin knew, cleansing charms only went so far to counteract that much filth.
What had possessed him to act that way? Potter wasn't his charge, or even in his mild concern. Sure, he had actually heard those stories with which he had so blithely taunted Petunia. He found the irony of them very amusing and had laughed, not at all nicely, at the time. He enjoyed anything that humbled that overindulged brat.
Only now, the brat didn't seem so overindulged. Severus shifted Harry's weight in his arms, freeing the boy's foot snagged on the stair handrail. He cursed the Dursley boy's reaction to his magic, forcing him to carry Harry's grimy body instead of simply levitating the boy up the stairs. Severus had been sure the overweight teen would wet his pants at the mere sight of a wand.
The foot, sockless and scraped, finally was free and Severus continued up the stairs. Why should he care if Potter was too spineless to protest his downtrodden position? Those Muggles were obviously stupid enough to manipulate easily. Potter needed to take control of this situation.
However, that wasn't what really bothered him. The root of his unease was his own behavior. What had possessed him to bark at Petunia that way? There was no question that he had lost control.
Severus followed Dudley Dursley's overlarge rear up the last stair and down the hall, to the door covered in locks. At the bottom of the door was a small pet flap, currently locked closed from the outside. The small flap would be entirely unsuitable for Potter's owl to use. Severus wondered if the boy had somehow acquired another pet? Since students were only allowed one pet at school, he might utilize this new information to detract Gryffindor points, at the return of the school year.
Dudley fumbled with the door locks with nervous fingers. It pleased Severus to no end that he had this effect on the youth. Scared usually meant compliant. Severus was in no mood for coddling.
Potter was beginning to get heavy in his arms. Severus shifted the dead weight upwards, trying to get a better grip. "Any time now, Mr. Dursley," he growled. Severus could hear Petunia sobbing loudly in the bedroom down the hall. He hoped she would stay away. What had possessed him to act that way toward her? Why had he lost control of his temper? That same temper was rising now at this inane delay.
"Why are there so many locks on this door?" Severus snarled. "I would prefer to put Potter in his bedroom. You are wasting my time."
Dudley finally finished with the last lock and swung the door open. Flashing a trembling glance at Snape's stormy expression, he merely replied, "This is Harry's room."
Severus groaned. He did not need more overt evidence of the Dursleys' neglect. What was Dumbledore thinking, placing the boy here? Were these Muggles so afraid of magic that they felt the need for, Severus counted silently, twelve different locks?
Turning sideways to get through the lock-saturated door, Severus stepped into Potter's bedroom, looking around. There wasn't much to see; a threadbare bed covered in a dingy sheet, a tattered desk with one leg shorter than the other three, a wardrobe with a broken hinge and a well cared-for and empty owl cage, with fresh shavings, food and water. This room was even shabbier than his dismal quarters at Spinner's End. Severus sighed and dropped the boy down on the bed rather carelessly. His action was met with a loud yowl from underneath.
"I don't remember Potter having a cat," Severus muttered to himself.
"It's m-m-m-mine," Dudley stuttered from behind him.
Severus spun on the trembling teen. "Then, why have you locked it in this room?"
"I don't have a cat box," Dudley answered, his eyes wide. "Are you going to hex me?"
"Do you think not having a cat box warrants hexing?" Severus asked with a snort.
Dudley shook his head vigorously in denial. Layers of unhealthy fat jiggled at the movement.
"Why didn't you just open the cat flap on the door? The beast could then get outside to take care of his natural business." Bored with the conversation, Snape moved to the desk inspecting the correspondence. He carelessly thumbed through a dozen letters from Potter's annoying friends. Under the latest letter was a finished potions essay. So, Potter had managed to finish his summer
homework after all. Reading through the opening paragraph, Snape itched to correct a missing comma in the very first sentence.
"Oh, that's not for the cat," Dudley replied, edging for the door.
"Hold right there," Snape ordered, not looking up. The essay was disgustingly correct, although littered with grammatical errors. You'd think the boy would have mastered the use of a simple comma by this point in his education.
Setting the paper back down, Severus looked up at the nervous teen. "Explain what you mean. Do not doubt that I will know if you are lying," he said, glaring at the boy.
Dudley gulped, alarmed. "It's a dinner flap, you know, for Harry, when he's locked in."
"Does that happen often?" Snape didn't really want to know, but he asked anyway. He now fervently wished he had never set up this whole scenario. He wished that he had never stepped inside Privet Drive.
"I dunno," Dudley stammered, growing red-faced. "I guess so. I've never paid too much attention."
Severus stared at Dudley's discomfort. He should just make sure that Potter wasn't going to expire anytime soon and get clear of this place. He didn't want to get involved. He certainly didn't want to confront Petunia again. His backside still burned from her touch. Severus supposed that was the real reason he had rounded on Petunia in the kitchen, retaliation against her intrusions, verbal and personal.
Severus had never taken kindly to anyone invading his personal space without a direct invitation. Petunia certainly hadn't received one from him. She never would. His words were intended to wound, to attack her sense of superiority. Severus had figured rightly, Petunia would care deeply about how other people viewed her treatment of her nephew. Her reputation was her greatest concern.
As for his actual accusations, Severus was surprised to discover he could no longer ignore or dismiss the essence of what he had said. Potter was neglected and in poor health. He also wasn't lying about the latent accidental magic surrounding the cupboard under the stairs. Severus may have said those harsh words to Petunia in a sole effort to lash back at her insults and liberties, but in the end, he had to admit to himself that he spoke the truth. There was no evading the evidence. Dumbledore was going to get an earful from him.
Dudley squirmed under the scrutiny. Finally, he asked, "Is Harry going to be all right?" Dudley pointed at the bed. "He looks pretty bad."
Resisting the urge to flee the room, Severus turned back toward the bed. Potter was sprawled out, still unconscious. Severus could see a long black tail peeking from under the bed, thrashing
in annoyance. Perversely, it was comforting to know that he wasn't the only thing irritated in this room.
"I am going to pull out my wand and check his condition." Severus stared the boy down. "Can you handle that much magic?"
Dudley nodded his head and scratched in stomach. Severus wondered if there was any skin left under that purple shirt. Pulling his wand out, Severus ran a simple diagnostic spell.
Looking up at Dudley, he slowly put his wand away. "Mr. Potter has simply fainted from low blood sugar, dehydration and fatigue. He needs water, food and rest. As for looking bad, a hot bath should take care of most of that."
"He does stink," Dudley agreed, solemnly.
Severus made up his mind, quickly. "I am going outside to retrieve something that will help your cousin. I want you to fetch him some water. If he awakes before I return, you will keep him here and make him drink at least one full glass. Two would be better."
Severus moved toward the door. He would Apparate back to Spinner's End for a few strengthening potions and be back here within the half-hour. Then, he would find Dumbledore and take great pleasure in detailing the exact nature of Potter's guardians and living conditions.
Passing Dudley on the way out, Severus stopped by the boy. "I am placing Harry's well-being in your hands. Can I count on you?"
Dudley surprised him by nodding firmly, his face resolute. "You can now," he said.
Tbc . . .
A/N I was going to leave off at Harry's faint, but Acacia59601 talked me out of it. After the next chapter, things will start to wrap up.
I hope that the characters are not too terribly OC. Harry and especially Dudley have evolved so much. Please drop me a line and tell me what you think. I enjoy the comments more than you can imagine.
Thanks for reading!