Chapter Six: Privet Drive

'Man performs and engender so much more than he can or should bear. That's how he finds that he can bear anything. That's it. That's what is so terrible.' -William Faulkner

Harry Potter lay sprawled on the sofa, reading The Daily Prophet and listening with half an ear to the newsreader on the telly. He had heard or read no news of any suspicious deaths or disappearances so, as far as Harry could speculate, Voldemort was being quiet for the time being. The telly was reporting on the Prime Minister's latest goings-on, while the front page of The Daily Prophet covered a witch named Hailey Ahlgrim who had announced her candidature last night. Harry hoped Lucius Malfoy didn't become the next Minister for Magic- he hated to think what a Death Eater could do in that position. Not to mention it would make Draco Malfoy even insufferable than he already was.

He was able to get away with using the Dursleys' furniture because Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen preparing dinner; his cousin was in the kitchen as well having his before-dinner snack. Uncle Vernon was out golfing with some potential clients, leaving Harry to wonder if the golf buggy would be capable of holding his uncle's weight.

Dudley was begging Aunt Petunia to take him to the amusement arcade. 'But I want to go! Dad said you'd take me,' he lied.

Whether or not Aunt Petunia gave in to Dudley's whinging, Harry never found out.

The doorbell rang and Harry, thinking it might be his cousin's friends, Piers and Gordon, leapt off the sofa and headed for the stairs.

'POTTER!' Dudley yelled. 'Get the door!'

He remained where he was; if Dudley went outside with his mates, Harry would stay in his room, but if they came inside, he would make a break for the back door. He pressed himself against the stairwell and waited for someone to answer the door. The doorbell rang again and was accompanied by pounding on the door.

'Where is that dratted boy?' Aunt Petunia muttered. 'Dudders,' she continued in that saccharine voice reserved for her "Ickle Diddykins", 'get the door please, I'm elbow deep in meatloaf.'

His cousin groaned loudly but went to the door (Harry could hear the floorboards squeaking).

The door swung open and Dudley screamed at the top of his lungs. Harry whipped out his wand and prepared to charge into the parlour when he was nearly trampled by his fleeing cousin. Dudley clambered up the stairs, one meaty hand clamped securely over his backside, the other floundering in search of balance.

Standing in the doorway was the last person Harry would ever expect to darken his doorstep: Snape. In that split second the two separate lives Harry had been living: wizard at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and delinquent attending the fictitious St Brutus's Academy for Incurably Criminal Boys, had coalesced into one.

Snape looked as imposing as ever, dressed as he was in his heavy black robes. His arms were crossed over his chest and while he appeared momentarily caught off guard at Dudley's flight, he quickly composed his expression into his customary sneer.

'Perhaps the poor boy is disturbed,' the witch standing next to Snape said, searching for an explanation for Dudley's unexpected terror. She was more than a head shorter than Snape, pretty, and clad in robes as well- sapphire blue with a matching pointed hat. She was carrying a briefcase (like Mr Weasley's, only less worn) and with her chocolate brown hair and cordial air, Harry rather thought she seemed too friendly to be in Snape's company. He realised with a jolt that she was the witch on the cover of The Daily Prophet, which would make her none other than Hailey Ahlgrim.

Aunt Petunia rushed into the room, stopping dead at the sight of two people who, with their wizard garb, were obviously magical. But she recovered quickly. 'Just who do you think you are?' she demanded.

'Professor Snape,' he said with a sneer, laying a strange inflexion on the word, 'and this is-'

'Hailey Ahlgrim,' she smiled and stuck out her hand. 'Pleased to meet you.' After several moments of standing in the doorway with her hand extended, the witch accepted that the chances of having her hand shaken were astronomically low and dropped her hand. She cleared her throat. 'Mrs Dursley, I was wondering if you would permit me to have a private audience with your nephew.'

Aunt Petunia ignored her and regarded Snape disdainfully before sticking her nose in the air. 'Absolutely not,' she said primly.

Snape made a cursory glance about the room with its abundance of lace, floral fabrics and dainty figurines and arched an eyebrow condescendingly. 'That,' he said, 'is a hideous sofa.' Aunt Petunia made a strange choking noise and balled her manicured hands into fists. 'But,' Snape continued airily, 'it does match the curtains.'

'How dare you-' Aunt Petunia was so enraged she could finish her thought. 'OUT!' she screeched. 'Go! Get out of my house!'

'Ma'am,' Miss Ahlgrim began, 'it is-'

'No! I want you to leave this instant! I've had enough of your kind!' She threw a hateful glance in Harry's direction.

Many years ago, Harry had come to accept the Dursleys would see him as nothing more than a nuisance, a burden that had been placed on their doorstep. He did not want to believe it, but for a split second, he felt a twinge of pain, like a needle pricking a finger.

'Yes, I quite imagine you have.' Snape's voice was so chilling Harry shivered.

Aunt Petunia looked away, a flicker of what might have been guilt flashing across her face before it was overcome by the bitterness and spite she had always managed to amass in such large quantities. 'I-I still want you to leave,' she said in a poor attempt at bravery.

Snape crossed his arms. 'And once we finish we will, but how we leave is up to you. We can leave through the back door and disappear without a sound or, we can leave with all the pomp and circumstance as if the Queen herself had come for tea.' He glanced to the witch at his side. 'Ahlgrim, do you think you could arrange for a dragon-drawn carriage?'

The threat, ridiculous though it may have been, worked splendidly and Aunt Petunia fled upstairs, slamming the door shut behind her.

Now that Aunt Petunia was gone, the strangeness of the situation and the dread of seeing Snape was settling in and twisting Harry's stomach into knots.

'Professor,' Miss Ahlgrim said, rounding on Snape, 'I must object to you treating Mrs Dursley in such a manner, she is-'

'-a complete waste of oxygen,' Snape finished.

She frowned, though decided to wage that row at another time, if not abandon the battle entirely, as she reached over and shook Harry's hand. 'Mr Potter, it's a pleasure to meet you.' Her eyes performed the upward flick to his scar that he was all too familiar with. She smiled embarrassedly when she realised she was caught.

'... Marwell Zoological Park welcomes a new baby okapi...' In all the commotion the telly had been forgotten.

The witch started at the voice, pulled out her wand and pointed it at the goggle-box. 'Silencio!'

'...the okapi is a mammal that looks like a cross between a giraffe and zebra...'

Snape was unable to fully repress a snort. He picked up the television remote and, after staring at it for a moment, jabbed a button with his finger. The telly turned off. Snape then pointed Harry to the sofa. 'Sit.'

Angry that he was being ordered about in his own house, Harry glowered at Snape but sat down nonetheless. 'What are you doing here?' he asked, his voice making it clear he was not happy that Snape was "here."

Miss Ahlgrim perched herself on the armchair across from him. 'He's with me,' she said simply. Snape's resulting glare made Harry suddenly like her very much. 'How are you enjoying your holiday so far?' she asked kindly. 'It must be nice to sleep in and not worry about lessons.'

Aunt Petunia never let him sleep in and he was worried about things much bigger than school, but he didn't say so. Instead, he shrugged. 'It's okay.'

She waved her wand and a tea set appeared in mid-air, where it levitated for a moment before Miss Ahlgrim directed it to the coffee table. 'Tea'?' she offered.

Harry shook his head.

'Oh! I almost forgot!' She began to be digging around in her briefcase which, like the bewitched boot of Mr Weasley's car, seem to contain far more than its size suggested. She pulled out a pair of Quidditch gloves and gave them to him with a smile.

'Wicked!' Harry had always had to use a pair of the school's gloves for the games and these were much nicer. The fingerless gloves were made of leather with plenty of buckles and straps and padding. Ron would be begging to borrow them. He then frowned, wondering why a complete stranger was giving him gifts. After Cedric died, his classmates either avoided him or were especially nice to him. A Ravenclaw girl he had never even spoken to offered to tutor him in Potions, while Hannah Abbott did an about-face whenever they crossed paths. Harry figured this was another example of such sympathy and was tempted to reject the gift, but he thought it would be rude to do so.

'Think of it as a birthday present, if you'd like,' she said, noticing his discomfort, 'one that's either early or exceedingly late.'

'Er... thanks. But what do you want?' On second thought, that didn't sound too polite. 'I mean, why are you here?'

'Enough of the pleasantries, Ahlgrim,' Snape sneered, 'get on with it.'

Miss Ahlgrim leaned forward. 'Mr Pot- Harry... I'm here to talk to you about Cedric Diggory.'

The nightmares that had plagued Harry for weeks washed over him like a wave. 'W-what?' He swallowed. 'You, you think I had something to do with-with what happened to Cedric?'

Snape, who had been wandering about the room examining the Dursleys' photographs, glanced sharply at the witch.

'No! Of course not!' She looked shocked he would even think such a thing and gave his hand a quick squeeze. 'I know it was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who killed Cedric and that He regained His body, but that's all I know. I need you to tell me everything that happened.'

Harry stared at his worn trainers, loathed to repeat the story, especially with Snape present.

'Come now, Potter, I thought you'd be eager to share how you bested the Dark Lord once again.'

Miss Ahlgrim pursed her lips. 'Professor Snape, please bear in mind that I am the one conducting this interview.'

Harry had tried to tell Cornelius Fudge about Voldemort but been rebuffed in no uncertain terms. That Harry was one of the few who knew of the Dark wizard's return frustrated him to no end. Only Sirius's owl warning him not to act rashly prevented him from taking out an advert in the Daily Prophet.

'You're in the Ministry, right?' he asked Miss Ahlgrim.

She nodded. 'I'm- well, I have a pair of ridiculously long titles, suffice it to say I serve on the Wizengamot and am a good friend of your Headmaster.'

'Then that means Fudge- he believes me now?'

'No, no I'm afraid not. You see, Harry, just because the Ministry is a single entity does not mean it is of a single mind.'

'Oh.' That hope dashed, he sat dejected for a moment. 'Where do you want me to start?'

'I always found it helps to start at the beginning,' she said kindly. 'Go as far back as you need, we have plenty of time.'

Snape snorted. 'Speak for yourself, Ahlgrim.'

Harry glowered at Snape before he took a deep breath. 'Well, it started with this really weird dream…' And he told her about the upheaval at the Quidditch World Cup, his name ending up in the Goblet, the dragons, the merpeople, and the maze. He left out the overheard conversations between Snape and Karkaroff, the details of how he obtained the gillyweed, and, most importantly, the fact that he was in regular contact with the escaped prisoner Sirius Black.

At first, he spoke haltingly, stumbling over words- a few times Snape even had to correct him on the proper order of things. When he reached the night of the Third Task he began to hesitate once more. 'And then, out of Voldemort's wand came Cedric's spirit er, ghost I'm not sure what…'

'An echo,' Snape supplied.

'Yeah, an echo, Cedric told me to hold on and, uh,' Harry swallowed, 't-to bring his body back to his parents. I… I think he'd have liked me to pass a message along to Cho… but he didn't have the time.'

Miss Ahlgrim leaned forward and held his hands in hers. It reminded him of something Mrs Weasley would have done. 'I'm sure that whatever Cedric wanted to tell Cho…' she paused, selecting her words carefully, 'whatever it was, she already knows.'

Harry wasn't quite sure. He remembered seeing Cho the night of the Leaving Feast; it was clear she had been crying. Harry felt guilty, guilty for liking Cho, for asking her to the Yule Ball. Cedric was much better for her. Cho had liked him so much, maybe even loved him. Harry remembered how the other Gryffindors had made fun of Cedric- sometimes Harry had even joined in. He wished he could somehow take it all back.

'I don't have all day, Potter,' Snape said impatiently, jarring Harry from his thoughts.

'Er… then another-another echo appeared, Bertha Jorkins's.'

Miss Ahlgrim's hands flew to her mouth. 'You… you saw Bertha?' she gasped. 'Are you certain it was her?'

Harry nodded glumly, feeling even more terrible than before.

Rising to her feet, she excused herself quietly, assuring them she would be only a moment and left through the front door.

Which left him and Snape. Harry grabbed his teacup and drained it in one large gulp.

The silence lengthened; Snape drummed his fingers on his crossed arms and Harry studied the dregs of his tea as if he were attempting divination. Harry couldn't bear it any longer, he needed to know whether he made the right choice; Snape was the last person he would want to ask, but he was the only one available. Dumbledore trusted Snape, and for now, that would have to do. 'I didn't tell her about the letters Sirius sent me, should I have?'

Snape's eyes flicked over to the door before he drawled, 'I have no idea, Potter, should you have told a member of the Wizengamot that not only were you in regular contact with a mass murderer, but you also met with him in the Headmaster's office, with the Headmaster's blessing?' Snape arched a mocking eyebrow. 'Do you honestly need me to answer that question for you?'

Harry hung his head, feeling magnificently stupid. He tried to defend himself. 'She said she was a good friend of Professor Dumbledore's and she told me to tell her everything, if she found out I fibbed about that, she wouldn't believe anything I said.'

Snape turned his attention to Aunt Petunia's collection of figurines on the mantle. Picking up a porcelain ballerina and turning it over in his hand he said, 'First, she is a politician, not a friend, and second, you have no trouble disregarding whatever I tell you to do, so I do not see why you should have any trouble extending her the same consideration. Now, do you still believe you should enlighten her?'

'No...' Harry replied through gritted teeth.

'Acceptable, though "no, Professor," or "no, sir" would have been a better answer.'

Harry opened his mouth to give an even better answer when the front door opened and Miss Ahlgrim re-entered. She sat back down on the sofa and folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes were a bit red, but she managed to look composed all the same. 'Please, continue.'

'Er...' Harry tried to remember where he had left off. 'Uh... after that the ghost-echo of a man, the man from my dream. And then my dad and mum.'

Crash! The figurine Snape had been inspecting lay scattered at his feet. He repaired it with a wave of his wand and a snarl.

Harry quickly told about his escape, return to Hogwarts, and his confrontation with Crouch, eager to have the tale finally done with.

The witch sat in silence, absorbing everything she had been told. Snape moved behind the sofa to stand in front of the window, his face inscrutable. 'Harry,' she said at long last, 'in my line of work I encounter a lot of people who, for a variety of reasons, aren't always completely honest with me, and I have the feeling you are not being entirely forthcoming.'

Behind Miss Ahlgrim, Snape stealthily drew his wand.

Harry looked away quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

'I am not trying to pry, if it was something personal, like you fancying a girl or something of the sort, but I need you to tell me if that is the case.'

'It was,' Harry said quickly, 'I mean, it was a family matter.'

Her eyes searched his intently; he stared back, desperately hoping she believed him.

'All right then.'

He bit back a sigh of relief; Snape slipped his wand back into his robes.

'Now, you said there were some Death Eaters you were able to identify?'

He shifted in his seat. 'Yeah, there was Wormtail... the one who killed Cedric-'

'-And Bertha Jorkins.' She frowned in thought. 'Wormtail... that doesn't sound like any name I've ever heard of, an alias perhaps? Do you remember if he was addressed by any other name?'

Harry knew then he could use this to help Sirius; he was tempted to say "Peter Pettigrew," but Miss Ahlgrim would never believe him. After all, Pettigrew was considered to be a hero. Instead, Harry tried to answer the question as Hermione would. 'No... but Voldemort said he had a... an affinity with rats, that he communicated with them somehow.' Harry sat up in his seat as if he had remembered something. 'Wormtail had a finger missing- on his right hand!'

Miss Ahlgrim had taken out a roll of parchment and was taking down notes with a Self-Inking quill (Harry had seen Malfoy show off one just like it). 'Excellent. I'll have the Magical Law Enforcement Squad go through St Mungo's records to see if they can find anything. Were you able to able to recognise any of the others or hear their names?'

'Er... yeah, there was Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair, Avery- Voldemort cast the Cruciatus Curse on him- Nott...' Harry watched Miss Ahlgrim's forehead become more and more furrowed with each name he gave, but he suspected the last one would be the worst. 'And Lucius Malfoy.'

A flash of vindication danced across her face before her expression became grim once more. 'So the rumours are true... Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater all along...'

'So Malfoy will be arrested then?' Harry asked.

She Vanished the tea tray and returned the quill and parchment to her briefcase. 'It is not that easy, I'm afraid.'

'What? Look at his arm! He has the Dark Mark!'

'Of course he does,' she snapped, frustration colouring her voice. 'However, the Wizengamot determined Mr Malfoy was placed under the Imperius Curse and forced to commit a multitude of atrocities, one of which was receiving the Dark Mark. So no, Mr Potter, he cannot be thrown into Azkaban for that!' Miss Ahlgrim sighed deeply, running her hand through her hair. 'You have my deepest thanks, Harry, and if there is anything I can do to help you, all you need to do is ask.'

That night Harry woke up from his uneasy sleep to a curious noise. He sat up in bed, listening intently. There it was again, a honking sound, almost like a goose. Hedwig's cage had started to smell so he had left his bedroom door ajar, which was the only reason he had heard the noise in the first place. He rolled out of bed, grabbed his wand, and sneaked down the stairs.

The honking noise wasn't the result of any poultry, but rather of a nose being blown. Now he was closer to the source he could also discern snivelling. Making sure he skipped the bottom stair, Harry entered the kitchen and peered around the corner.

Aunt Petunia was sitting at the table, an old photo album spread out in front of her and a balled-up handkerchief in her hand. She wiped her eyes and turned a yellowed page.

Harry had never seen that particular album before; his mind had its suspicions of what was in the album, but whether he was right or not, he never found out.

Uncle Vernon stomped into the kitchen from the parlour and Aunt Petunia quickly dried her eyes and slammed the album shut spouting a geyser of dust.

'Has the programme ended?' she asked, her voice thick despite her best efforts.

Uncle Vernon grunted in reply, oblivious to his wife's misery.

Harry turned around to sneak back upstairs when he stepped on a creaky stair.

Aunt Petunia's head shot up. 'What are you doing here?' she demanded.

He fumbled for an answer. 'Er... I was getting a glass of water.'

'The tap in the loo works perfectly well for that.' Aunt Petunia's eyes were hard, hateful and Harry knew Aunt Petunia knew her moment of weakness had been seen. Not wanting to anger her any further, he ran up the stairs and dove into bed. As he lay in the darkness he promised himself he would find the album.

The next morning Aunt Petunia went to Sainsbury's after his uncle had gone to work, giving Harry a chance to search. But though he rummaged through every room in the house, the photo album was nowhere to be found.