Yet Another Snape Meets the Dursleys Story: by rabbit
Disclaimer: The plot – such as it is – is sort of mine. The characters, setting, etc., are JKR's. If she wants the plot too, she can have it!
Chapter 9: The Dinner
Summary: There's nothing like a home-cooked meal…
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Petunia Dursley jammed some flowers into a vase for a centerpiece and positioned it neatly at the center of the table. Since Snape had called her bluff about a civilized dinner, she was going to make certain that he would see just how correctly she could present the meal. Snape would have nothing to sneer at on her table. She'd even risked putting a setting of the good china at Harry's place, not that she expected her nephew to be eating the real meal. Beef tea and dry toast for Harry, fried chicken and buttered dinner rolls for the family and the freak. The mashed potatoes, now with a lovely brown crust from being in the oven, would have to be served to everyone, as would the rice pudding for dessert, but Harry could just sit and watch as the rest of them ate their garden salads, summer squash topped with brown sugar, and new peas in butter. The single best thing about Dudley's diet was that it had meant she'd had a good stock of fresh vegetables in the house.
Petunia had no illusions about her culinary skills. They were excellent. In school, the domestic arts teacher had been the only one to give her the marks she deserved, and the praise she'd been given by her parents for her cooking, at least, had never been forced or false. It was her gooseberry fool that had caught Vernon's attention at that church social when they were young. Her Yorkshire pudding was the best she'd ever tasted; her pot roast a feast fit for a king. There were few delights she loved so much as watching her husband and son clean their plates, and now she filled Dudley's salad bowl, adding croutons and cheese, bacon bits and salad dressing with a generous hand. She was not about to subject her son to the misery of a plain lettuce salad and bare broiled chicken breast tonight. Not when he was under this sort of stress!
She listened for the sound of the others coming down the stairs as she lit the can of fuel for the chafing dish. Vernon had gone upstairs five minutes ago with the basket of Harry's clean clothes, and then come back down to finish scrubbing the birdcage back in the utility sink in the garden shed. Presumably, by the time she had the hot food positioned on the table, Snape and the two boys would be ready to eat, but she had better warn Vernon to clean himself up.
Vernon was washing his hands at the kitchen sink, and she was just setting the chicken into the chafing dish, when she heard Dudley's feet on the stairs and went to check on her son's condition. He'd been splashed with water, and not allowed to change into something dry, and by the way he kept glancing up at Snape, he'd had another fright. Not that it wasn't frightening, in and of itself, watching Snape floating Harry down the staircase like some kind of a distorted helium balloon. Harry was wearing pajamas, heavy socks, and one of Dudley's older dressing gowns – not , she noted, one of the dressing gowns she'd decided to pass along to him yet – and his hair was already springing up into its usual defiant wildness in spite of being wetted down. When he reached the bottom of the steps, Snape nodded a command to Dudley, who held out a hand to support his cousin while Snape said something to someone in the hall before following the two boys down the stairs.
"Who's up there?" Petunia demanded to know. She had enough freaks in this house already.
"Just the owls, Mummy," Dudley said quickly. "They've already had their suppers."
"And I doubt you'd want them to join us in any case," Snape said staring at her sourly. "I take it that our supper is prepared?"
"Of course it is," Petunia said, giving him glare for glare. "This way." She led the way into the dining area, resenting the fact the Snape had Dudley supporting Harry as he walked. It was undignified, and it didn't look to her like either boy was happy with it. Both of them knew the usual seating arrangement when there was a guest, though, so there was no arguing about it from the boys when they saw that four of the places had filled salad bowls, and Harry's didn't.
Snape was another matter. He sat down in the place she'd pointed out and then looked at the empty bowl in front of Harry and the full bowl where Dudley was pulling out the chair for himself. "I think not," he said, pulling his wand out from some hidden pocket.
"What…?" Petunia started to say, but it was too late. Dudley's salad bowl had already gone empty.
Dudley, who had picked up his fork already, sighed and put it back down. "Aren't I going to get to eat at all?" he asked Snape wistfully.
"You'll get the same thing as your cousin does," Snape said smoothly, and then angled a peculiar, corner-of-the-mouth smile at Petunia. "Just in case."
Harry bit his lip to keep from smiling, and busied himself with his napkin, but Petunia saw him anyway and wished she dared do something about his impertinence. "There's nothing wrong with the food," she told Snape, almost wishing that she had thought of poisoning it somehow. "Dudley, you may serve the beef tea to yourself. It will need some salt."
Dudley brightened and reached for the tureen and ladle. He filled his salad bowl, started to put the ladle back, and then stopped, glancing uncertainly from Snape to Harry to his mother. "Um…" he started, and then frowned at his hands. "Should I serve some to Harry, then?"
Petunia opened her mouth to say that Harry could tend himself, but Snape was faster than she was. "Dish both bowls," he ordered. "And then, to ensure that you have made a fair division, Mr. Potter will choose the one from which he wishes to eat." Snape ate a bite of his salad, unconcerned by the astonished stares he was getting from the rest of the table. Even Harry, Petunia realized, was surprised. He was sneaking looks from under his hair at Snape, warily, as if the man were about to grow an extra head.
Vernon came to the table as Dudley was carefully measuring the level of the tea in both bowls to make sure that it was exactly the same, and she could see that he was ready to make the best of things. Petunia wasn't sure she wanted to make the best of things, except that it would be one in Snape's eye, but she accepted her husband's cheerful, "Dinner looks lovely, my dear," and the peck on the cheek that was her due. Still, as she began to eat her salad, she preferred to chew on the puzzle of Harry and Snape.
There wasn't any question that Snape knew Harry, at least. To the indignity that had been put upon her, she could add the tiny consolation that at least her home wasn't about to be invaded by every random wizard in the country. But Petunia was beginning to doubt whether Snape liked Harry. Granted, the boy was aggravating enough to try the patience of a saint. If anyone knew that, it was Petunia. The formal way that the man dealt with both boys might just be because he was a teacher, but it seemed to her that Harry was being as cautious of Snape's temper as Dudley was. And Vernon. Men!
She sat up straighter, made herself move the fork more precisely, to show Snape that she was not going to conform her behavior to his anger, and glared at Vernon until he straightened too. They'd keep the Dursley pride intact if she had anything to say about it! "Dudley, sit up straight. And stop fooling with that spoon and eat your beef tea."
"It's gone cold," Dudley complained, but softly, and his eyes looked at her reproachfully, as if she'd hit him or something.
She instantly forgave him for slumping and looking defeated. "Give it here, and I'll reheat it," she said, reaching for the bowl.
"No need," said Snape, raising his wand threateningly and aiming it toward Dudley. Petunia froze, waiting, but Snape only said, "Thermos," and the broth in Dudley's bowl began to steam.
Magic again! At my table! It was outrageous! And rude! And…
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Vernon Dursley wished he had the temerity to kick his wife under the table. Petunia had been getting visibly angrier ever since the salad course, and it wasn't helping Vernon's attempt to be civil. How on earth was he going to manage to appease Snape at this rate? He hoped to somehow draw Snape out on the subject of where Harry got that gold coin; but he'd never manage it if his wife kept interrupting every attempt at conversation Vernon started with indignant sniffs or dismissive snorts whenever Snape deigned to reply. The weather had not been a good conversational gambit. Nor had football, or politics. He'd finally gotten something like a real conversation going by pretending interest in the topic of the bird and its care, but Petunia had killed it the moment Harry had started trying to answer Dudley's question about owl pellets. She was right; owl pellets weren't a very appetizing subject, but what the devil were they going to talk about now? The only other common topic he could think of was Harry. Vernon had a feeling that talking about Harry with Snape would be inviting trouble. He checked the solemn face and dark eyes with a glance. Petunia wasn't the only one who'd been getting angrier.
It was uncomfortably like being caught between two volcanoes.
He was proud of Dudley. His son knew enough to keep his head down in a windstorm after all. There had been times when Vernon had wondered how Dudley would survive the first few years of his working life long enough to be promoted to his proper level. But Smeltings had done the trick, it seemed. Defer to a superior force when you had to, and then wait for the chance to be senior so you could turn it around on someone else, that was the road to an easy life.
And, miracle of miracles, Harry was behaving himself. Snape had Dudley serving his cousin… slaving to him hand and foot, really… and Harry wasn't lording it much at all. It was still, "Thank you, Dudley," and "Could you please give me some more potatoes, Dudley." Vernon felt a certain peculiar kind of pleasure in knowing that he'd trained the boy to be polite and remember his proper place even under unusual circumstances. Of course, it might just be that Harry was tired. Vernon hadn't missed the way the boy's spoon trembled as he worked his slow way through the pudding.
Dudley put down his own spoon and looked over to the three adults, still working on their entrees, and sighed. "Do you think you'd like some peas, Harry?" he asked.
Snape glanced up from his plate. "No," he said shortly. "He wouldn't."
Dudley sighed and ran his finger along the plate to get the last bits of pudding. "More potatoes then?" he asked Harry. "I think there's a little left."
"Sorry," Harry said, leaning on one elbow and pushing the pudding on his plate around with his spoon. "It's funny. I thought I was hungry enough to eat everything on the table when we came down, and now I'm not even sure I can finish this much."
Petunia radiated disbelief, but Vernon frowned as Snape reached out a long white hand to rest it against Potter's cheeks and forehead in turn. "He's not still sick, is he? I thought the whole point of that whatyoumaycallit that you did to the boy was to get the poison out of him."
"There's a good bit of damage to be made up," Snape said, quietly. "Try to manage a little more, if you can, Potter. You'll need the strength."
"Yes, sir." Harry scooped up a little more pudding and tasted it unenthusiastically.
"Well, then, could I go and watch television?" Dudley asked. "I mean, while everyone else is finishing? It's not lightning anymore."
Snape shook his head. "No."
Petunia snorted, "There's no need to torment Dudley. Unless it makes you happy to torture children."
I should have kicked her! "Now, Petunia," Vernon said hastily. "I don't think…"
But it was too late, Snape was already on his feet, his wand drawn. "I have had enough!"