"This is my house! You can't evict Dudley and Vernon! You can't keep me prisoner in my own house! After all we've done for the boy… this is the payment we get! I won't stand for it. I'll… I'll… I'll … ring the police!" Aunt Petunia took shrill to a new level as she understood what Professor McGonagall intended to do.

"Oh, you think your police will be overcoming magic, do you?" Professor McGonagall said in clipped tones. "Your laws don't apply here. This house is magically warded… Harry is one of the most… "

"Don't!" Harry blurted out afraid of what she might say. He had lurched forward, hands scrunching the lace table runner on the low table between the sofa and Aunt Petunia's chair. "She doesn't want to hear any of that."

Aunt Petunia yelped in alarm. It took Harry a moment to understand why. When he heard the clink of china against the rings in her hand he knew he had dislodged one of the figurines that had been the bane of Harry's existence dusting this room.

There was a pop of magic and the shattering of china and Aunt Petunia cried out in alarm and pain, "You broke it! Purposefully!"

"You care more for a knick-knack than your own nephew. You should be ashamed. Sadly, I doubt you fathom the depth of your vileness," Professor McGonagall said with so much loathing that Harry was surprised to feel a pang of pity for his aunt.

"Harry, would you be so good as to repair the figurine for your Aunt?" Professor McGonagall requested.

"Me?" Harry asked, turning his nose toward the Professor, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Which one was it?"

"This one!" Harry felt the air in front of his face move and he leaned back allowing his disbelief to show. "Er. The Nymphenburg Petunia that my grandmother gave my mother when I was born," Aunt Petunia sniffed and then her voice was muffled as she bent to pick up the shards.

"I don't think I should do it, Professor," Harry said. "I get the color wrong."

"Yes, Remus was telling me. I think it could serve as a nice reminder for your Aunt," Professor McGonagall said.

"Color? It's porcelain—just perfectly white," Petunia spoke over the professor. "And he's not to do that in our house. Your ministers even said so. Sent him a letter when he wrecked my pudding!"

"That wasn't me!" Harry huffed.

Aunt Petunia yelped again as there was an eruption of wings and scritching claws across the window sill behind Harry. He turned his ear toward the sound.

"Hedwig?" he asked.

"It's not Hedwig, it is a Ministry bird," Professor McGonagall informed him.

"See! Just like before!" Aunt Petunia had jumped up and run out of the room while Professor McGonagall's robes rustled as she strode over to the window.

Harry listened as Professor McGonagall undid the leather straps on the bird's leg. There was a crack of wax breaking and stiff parchment being unfurled. The sound filled Harry with dread. Sure it was going to be another howler, he braced himself.

However, no screaming filled the room—just the small sounds Professor McGonagall made while reading the parchment.

"What does it say?" Harry finally asked after the Ministry owl's hoot faded as it took off and the silence became intolerable.

"Huh?" Professor McGonagall sounded as if she'd just awoken to the fact that he was still in the room. "I apologize, Harry. It is just from the Ministry about our visit. I had certain questions about the details of our time here and what I'm permitted and not permitted to do as your de facto guardian."

"You're my guardian?" Harry asked, sitting up taller.

"De facto… a temporary measure as part of my role as your Head of House and because the Ministry is finally recognizing that your muggle relations… well, I won't go into that at the moment. I can explain it later in more detail. For now, yes," she explained, her voice betraying more emotion than her normal conservative pitch.

"Oh, all right," Harry said quietly, though he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Granted, he felt a smidge safer than having the Dursleys as his guardians, but it wasn't all warm and fuzzy as it might have been if it was the Weasleys or the Grangers. And why don't I get a say in it? He huffed in exasperation.

"Oh, and the Minister wants to visit," Professor McGonagall said over her shoulder as she left the room. "He'll be here for afternoon tea. I need to set up… " Her voice trailed after her as she marched down the corridor, eclipsing when she went into the kitchen, no doubt tracking down Aunt Petunia.

Harry sat for a moment and then stood up. He shook out his staff and headed for the front door. He paused for a moment after his hand found the knob, listening to the low murmur of his Aunt and Professor McGonagall's conversation in the kitchen. While tense, it didn't seem as incendiary as it could have been. Upstairs, Marge and Dudley were no longer walking back and forth on the squeaky floorboards and he wondered what they were doing now that they must be done packing. He shrugged and eased the door open, years of muscle memory coming into play as he slid it open and slipped out without a sound.

Harry closed it just as quietly, found the edge of the stoop with his staff, then the walkway to the garden where he hoped to find Nio sunning on the stone wall. As the fragrance of the stock flowers grew stronger, he called out to Nio in parseltongue.

"Nio? Are you out here?" There was a rustling sound coming from the garden. A bubble of happiness rose in his throat.

"Sthei! Is it time to weed again? I wouldn't mind some juicy insects."

Harry flicked his staff into his holster and knelt down breathing in the tang of damp grass. He stretched his hands out in front of him until he felt Nio's tongue whispering against his fingertips.

"Sure, let's find you some treats," Harry said, smiling as Nio wove through his fingers and he dug into the earth under the stock flowers. Soon the snake was sighing contentedly with a belly full of grubs.

"Big Friend, even though being with you means I've flown through the air in the talons of an owl, nearly been frozen to stone, and felt like I was torn inside out—having my fill of juicy, fat worms makes it all seem worthwhile."

Harry couldn't help laughing at Nio's slurring words as he fought sleep. Harry tucked in his shirt and transferred the snake carefully from his neck to his belly, wiggling until the serpent wasn't tickling him anymore… then he eased himself onto the stone ledge that bordered the garden and soaked in the sun, an arm slung across his eyes (glasses stored in his pocket), and a hand protectively over the slumbering snake at his navel.

oO0OooO0OooO0OooO0Oo

"Harry?"

Harry started as he was shaken awake. He flung his arm off his face in an attempt to steady himself and whacked someone. He was mortified as he heard Professor McGonagall yelp in surprise as she jumped back and he tumbled off the stone wall, hitting his head against something solid.

Nio squirmed in alarm and Harry put a calming hand over the bundle of snake at his belly button.

"What's this?" Harry asked as his other hand, holding his wand, brushed against a smooth concave shell that surrounded him. His voice bounced back to him and the noises of Privet Driver were muffled.

"Ah, it is indeed impressive. This is what Lupin has been telling me about," Professor McGonagall remarked, her voice on the other side of his shield. "I'm sorry I startled you, Harry. I called to you from across the garden, but you mustn't have heard me."

Harry ended the shield charm and stood up.

"Er, right," he said as he wiped a string of drool from his lip. "I was really sleeping."

"Is that the snake in your shirt?"

Harry fished inside his shirt and pulled a grumbling Nio out.

Professor McGonagall took a step back. "Ah, you were both sunning yourselves. Well. I certainly understand the appeal."

Harry's chin shot up as he tried to understand the hint of envy in her voice.

Nio continued with his plaintive hisses, questioning why their perfectly respectable nap had been so rudely interrupted.

"Hush," Harry whispered in Parseltongue, forgetting that the Professor couldn't understand the snake's complaints.

"Harry, the Minister will be arriving soon. I trust that you'll want to freshen up before he arrives? Perhaps, bathe? And put on your dress robes?"

"Dress robes?" Harry questioned.

"You have some, don't you?"

"Er, what are dress robes?"

"Well, I suppose that answers my question. I'll transfigure some for you for this occasion and then later we can go to Diagon Alley and get you some proper ones," Professor McGonagall huffed.

Harry shrugged in response.

"The Minister of Magic is coming to visit you, Harry. Surely you understand what this means?"

"Er, no?" Harry muttered as his face warmed.

"Well, come now. I know you're not this dense. If only Miss Granger were here to whisper in your ear," Professor McGonagall huffed as she tugged at his elbow and started marching them back to the house.

"Er, I should put Nio back in the garden," Harry said, pulling away from her grasp.

He flicked out his staff and walked back toward the garden wall until the silver tip tinged against the stone.

Quietly, he explained to Nio that he had to return to the house and that he'd come out later to dig up more grubs. Nio whisked between the stems of the stock flowers after a grudging goodbye and Harry followed Professor McGonagall's crisp footsteps as she marched across the garden.

They entered the house through the kitchen. As Professor McGonagall opened the door, Harry cast a quick scourgify charm on his shoes at the threshold… the thrill of doing a bit of magic with intention at Privet Drive lodging in his throat.

In the kitchen, he was greeted by the scrabbling of Ripper's toenails on the lino. His skin seized in apprehension, but immediately, Harry had to clutch at his ears as the dog emitted a piercing whine while retreating to a corner of the kitchen and knocking over a chair in the process.

"What is wrong with Ripper?" Harry asked as Professor McGonagall charged across the room.

She paused and Harry's staff whacked her. "Sorry!"

"Er, there's nothing wrong with Ripper… well, other than being allowed to terrorize people. I've just helped him to understand the new order here. He'll be fine. Also, he's not so fond of me… I think a human-sized cat is a rather disconcerting conundrum for the beast."

"Oh," Harry sighed… feeling dissatisfied with the answer. He wanted more details.

"Come along, now. We've got to sort out your wardrobe before the Minister arrives," Professor McGonagall said, tapping her foot. "I'm holding the door open for you."

"Oh! Sorry," Harry said and he swung his staff in a narrow arc to find the door jambs.

Upstairs, Harry felt that his smallest room was even more crowded than usual as Professor McGonagall huffed about the state of his clothing. He was glad that he'd been able to vanish a lot of his really grubby hand-me-downs after Dr. Granger and Hermione took him shopping earlier in the summer.

"I suppose this will have to do," Professor McGonagall muttered and cast a charm on one of his smaller school robes. "Here, put this on."

"Er, Professor. You want me to wear these… here? At Privet Drive? My uncle will be coming home soon. He'll blow a gasket if he sees me wearing this," Harry said as he ran his hands over the now velvety fabric of his robe. He found that the collar was now fringed with corded silk embroidery punctuated with small glass beads. "No offense. This feels amazing and is probably wicked, but if he doesn't kill me for being wixen, he's going to kill me for being a poof."

"Language, Harry," the Professor reprimanded him.

"Er, that's my uncle's word, not mine," Harry explained.

"Well, it's not worthy of repetition. At any rate, I've put a muggle repelling charm around the house. Your uncle will be compelled to stay away for a bit. Go ahead and slip them on. And I think the robes are very becoming… based on current fashions."

Harry found the collar and slipped the robes over his shoulders. He was struggling with the fastener when Professor McGonagall stepped closer and took over. He felt warmth growing up his neck as he stood like a little lord and let her dress him.

"There you go. The emerald velvet really does bring out the green in your … eyes," Professor McGonagall sniffed. "Let's fix your glasses, too, while we're at it."

"What? But Madame Pomfrey charmed them to block the sunlight… otherwise, it hurts my eyes."

"Oh, well, I can do a charm that has the same effect, but doesn't hide your eyes."

"Er, Godric said that opaque glasses are a visual clue… so that people know that you're blind."

"It's up to you," Professor McGonagall conceded.

"I'll just keep them the way they are, thanks."

There was a sharp knock on the door.

"Ah, I believe he's here. Don't worry, Harry. You're not in trouble," Professor McGonagall counseled.

Harry's head shot up in alarm.

"It's just you had that look on your face… the one you get when you're called to the Head Master's office. If anything, this visit is long overdue and an honor. See that you give the Minister the respect the office affords."

"Er. All right," Harry said, trying to school his expression into something more neutral as he followed the Professor from the room and down the stairs. He felt as if the grubs he had dug up for Nio were squirming in his belly.

For a second before Professor McGonagall opened the door, Harry wondered where his Aunt had gone, but then the door was opening and he was greeted with an overpowering cologne that had a wixen twang to it… more along the lines of essential oils than the Le Male cologne that Uncle Vernon liked to bathe in before important meetings.

"Welcome, Minister. You're certainly prompt for a Ministry official!" Professor McGonagall greeted.

"Ah. Professor McGonagall, I am arrived at the correct residence. Thank you! Ah, well. Since I traveled by non-magical means, I wasn't sure how much time to allow. It was a good thing that Croaker here is muggle-born and knows enough of the tub…"

Here Mr. Croaker interrupted the Minister and corrected him, "That's the tube, Minister."

"Ah, yes. The Tube! Though they look more like tubs, don't you think, Croaker? Ah, well, everyone knows there's no sense in muggle naming conventions. Right." The Minister seemed a bit flustered.

"Come in, come in. There's a bit of a sitting room to the right," Professor McGonagall ushered the men into the house. "I apologize that it isn't more comfortable… we've only just arrived ourselves and I haven't had time to make many modifications."

The Minister turned as he entered the door and commanded: "You, Williamson, Dawlish! Remain out here. Use a disillusionment charm. There are muggle repelling charms on the residence, but better be safe and vigilant."

From the aromas wafting from the room, Professor McGonagall had conjured an even more posh tea for their guests. Again, Harry wondered where Aunt Petunia was hiding… but maybe this was better. She couldn't help but be terrible to any wixen guests, even if it was the Minister of Magic and others he had dragged along.

"Well, this is quaint!" the Minister said, clapping his hands. "So do all muggles live like this?"

Harry felt as though the question was directed at him, though he wasn't sure. He sputtered a bit, but couldn't form an answer.

"Er. I believe there are quite a wide range of muggle residences, Minister," Mr. Croaker muttered.

"Right, right. Probably just as much variety among muggles as there are among wizarding households. Thank you, Mr. Croaker."

Harry stood to the side as Professor McGonagall directed the Minister and Mr. Croaker to take seats. He wasn't sure where he should sit and had a terrible itch to flee. He willed his legs to still though they seemed to have a life of their own in the moment and he hoped that no one was paying attention to him.

"Mr. Potter!" the Minister exclaimed. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh. Though I was so sorry to read about your ordeals at Hogwarts and your terrible and tragic injury. It must be awful. And the healers report that there's no restoring your sight. Such a horror. How are you getting along?"

"Er. I'm fine, Minister," Harry responded, not really sure how to respond to the tsunami of words that erupted from the Minister. He leaned a bit against his staff… not sure if he should try to find a seat or remain standing.

"Oh, Harry, dear. Come here. There's a seat over here that I conjured for you," Professor McGonagall said in a rush and pulled him over to an unfamiliar plush chair. Harry's foot caught on the dress robes and he stumbled a bit. Professor McGonagall's robes sounded even more starched than usual and he wondered if she'd transfigured her own into something more posh while he was dressing.

Harry settled into the chair and collapsed his staff. He resisted the urge to put his hands under his knees and tried to sit up straight.

"So, Mr. Potter. I imagine you are wondering why we have come to visit you?" the Minister said.

"Er. Yes?" Harry replied.

"Well. I believe you know that a dark wizard has escaped Azkaban and is believed to be searching for you. In fact, I understand from my Aurors that he managed to get dangerously close to you during the incident at the Center."

"Er. Yes?" Harry repeated.

"Well, while the Hogwarts staff believe that you are safer under the blood protection afforded you in your relations' house, there are factions at the Ministry who question the wisdom of leaving you alone in the hands of muggles and would like to offer you a safe house within the Ministry. What do you think?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked tentatively while Professor McGonagall sniffed dubiously across from him.

"We're offering you a safe haven where you'd have protection around the clock from the best of Ministry's Aurors, not to mention access to the latest magical innovations available to wizarding kind."

"How about the Center?" Harry asked. "Couldn't I stay there? Until Hogwarts is in session again?" While leaving the Dursleys had a definite appeal, he was wary about the Aurors he'd just met (and who were apparently traveling with the Minister and stationed outside of Number 4 Privet Drive at this moment).

"Really, Minister. Do you think it is wise to put such a decision in the hands of a minor? Harry doesn't understand all the risks. It doesn't seem prudent to me," Professor McGonagall protested. "And he's still adjusting to his blindness."

Harry felt his gorge rising.

"I don't know what that has to do with anything!" Harry protested, sitting up a bit straighter and sticking out his chin.

"Certainly, certainly," the Minister consoled.

"We understand that as a result of your injuries you've ingested some highly magical substances that are having surprising results," interjected Mr. Croaker with a jittery voice. "The Ministry could help you learn how to harness your new abilities."

The phrase "new abilities" reverberated through his consciousness for a moment and then Harry remembered Professor Flitwick's excited voice stating, "I bet the Ministry can't wait to get their hands on you!" And the rush of pleasure that he'd experienced remembering how he could simply rub some of his tears on a cut and it would disappear vanished.

He leaned back wanting to get away from Mr. Croaker. The hair rose on the back of his neck. It was as if the tendrils of Devil's Snare were creeping along his limbs again.

"Er. Do people really live at the Ministry of Magic?"

"No, not commonly, but with a little bit of magic we can make it very comfortable," the Minister urged.

"If I have a say in it, I'd much rather continue my training at the Center," Harry stated, feeling defiant.

"Ah, well. That's an issue isn't it?" the Minister said. "The Center is temporarily closed."

"Minister, we've made arrangements for Harry to continue with his training while he remains here under the blood protection that kept him safe from You-know-who and his ilk all these years," Professor McGonagall said with an emphasis on later. "Professor Dumbledore insists that Harry is safer out of the public view."

The neglected dankness of the cupboard infiltrated Harry's memory at this and he tucked his hands under his knees. The air in the room was suddenly thin and the velvety robes suffocating.

"You think he's safer here than at the Ministry?"

"There are just so many people who travel through the Ministry every day… how can you be sure that Harry will be secure there?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Given what happened at Hogwarts and at the Center in the last few months, I'm surprised that you're questioning the safety of the Ministry!" the Minister said forcibly. "And there have been reports that the boy was not so protected here."

"I need," Harry said quietly, standing up slowly and shaking out his staff, "to visit the toilet. Excuse me."

His departure from the room went unnoticed, though, as Professor McGonagall has also stood up to vehemently explain that she was residing with Harry now and her sole purpose was to make sure that Harry was well-guarded.

Harry closed the door quietly behind him, unfastened (with a bit of difficulty) the silken clasp at his neck, letting the heavy robes fall to the ground, and slid down to the floor where he put his head between his knees until he didn't feel so lightheaded anymore.

He berated himself. Hadn't he always wanted to escape Privet Drive? Now that he was getting what he wanted, he realized that he needed more.

When did I become so greedy?