Title: Punished (3)
Author: Constant Vigilance
Status: Fin
Email: tirel@pcnuthut.com

Website: https://www.angelfire.com/tv2/firebird_ascending/
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Spoilers: AU. Characters are entering 6^th year.
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: I own nothing. JKR is God.
Summary: Severus reflects…and makes a discovery about Petunia.
Notes: Implied het this section.

(Severus’ POV)

 

How I love that boy.

 

One would never know it to observe me, but I am quite the family man. I simply have never found a woman who was worth my time. And who could look past the Dark Mark. Or my habit of pretentious sneering. Or the way I speak to those who irritate me. Which is generally everyone.

 

Hmmm. Perhaps Draco is correct. Perhaps the only one who keeps me from a relationship is myself. None-the-less, my point is that I have no children and therefore have found a substitute in Draco Malfoy. He is my godson. He is my protégé. He is my only sanity sometimes. And the bloody little prick knows it.

 

He gets away with murder. Not literally, though it wouldn’t have surprised me considering whom his father is. I have spent the whole of my life protecting that boy. First, from his parents, then from the students at Hogwarts, and now it seems from himself. He is determined to forge on ahead and follow in my footsteps, joining the Order, becoming a spy.

 

What he needs is a relationship of his own that will distract him from the upcoming battle, from his familial duties, from his own stubborn sense of what he must do to support the Light. I believe he has found the one with whom he can have a stable, loving relationship.

 

Unfortunately, his new love interest is about as far away from ‘safe’ as one can be.

 

Harry Potter.

 

I can’t say as I’m surprised. I’ve watched them over the years. Either they were to fall in love…or murder one another. No depth of feeling that strong can lead to anything else. I suppose, in a way, it’s good for me as well. I watch over Draco’s safety as a mother hen. I’ve found that time and close quarters have led me to fall into that same pattern for Harry Potter.

 

I won’t say that I watch over Potter for the same reasons as I do my boy, but I will say that it would not be too far of a reach to say that my reasons could be persuaded to change. He is addictive, that Potter prat. He inspires obsession. He inspires loyalty. He inspires introspection. Ever a dangerous thing for one such as Severus Snape.

 

I could not have been more astonished to see what lay before me on that bed in Privet Drive. In one fell moment, my preconceptions of Harry Potter, Golden Boy Hero of the World, disintegrated. I could see no hero, though he tried valiantly to save his family. I could only see a broken little boy, waiting for the end…praying for the end.

 

And I would have given anything to protect him.

 

And Draco? Ah, my clueless boy. How can you spit venom at the same boy whose hand you gently stroke? How can you rain insults on the head you carefully run your fingers over? How can you wish death upon the body that sends you into shivers? How can you look into those expressive green eyes and not see that he loves you as well?

 

I wonder when you will throw off the shackles of your father’s making and come into your own. I wonder when you will realize that nothing in this world is more important than protecting the ones you love. I wonder when you will finally break down and admit to him that you cannot imagine a world without him.

 

Tread carefully, though. For Harry now has a protector. One not unlike your own protectors, Goyle and Crabbe. The difference lies in their intent. For years, those two bullyboys have been promised prominent positions with the Dark Lord, monetary gains, and a spouse of choice for their diligent care of you.

 

They protect you because they can. Because they want to. Because it meets their ends.

 

I believe that Harry’s cousin has had an epiphany over these last few days. I believe he has seen through the lies, through the secrets. I believe he has come into his own. He will protect Harry with all the viciousness that Crabbe and Goyle offer your enemies. However, he will protect Harry, not because he can…but because he must. Not because he wants to…but because he can conceive of no other way.

 

To Dudley Dursley, Harry Potter symbolizes his entry into the real world. Harry is the catalyst for his wake up call. Harry is the purpose he has found in an otherwise pathetically dead-end life. Harry has supplanted his cousin’s previous need for food/shelter/comfort. Harry has become the symbol of Dudley’s new life. And to let harm come to Harry would be tantamount to just throwing away that new life.

 

Oh, please do not get me wrong. I do believe that Dudley Dursley cares for his cousin. Otherwise, Potter would be laying dead on that sad little bed hundreds of miles away and I would be able to finish my vacation in peace. But I don’t think Dudley has the emotional capacity to read into his newfound love for his cousin the reasons why he suddenly feels differently about Harry.

 

It’s not a bad thing. Eventually, Dudley will come to understand. Of course, by that time, the boy will be so besotted with his ‘brother’ that his original reasons for loving him will be moot.

 

Your battle, Draco, will not be as severe with Harry’s aunt. She has lived longer. She has come to more than one epiphany in her life. She has seen hell, has lived in its embrace and knows quite well that Harry’s happiness is her only ticket out.

 

Not that she’s using him, per se. She wants him to be happy. She always has. But now, she has the opportunity to give Harry the happiness he craves while assuaging her own guilt. That is too pretty of a package deal to let pass by. And so, she will use him in a fashion. But not harshly. And not, I think, in any way that Potter could find offense to.

 

I did not lie to her when I told her that, if Harry saw something in her, then something was definitely there. I can see it myself. She has the heart of a lioness. Unfortunately, it’s been beaten down and buried under the life of servitude she’s chosen for herself. She will take a bit more work to bring back to life than even Harry Potter. He was a matter of specific potions given in careful proportions at precisely the right time.

 

There is no such cure for emotional abuse.

 

Oh, Mr. Potter has his own share of emotional abuse, for certain. However, he also has the strange and wonderful opportunity of having two of the three causes of that abuse desperately willing to change for him. The third cause will take a bit to get over, but with the help of the other two…and you, Draco, I feel that Mr. Potter will be back to his annoying self in no time.

 

Petunia, however, is quite alone.

 

Not a soul knows her. Not one. Not her son, certainly not her husband, not her family. She needs to build a circle of trusted companions before she can begin healing. Companions to whom she can be truthful, real…herself. Of course, that brings to the forefront the biggest problem: does she know who she is? Perhaps her first step on this road to healing needs to be towards self-discovery.

 

I’m surprisingly eager to assist in that.

______________________________________________

 

When I ventured into my patient’s room later that morning I was not at all surprised to find the seat at his side filled. Nor was I particularly surprised to find Mr. Dursley filling it. He seemed in a daze, slowly twirling his cousin’s wand between pudgy fingers and staring at it with an expression of bemusement. “What are you planning on doing with that, Mr. Dursley?”

 

I had to suppress a snicker as he nearly leapt from his chair. “N-nothing, sir,” he managed to stutter as I made my way to the bedside. I simply quirked an eyebrow. His panic wilted away to be replaced by a wry smile. “Sorry. The last time I was this close to a wand…besides last night…I got a pig’s tail.”

 

A pig’s…? “And how did Mr. Potter get away with the use of underage magic that time, pray tell?” I responded drolly. Annoying little rule breaker.

 

Potter’s portly cousin shook his head. “Oh, it wasn’t Harry,” he carefully placed the wand on the bedside table. “It was that horribly large man. The one with the umbrella.”

 

I could feel my eyebrows rising up to my hairline. “Hagrid? Practicing magic?” Dursley looked worried. I sighed. “Fret not, little muggle,” I sighed. “The only one Hagrid could seriously damage with that thing is himself.” I turned away from him to begin my inspection of Potter but could feel the pressure of his gaze on my every move.

 

Eventually, satisfied that Potter should wake within the day, I turned back to see that his cousin had shifted his gaze back to the wand on the table. “Something on your mind, Mr. Dursley?”

 

He sighed. “My father spent the last five years telling me what an evil piece of wood this was. How it could only bring harm and destruction. Yet, it’s what saved Harry.” My turn to sigh. I pulled up another chair and stared at this…muggle over his cousin’s prone form.

 

“No, Mr. Dursley. You saved Harry. The wand is only a piece of wood. It has the potential to enhance a wizard’s power, yes, but only to the extent that it assists in channeling magic more effectively. The wizard must decide what to do with that magic. The wand makes no such decisions.”

 

The boy frowned. “Harry must be really powerful, then, to make the wand work for me.”

 

I eyed him carefully. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, Mr. Dursley,” I began cautiously. “How is it that you called the Knight Bus?”

 

A shrug. “Dunno. I must have called for 10 minutes for nothing. Then I…” he paused, a red flush creeping up his neck. “I started to cry. To get rather hysterical, actually, and then it came.”

 

I watched as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. What would be his reaction to my suspicion? “Mr. Dursley, there are several theories on wandless magic. I must say that I wholeheartedly support none of them. However, there are some aspects of each that I do agree with. The first is that in times of great stress, magic can be performed without the benefit of a wand. The second is that wandless magic tends to run in families. The third is that a wizard may perform no wandless magic unless he is present.”

 

I paused to take note of the furrowed brow and was disturbingly reminded of Vincent Crabbe struggling to understand a complex thought process. “There are other reasons, but without the proper background, I doubt you’d understand me past the fifth word in a conversation on magical theory.” When he puzzled out that I wasn’t planning on forcing him to sit through a long confusing explanation he relaxed. I sighed internally. Children these days. No sense of esoteric knowledge or the desire to learn it.

 

“I do know one very important thing, though,” I continued. “Harry Potter, though it pains me to say it, is the most powerful wizard of this, or possibly any generation since Merlin. His wand, however, should simply be a stick of wood in your hands. As is any wizard’s wand in the hands of a muggle. No wand will perform any magic or any channeling for a muggle. It is a fact of the wizarding world.”

 

The confusion was back. “But, the wand…it sparked,” he argued. “The bus came.”

 

“Precisely, Mr. Dursley,” I leaned forward. “It would appear that, while you do not possess the amount of magic in your blood that your cousin does, you are not entirely a muggle.” I sat back and watched as the expressions rolled over his face. Surprise, disbelief, fear, confusion again and then wary interest.

 

“I…I can cast magic?”

 

“You already have cast magic, Mr. Dursley,” I answered softly. “You cast a summoning charm on the Knight Bus. I do not know the extent of your abilities, but with your mother’s permission…and your own, of course, I would like to test you to see how endowed in magic you might be.”

 

“O-okay,” he nearly whispered.

 

I nodded and rose from my chair. “I will speak with your mother. Enjoy your time with Potter today. If your mother approves, tomorrow begins a day of vigorous testing.” He nodded slowly again and turned his gaze back on his cousin. I gently shut the door behind me.

_____________________________________________________________________

 

I deduced Petunia’s location from the horde of hand wringing house elves clustered outside the room. I didn’t really need the elves to tell me, though. It’s only simple logic. When one is lost, alone in a new and frightening world, their old world torn out from under them, they cling to the only sense of normality they can find. Thus…Petunia was in the kitchen. Perfectly understandable. In her place, I would be elbow deep in potions ingredients.

 

I made my way quietly into the room and stood until she noticed my presence. She acknowledged me with a small smile and placed two cups on the table. Taking the invitation, I sat and watched her pour the dark tea into my fine china. Her body language spoke to me so much more fluently than any words. The slight shaking of her hands belied her offer of sugar or milk. I found myself responding, feeling at ease with this woman in a way I have only previously felt with Albus.

 

“How is Harry?” she asked quietly, taking the seat across from me. ‘Please tell me he won’t die.’

 

“He is doing well,” I replied. ‘You will not lose him.’

 

“I’ve been…busy settling in,” she offered, running her fingertip endlessly around the lip of her cup. “I haven’t had the chance to get up there and see him personally.” ‘I’ve been too afraid he will blame me. Too afraid to see what Vernon did to him…what I could have stopped had I been braver.’

 

“He woke up early this morning and hasn’t been up again. I’ll let you know when he is. Perhaps you could bake him a treat to take up when you go?” ‘Take your time. Compose yourself. Remember he is your kin. He loves you as you love him; an unsure love that needs time and space and affection to grow. You have that now. You have the chance to be the mother he did not have.’

 

She smiled, tears shining in her eyes. “Yes,” she sniffed slightly. “I can do that.” ‘I can let go of the past, of the fear and the hate. I can spend the rest of my days as the family he deserves…the family I deserve.’

 

I smiled back. It felt strange, but no stranger than having a silent conversation with the muggle aunt of the Boy Who Lived. “I know you can. Perhaps you might be so kind as to make some extra? I have a bit of a sweet tooth myself.” ‘I’ll be here with you, Petunia. I have no idea why, but I can tell you that this has become almost as important to me as it is to you.’

 

We sat for a few moments longer before I reluctantly broke the pleasant silence. “I wished to talk to you about your son, if you have a moment.”

 

Panic raced across her face and she searched my eyes desperately. “Wha…has he done something wrong?”

 

I quickly shook my head. “No. No, of course not. I have been thinking about the manner in which a nonmagical Dudley was able to call a magical bus.” Her panic was replaced by a frown.

 

“Surely it isn’t that strange,” her hands looked like pale birds fluttering at her throat. “I mean…he was using that wand of Harry’s.”

 

“Your son thought the same thing, Petunia. However, you both are mistaken.” She finally settled her hands around her cup. “The wand is not magical. It is a focus. A channeler if you will. The person who wields it must have magic in them in order to operate it.”

 

Understanding began to dawn. “Dudley is…like Harry?” she whispered, staring into my eyes.

 

I shrugged, a frightful habit I’d picked up from living with that blasted boy this summer. “Possibly,” I offered. “He isn’t as strong as Harry. At least, I don’t believe he is. He would have received a Hogwarts letter if he were. However, I do not believe he is without magic entirely.”

 

She stared back down at her cup. After a moment she chuckled. She glanced back up to me and shook her head. “I can’t decide to be proud or frightened.”

 

“It’s understandable,” I reassured her. “Most muggle parents feel that way when they first find out of their child’s gift.” She released her cup and wrapped her arms around her torso.

 

“All that rage that Vernon held for Harry because of his magical heritage,” she breathed, closing her eyes briefly. “And to find out that his own son is possibly a wizard as well?” A sound not unlike a sob escaped her throat and she opened watery eyes. “The irony of it does not escape me, Severus.”

 

“Are you displeased?” I asked softly.

 

“Displeased? No,” she shook her head. “Feeling as though I were the scenery in a seven-act play? Rather, yes. I appear to be the only one in this house without magic. And that includes your little elf creatures.” She sighed and hunched over her arms a bit. “When are you taking him?” Her expression was pained.

 

“What do you mean?” I frowned.

 

“When are you taking Dudley to Hogwarts?”

 

“Why would I take your son to Hogwarts?”

 

“He is a wizard, is he not?”

 

Ah. “To be honest, Petunia, I do not know. He has potential, and that is all I can say now. He may have enough magic to attend Hogwarts, but as no letter has come as yet, I cannot say. What I would like is your permission to test him. To test his abilities.”

 

“Would it endanger him?” Pained had transformed into worried.

 

“Of course not,” I reassured her, going so far as to reach out to pat her on the shoulder. What I was thinking, I do not know. “There are a grouping of standard tests used on infants to determine magical ability. Once I have run those, and if they come back positive, I will begin to test him on more practical things, such as wand use and the ability to sense magical auras. But I assure you, he will be completely safe.”

 

“I see,” she nodded and a faint smile crossed her face. A smile that warmed me. “And will he remain here with you, then?”

 

I hesitated. I could feel the words my mouth formed, but I could not stop them. “I was actually hoping that you and he…and Potter, would remain my guests until the beginning of the Hogwarts term.”

 

If her small smile warmed me, the one she graced me with now was not unlike the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “That would be lovely, Severus.”

___________________________________________________________

 

That evening, Petunia baked a chocolate cake…just in case Harry woke. He didn’t, but he did improve significantly each time I checked on him. Dudley still sat next to his bed in a hard backed chair. Either I was going soft or I was seeking to endear myself to a woman who had just left her husband less than two days ago, but I transfigured the chair into a plush recliner. Other than a slight twitch, Dudley accepted the transformation with quiet ease, thanking me when I was done.

 

I checked on the boy and my patient later that night after everyone had retired for bed and found Dudley fast asleep in the recliner…and Harry awake and watching his cousin with shadowed eyes. He glanced at me as I entered the room and then went back to staring at the other boy. No words were spoken as I ran through my check up spells and produced several bottles of potions for his consumption.

 

He swallowed what I handed him and nodded in thanks before settling back down to watch his cousin sleep again. I knew he wouldn’t be watching long; the sleeping potion would see to that. But I found myself wondering what was going through the Golden Boy’s head as he stared so silently at his savior.

 

The next morning, I rousted Dudley out of his chair and informed him that today was testing day. When he headed for the shower, I went downstairs to find Draco and Petunia. I gave Draco my key to Gringott’s and informed him that Petunia was to be outfitted fully today, and for him to be prepared to take Dudley the following day. I gave a slight shudder at the delight on my godson’s face. Nothing pleased Draco quite as much as shopping. I winced inwardly as I calculated the dent he would make in my vault.

 

With them gone and with a final check on Harry, I took Dudley to my study and began. An hour later and I was certain that the combination of high stress, strong emotion and the close proximity to a magic channelor such as Potter’s wand proved to be a catalyst in unlocking the magical ability in Dudley Dursley. Two more hours and I ascertained that, though low, Dudley had magical ability. At least enough to brew potions and to see magical creatures and artifacts that were not visible to muggles or squibs.

 

He didn’t have enough magic to transfigure items, but given enough training, he might be capable of casting a few low level hexes or charms. It was enough that I suggested he consider being educated in the magical community. If his mother looked worried, then he looked terrified.

 

“Will you teach me?” he asked in a quavering voice.

 

I inclined my head. “If you wish. However, I would suggest you request your cousin and Draco to teach you. I’m sure you would be more comfortable learning from someone your own age. And I’ve been told,” I gritted my teeth, “that I tend to frighten those who are uncertain.”

 

“Oh,” was his reply. “All right. If you think that’s best.”

 

“This would allow you a bit of bonding time with your cousin, I should think,” I offered an olive branch. “And perhaps an opportunity to make a new friend in Draco?”

 

And if nothing else, perhaps he could keep to a minimum the war that was sure to come from Potter and Draco spending the summer together.