Severus Snape stood before the door of Number Four, Privet Drive, his mind heavy with contempt for the task at hand. This was the st pce he wished to be. The thought of entering Petunia’s house, facing the woman who had sneered at Lily, and discovering how they had treated Harry Potter… it was infuriating. But Dumbledore’s orders were clear, and Madam Bones had voiced her concerns.

  He raised his hand and knocked sharply. The hollow sound echoed through the unnaturally pristine neighbourhood, irritating him further. The door swung open, and there stood Petunia Dursley—older, sharper in the face, but unmistakably the same woman who had always hated the world her sister belonged to. Her eyes widened slightly when she recognised him.

  “Severus,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “What are you doing here?”

  Snape didn’t bother with pleasantries. His dark eyes narrowed as he stepped into the house without waiting for an invitation, his cloak swirling behind him. “Where is Potter?”

  Petunia stiffened, the familiar sneer returning to her face. “Upstairs,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “He’s fine.”

  Snape’s eyes flickered dangerously. “Fine? From what I’ve heard, your treatment of him has been far from fine, Petunia.”

  Before she could respond, Vernon Dursley lumbered into the room, his face red with anger. “Who the devil do you think you are, barging into my house like this?”

  Snape’s cold eyes met Vernon’s, and without a word, he raised his wand. “Silencio.”

  Vernon’s mouth fpped open and shut, but no sound came out. His eyes bulged in fury, but he was powerless to stop Snape, who turned his attention back to Petunia. Her face had paled, but she stood firm, gring at him.

  “He’s perfectly fine,” Petunia repeated through gritted teeth. “We’ve raised him, haven’t we?”

  Snape’s dark eyes bore into her. “Have you?” he asked softly, his voice dangerous. “You do realise, that wizards can see your thoughts, your memories, right? You wouldn’t be lying to me now, would you, Tuney?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. Something in her tone, the flippant way she brushed off Harry’s well-being, struck him wrong. He took a step closer, his wand pointed slightly upward. “Let’s see if you’re telling the truth.”

  Before Petunia could react, Snape’s cold voice whispered, “Legilimens.”

  Her eyes widened in panic as Snape’s spell took hold, his mind invading hers with practised precision. He saw fshes of Harry’s life in the house—the small, cramped cupboard under the stairs, the bruises, the neglect. He felt the coldness in Petunia’s heart, her resentment toward Harry’s existence, her disgust for magic and anything connected to Lily.

  Snape’s vision swirled with memories of Harry’s pitiful life: being treated like a servant, eating scraps, and enduring Vernon’s harsh punishments. He saw the cruelty in her thoughts, the glee she felt in diminishing the boy’s spirit. He saw Harry—Lily’s son—reduced to less than a house elf.

  With a sharp gasp, Snape withdrew from Petunia’s mind, his breath quickening with barely contained fury. His hand tightened on his wand, and for a brief, dangerous moment, he considered cursing her where she stood.

  “How dare you,” Snape hissed, his voice shaking with rage. “You dare stand there and tell me he’s fine? After everything I’ve seen? After the way you’ve treated him?” His thoughts, however, betrayed him. Hypocrite, a voice whispered inside his head. He crushed that traitorous thought for now—he needed to deal with this wretched excuse for a human.

  Petunia stumbled back, fear flooding her expression as she realised the depth of Snape’s wrath. She looked over at Vernon, still silent and red-faced, his mouth moving in silent protest.

  “I should curse you both,” Snape growled, his wand still raised. “You have no idea what you’ve done. How dare you treat him—treat Lily’s son—like this!”

  Petunia flinched at the mention of Lily, but Snape wasn’t finished. “You’ve starved him, beaten him, locked him away like an animal. And for what? Because he’s different? Because he’s not like your precious Dudley?”

  “Dumbledore knows,” Snape continued, his voice low and dangerous. “So does Madam Bones, head of our... magical w enforcement. They’ve tasked me with delivering a message: If we ever hear that you’ve harmed Harry again—if you so much as think about ying a finger on him—there will be consequences.”

  Petunia’s eyes were wide with terror, but Snape wasn’t finished. His lips twisted into a cruel smile, dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “However,” he whispered, stepping even closer, “I am not Dumbledore.”

  With a swift, deliberate movement, Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Petunia. The air around them seemed to crackle with energy, the temperature dropping noticeably as Snape summoned his magic.

  “Fgriferum Contrapasso,” Snape hissed, his voice cold as ice.

  A sharp, invisible force rippled through the room as the curse took hold. The magic embedded itself deep into the house, the very walls seeming to hum with dark power. Petunia gasped, clutching her chest as she felt the magic seep into her bones.

  “I wonder how your son Dudley is doing…” Snape said that same cold, clinical tone creeping into his words, but his eyes burned with hatred.

  Petunia’s eyes widened in horror, her mouth trembling as she tried to speak. But no words came. She looked at Snape, then toward her son’s bedroom, panic spreading through her. Vernon, finally able to speak again, croaked out a furious protest, but Snape silenced him with a cold gre.

  “You will think twice before treating Harry like vermin again,” Snape continued, his voice smooth and deadly. “Because from now on, every sp, every insult, every cruel act you commit against him will be felt by your precious Dudley. And trust me—this curse cannot be broken.”

  Petunia looked horrified, her hands shaking as she clutched at the wall for support. “You can’t—Dudley’s just a boy!”

  Snape sneered, his voice cutting through her plea. “Just a boy? The same way Harry is just a boy? Well, it’s simple, isn’t it? If you don’t act like the monsters, like Freaks who hurt children—who, by the way, are often murdered in prison for being so abhorrent even criminals despise them—then your son won’t suffer from your abuse, will he?” he finished, roaring at her in rage, his Occlumency shields cracking as he recalled the abuse they had inflicted on Lily’s son—the woman he loved as a sister.

  Vernon tried to lunge toward Snape, but the magic binding the house had him recoiling in pain. Snape watched him, his face expressionless but his mind seething with anger. He had seen enough of their cruelty—enough to know that words alone wouldn’t suffice. But this curse… would force them to feel the fear they had instilled in Harry for years.

  Snape’s lip curled as he surveyed the damage he had done. “Oh, did I not mention? Any form of violence, whether physical or emotional, will trigger this curse. That means you’ll both suffer the moment you even think about hurting him or anyone else.”

  As Snape turned, his eyes nded on something that sent a fresh wave of anger surging through him. The door to the cupboard under the stairs with a lock on the outside. He strode over to it, ripping open the door to reveal the name scratched into the woodwork ‘Harry’s Room’.

  “You kept him in here, didn’t you?” Snape’s voice was deathly quiet, but the fury beneath the surface was unmistakable. “Like a prisoner.” He again raised his wand and shouted another curse at both Petunia and Vernon “Iners Maledictio”.

  He headed to Potters room His wand shed out, bsting the locks off the door with a sharp crack. The sound reverberated through the hallway, leaving the Dursleys trembling.

  “Pack your things, Potter,” ignoring the cries of protest from behind him. He reached Harry’s bedroom—if the barred window and locks on the door could even qualify as such—and threw the door open.

  Harry sat on the edge of his bed, looking pale and confused. “Professor Snape?” he whispered, his voice small.

  “Now, Potter,” Snape snapped, his voice tight with barely controlled rage. “We’re leaving.”

  At the Weasleys’

  The journey to the Weasleys had been swift. They had arrived at the Burrow in silence, the only sound being Harry’s stifled attempts to make sense of what had just happened. When they arrived, the Weasleys welcomed them in without hesitation, though Mrs. Weasley’s eyes had flickered with concern when she saw Snape’s expression.

  Snape had given Harry a few moments alone to settle in, but now he stood in the small sitting room, waiting. His mind was still racing, anger lingering just beneath the surface, but there was something else. A nagging sense of guilt.

  When Harry finally entered the room, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion, Snape met his gaze with something approaching remorse.

  “Potter,” Snape began, his voice quieter now. “I owe you an apology.”

  Harry blinked in shock. “An apology, sir?”

  Snape inclined his head, the weight of his words heavy. “I’ve treated you poorly in the past. I won’t deny that. But what I saw today…” His voice faltered for a moment before he regained his composure. “What I saw in your home… it was unacceptable. You should never have had to endure that.”

  Harry looked down at his shoes, unsure of what to say.

  “I’ve cursed the Dursleys,” Snape continued. “Any pain or suffering they inflict on you will now be inflicted on your cousin Dudley instead. And you, Potter, are immune. You will not be harmed by the magic.”

  Harry’s eyes widened. “You—cursed them?”

  Snape’s lip curled slightly. “Yes. Consider it… justice. It would be such a … shame if you decided to antagonise them when you return, it would surely be a painful lesson” he said with a twisted grin.

  For a moment, the silence stretched between them. Then, to Snape’s surprise, Harry nodded.

  “Thank you, sir,” Harry whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

  Snape gave a curt nod in return. “You should not thank adults for doing their job, I appreciate you’ve had less than ideal role models, unless you wanted to become a Whale like your Uncle, in which he is unusually suitable to perform such a role.

  And with that, he left the room, his mind finally beginning to quiet. His st thoughts as he left the Weasleys ‘I’m sorry Lily’.