It was Saturday morning in London, England, and the sun was shining brightly upon the many civilians. However, as bright as the sun was, it could not lighten up the dark cloak of one man, as he expertly wove in and out of the many people in the town square. His darker-than-black robes billowed menacingly behind him, and his obsidian eyes dared people to make a comment regarding his attire. The man was at least 6’ tall, and his raven-colored hair moved back and forth, to the same pace as his movements. Had anyone looked more closely at this man, one would notice that his movements were very fluid, very graceful. His eyes bore into those that chose to look into them; his eyes were searching for one distinct pair. Curse you, Dumbledore, for sending me out on this pathetic mission, he growled inwardly. He sneered as a man in his early twenties bumped into him, muttering a quick “sorry mate.” Where in the nine levels of hell is that blasted boy?! He thought angrily. All he had to do was spot the boy, make certain he was all in one piece, and leave.

“Curse you, Potter, you have always made things more difficult for me.” He muttered to himself, which gained a few glances in his direction. He glared daggers back at them, causing one female to flinch and hurry off in another direction. Then finally, he spotted the family. He inwardly cringed at the sight before him. A whale of a boy was clinging to the skinniest woman he’s ever seen, who he assumed to be Potter’s aunt. Next to her was a man who could’ve easily been mistaken as a bus, and his skin color could most easily be compared to a ripe tomato. Attached to his clenched fist was the five-year-old body of the one and only – Harry Potter. Yes, Severus Snape could never mistake those eyes to be anyone else’s. And of course, the lightning bolt scar on his forehead would be the most common identifier. Why he was scaring the idiot child was beyond him, and he strode purposely up towards the family, careful not to draw any attention. The Dirkley’s, or Dursley’s, or whatever their names were, were off to the side of the streets, partially in an alley.

“Unhand that boy this instant.” Severus demanded, his eyes boring into Vernon’s. Little Harry looked up at the strange man who, at the present time, was saving him from the wrath of his Uncle. Harry watched as his Aunt’s eyes widened with realization, and she whispered something to his Uncle, causing his grip on his shirt collar to go slack. He rubbed his neck in agitation for a minute before staring curiously up at the man in strange garments.

“I like your cape, sir,” Harry complimented softly, eyeing the mysterious robes. He looked up and met the cold glare of the dark man, and Harry instantly recoiled; maybe he wasn’t safe. The mysterious man gave his Uncle a rough push and whispered a few words in his ear, before striding off into the sea of people, too busy with their own lives to notice what was going on.

Harry wondered if he was ever going to see the strange man again, he liked how he had scared his Aunt and especially his Uncle. He smiled into the crowd, and for the rest of the day all he could think about was that brief encounter.