It was a beautiful morning, far too beautiful to waste in as depressing a place as Little Whinging.

Severus Snape walked purposefully through the deserted neighbourhood, casting a disheartened glance at the identical little houses, closely lined up one after the other. It was even worse than the Muggle town where he and Lily had grown up.... How did one not die of boredom in such a place?

He thought about the boy he had left in Grimmauld Place. With his unruly hair, his scar standing out in the middle of his forehead and his rebellious behaviour, he would have had to seem strangely out of place in this quiet and ordered town.He had hoped to draw the information out of the boy when he awoke, and so save himself a foray to Precious Potter’s Muggle family, but his hopes had quickly been dashed.

The potion he had administered to him had worked beautifully, plunging Potter into a profound state of sleep, which was by far the way Snape preferred the boy. As all good things must come to an end, the teenager had finally woken up twelve hours later, or rather, he'd emerged from that blessed state of deep sleep.

Because it would've been an exaggeration to say that Potter had regained consciousness. He had scarcely opened his eyes, under the watchful gaze of Dumbledore and the Potions master, when he'd started to groan and press his hands to his forehead again. For once, Severus could not suspect him of faking the pain to attract attention; the boy’s groans were far too pathetic to leave any doubt. Albus, being himself, could not stop from reaching a hand towards the boy to comfort him. Severus could have told him ahead of time what would happen, but he didn't have the chance: the boy proved Snape correct as he literally threw himself backwards to avoid the contact and ended with his back against the wall, fingers knotted in his hair, rocking back and forth while muttering nonsensical words.

Snape would gladly have pointed out to the headmaster that trying to cajole a traumatized and shell-shocked boy was a bit unwise, but the pain and guilt on Dumbledore’s face dissuaded him. Yes, Dumbledore loved the boy. But he had no idea of how to handle an injured animal. Severus approached the boy without making any sudden movements. He had to at least try...

“Potter.”

The boy had buried his head between his knees, rocking back and forth even faster.

“Potter, listen to me. Concentrate on my voice. You’re at Grimmauld Place, you’re safe. Albus Dumbledore is with me.”

But the boy was too far gone. On hearing his name, he started to tremble.

“I’m sorry... sorry....sorry... I didn’t want.... I’m sorry...”

After an especially ridiculous Potter-cat, a pleading Potter brimming over with guilt. What was the world coming to, and where was that Gryffindor dignity now?

Snape mused that he had just gained sufficient material for cutting remarks for years to come, but the thought gave him no pleasure.  Why was the boy ’sorry’ ? Was he overcome with guilt, or did he believe he was pleading with his executioner ? For a brief instant, Snape would've pitied him. But neither was that appropriate. He sighed. Caught between two wrongs, it was best to choose the lesser of them.

“Could you leave us alone for a moment, Albus?”

Dumbledore appeared surprised, but asked no questions and left, leaving the Potions master and the boy in private. As soon as he heard the door close softly, Snape knelt down a few feet from the boy.

“Shadow, calm yourself. Everything will be all right, there’s nothing to fear,” he said in the voice he used to speak to the cat.

The boy stiffened and stopped muttering his apologies.

“That’s right, cat. Everything is fine. I’m here.”

Snape thought to himself that if anyone ever found out about this scenario, he would be forced to verify whether inflicting an Avada Kedavra on himself were a possibility. But he was rewarded as he saw the boy lift his head, his pupils dilated.

“Shadow,” the Potions master said softly, “become Shadow again.... for now.”

He saw a flicker of relief cross the boy’s face before he transformed into the black cat once again.

Snape could not hold in a soft sigh. The solution was not ideal, but Potter’s emotions were less intense in cat form, in which he also seemed better able put up with his injuries. On seeing the cat’s blank gaze, he thought for a moment he’d made a terrible mistake. Had he only made him even more confused?

Then the cat’s eyes settled on him. Not entirely Shadow, not entirely Potter, but a mix of the two, which was the best that he could've hoped for.

“Everything’s fine. I know that you don't understand everything and, believe me, you’re not the only one. But we’re going to make sure we change that as quickly as possible. We’re going to need your help, though... You're going to have to try to remember what happened to you, from the beginning. For now, you need to rest and try to stay calm. Dumbledore and the rest of the Order will keep watch over you here, at Grimmauld Place.”

He wasn't sure that the cat had understood everything, but the sound of his voice seemed to have calmed him. If Potter still retained a small sense of himself, perhaps he could begin to calm down and make himself useful. The cat was trembling, but did not try to flee. In fact, it was watching Snape with a bit of hope, and something akin to trust...

Proof, thought Snape, that Potter was not in complete control of his faculties. He took a quick look at the cat’s injuries. Yes, he recognized that they were indeed the same ones he had already healed... Were they going to reopen when Potter had to transform back? Something to worry about. All of this he truly was not happy about.

If he discovered who had hurt his cat...

He got hold of himself quickly. Very well.  Very well, he was tired and decidedly under stress. Potter was going to stay safely in the room in cat form, the devil take him, and Snape was going to find a way to solve this problem and then that could be the end of it! With Merlin’s help, the boy would have no memory of his stay at the manor, even if it meant Obliviating him at the first opportunity.

Potter, Shadow, goddamit, with his luck, the animal undoubtedly had fleas.

Snape left the room quickly and rejoined Dumbledore in the kitchen.

“Very well. Potter has returned to his cat form. It was preferable, both for his mental and his physical health. We'll see about turning him back when we know more about what’s going on and how we can care for him. For now, he’s in his bedroom and doesn’t seem too agitated. Try not to disturb him. If anything happens, I’ll be in Surrey, Legilimising the Muggles who serve as family for this insufferable source of problems you call Potter.”

“You seem nervous, Severus. Is everything all right?”

Snape groaned.

“Clearly. I haven’t slept more than an hour in two days. I am responsible for looking after a boy who is supposed to save the world, but who isn’t even capable of remembering his own name, let alone telling us how he came to be injured, the Dark Lord is likely to call me at any moment and his potions aren’t ready, and to top it all off, I’m preparing to spend the morning with the most disagreeable Muggle family I have ever known.”

“And you don't know the half of it,” replied Dumbledore, unable to hide a smile. “Severus, I will never know how to tell you how grateful I am for everything you do... for Harry and for us all,” he said emphatically.

Snape relaxed slightly.

“You have no need, Albus. I am at the top of the list of those interested in Potter's survival and success. What worries me most at the moment is the way the boy pressed his hands to his forehead. I suspect the Dark Lord has become aware of his return to consciousness, however weak and troubled, and is trying to connect their minds...”

“In which case, you did well to make him change back into his Animagus form. Your decision was the most reasonable, all things considered, even if it hurts me to see Harry like that.”

Snape nodded. He understood the headmaster’s concern, his worry about disturbing Harry’s peception of his identity even more.... but for his part, he had to admit that he was much more comfortable with the feline version of the boy. A bit too much, perhaps.

He checked that his wand was well secured in his belt and put on his cloak.

“Would you like a Disillusionment Charm, Severus? Muggles, especially in Little Whinging, are hardly used to seeing this sort of attire...”

“Unnecessary. No one will die from it, and my appearance could provoke some interesting reactions if other wizards have been hanging around the area recently. Death Eaters always remain invisible...”

“You intend to search the area ?” Dumbledore asked, surprised.

Snape smiled bitterly.

“I don’t want to leave anything to chance. Time is too precious... and when I am next called to Malfoy Manor, I don’t know how long before I’ll be able to return. We need answers quickly.”

Dumbledore raised a hand to squeeze the Potions master’s shoulder, but restrained the movement when he saw him stiffen.

Dumbledore sighed. If he had for an instant doubted the value of Snape’s decision to push Harry to resume his animal form, all doubt would have disappeared now.

Each in his own way,  the professor and the student, had a sense of honour and a certitude that they could count only on themselves, which brought them closer to each other than either could have imagined. It was this bond that had compelled Snape to make the right decision regarding Harry, and Dumbledore would've been happy for this reason had he not been so worried about them both.

Seeing his dismay, Snape graced him with a look meant to be reassuring, matched with the shadow of a smile.

“And to answer your question, yes, you can count on me, Albus.”

“I've never doubted it, my boy,” replied the headmaster softly.

“If Potter ever.... if there were an emergency of any sort, let me know.”

Dumbledore nodded and watched as the Potions master headed for the fireplace.

He had a strange premonition that any problems to occur would not be coming from Grimmauld Place that morning.

“Snape Manor!”

When Snape appeared in his laboratory, something seemed wrong to him. It felt as if years had passed by since he had left the last time, with Shadow in his arms.

Shadow. That was what was different. He looked at the cat’s jumper on his armchair... He sighed, incapbable of knowing whether he was annoyed, frustrated or worried. Whichever it was, it was Potter’s fault once again. He took a last look at the jumper. The cat had only been there for two weeks, after all; it wouldn't take much to get used to his absence.

The cat...Potter! He cursed silently. Lack of sleep was really not doing him any good. He grabbed a vial and quickly swallowed the contents; he was going to need all his energy and clarity to visit  the Dursleys.

The idea made him feel increasingly uneasy; this whole story didn't add up... But he had no time to waste in speculation. Putting a few potions in the inside pocket of his robe, he Disapparated with a great 'crack'.

As he'd expected, his presence in the streets of the housing estate prompted no reaction from its inhabitants, apart from a few disapproving looks. The chances were slim, but he especially needed to mull things over before confronting the Muggles and one excuse was as good as another.

Number four, Privet Drive. From the other side of the road, Snape contemplated the house. So it was here, then, where the famous Potter had grown up... truly far from Godric’s Hollow.

He crossed the road and the perfectly kept garden in order to knock on the door. The man who opened it, by contrast, certainly did not look like the average Muggle. As wide as he was tall, he took up the full frame of the doorway and turned crimson red as he recognized his visitor. Sticking out his chest, he tried a bit more to forbid access to the house.

“The boy’s not come back!” he barked finally, when he'd calmed himself enough to speak. “We’ve had no news from him and that's fine with us! If he were to have the nerve to set foot here again, I’ll send him to hell myself. Now, leave my family the bloody hell alone, before I call the police. Do freaks like you have no respect for families in mourning?” he bellowed at the top of his voice.

That was a tirade as explicit as it was rich in information, pondered Snape.

So then, someone had died... and Potter was probably mixed up in it. Why the devil had Dumbledore not seen fit to inform him of this? How could he have neglected such a vital piece of information before sending him here? Had he feared that Snape would refuse to help Potter if he found out what he had done?

The pieces of the puzzle were rapidly falling into place. The infernal child had evidently found a way to get on the wrong side of his only family, and probably by a horrible crime that even the headmaster, with all the indulgence he accorded the odious boy, couldn't excuse.

He felt a nameless resentment rise up in him. Dumbledore and Potter. A right pair of deceivers…

“Unless you intend to keep on shouting from your doorstep and alert the whole neighbourhood, I'm afraid you'll want me to come in; I have certain details to go through with you and I have no intention of leaving until I have all the answers,” he said, his face unfathomable.

Vernon Dursley stared at him for a few seconds before finally letting him in with a ‘humpf’ which spoke volumes about his desire to offer hospitality to the man in black. He stepped to the side and slammed the door behind the Potions master. Crossing his arms over his large chest, he looked him up and down obstinately. If he had not been so annoyed, Snape would have almost found the man's childish attitude amusing.

“Are your wife and son here ?” he asked.

“No, thank god, they’ve gone out to buy a new computer for Dudley, give him something else to think about. Since his aunt's death, he’s been...” Vernon gestured exasperatedly. He wasn’t going to discuss his life with a freak, was he?

Snaped nodded. It was best that he be alone with Vernon at first; if Petunia recognised him, things were going to become even more complicated.

“My condolences,” he said perfunctorily. “Your sister, I assume?”

“You assume correctly,” grumbled Vernon, “and whatever you’ve got in mind, don’t think for a second that I’m going to take that little freak you managed to force on Petunia fifteen years ago back under my roof. It’s over with, you hear? I don’t care if all the legions of hell are after him, it’s all he deserves! As far as I’m concerned, I wish them luck. If this Lord-I-Don't-Know-Who wants to catch the boy and wring his neck, he can have him, believe you me!”

Snape stiffened. However deep the man’s pain, it did not lesssen the shock of his words. Did he truly understand the danger his nephew was in?  The contempt and hardness in the Muggle's face when he spoke about Potter were positively deranged.

“May I ask about the circumstances of her death?” Snape asked as courteously as he could.

“Car accident. Of course, what else!” thundered Vernon, torn between rage and grief.

Snape did not know the answer but was longing to know. What did this have to do with Potter? The boy was not supposed to leave the house during the summer.

“And Harry’s role in the accident?”

“His role?” grumbled Vernon. Then he said, louder, “You dare to ask me what he did?” His face became even redder while he waved his hands menacingly in the air.

“It’s all his fault! All of it! From the start! The contracts, the factory, my poor disturbed Dudley, Marge’s accident. He’s bad, bad like a plague, he brings misfortune on everyone around him!”

Snape tried to hide his incredulity.

“You will have to excuse me, but I thought Harry wasn’t allowed to leave the confines of the house this year. In such circumstances, how was he able to cause this accident? Did it take place in the alley?”

“In the alley! What a joke, in the alley! On a motorway, Marge lost control of her car on a motorway in Scotland ! In Scotland, you see, what a strange coincidence! That’s where that school for delinquants that takes Potter off our hands for most of the year is, isn’t it?”

This man is completely mad, thought Snape. Or perhaps just blinded by pain, but in any case completely irrational. He suddenly realized that he'd just called the boy Harry, whereas his uncle had referred to him as being ‘Potter’.

No, something was definitely wrong with this day. He would have liked to have been able to stop time for a moment and summarise all the contradictory information he had gathered in the last few hours... But he didn’t have the chance, as Vernon had gone off again and there was no stopping him.

“Lost control of her vehicle, Marge... as if that could happen... If you had known her, you would have known right away that couldn’t happen! Certainly not! That dirty little brat bewitched and killed her. As surely as if he’d shot her, point-blank!”

“Why would he have done such a thing?” asked Snape, half-intrigued, half-annoyed.

“Ah! Revenge, of course! A nasty piece of work, that boy... nasty, just like his parents. Marge knew it and she always made a point of putting him back in his place. Like we did, not that it was enough, when you look at what happened... He had already blown her up like a balloon, just because she tried to make him admit the truth about his parents! And now this, a car accident...to make us realise just how fiendish he is, of course. A car accident!”

“I’m afraid I still don’t see the relationship,” Snape persisted, battling against the beginnings of a migrane.

“The car accident. The Potters. That’s what we told the boy, so we didn’t have to talk about...” Vernon shot a look at Snape and the wand he was playing with reflexively and decided not to voice his opinion about wizards.

“You told Harry that his parents were killed in a car crash?“ asked the Potions master, trying to put together the cock and bull bits of information that the Muggle was throwing at him.

“On the dole, drunk as skunks, the accident... the two losers killed and their freak of nature son given to us to look after! This burden for years and all that for what? Dudley’s traumatised, Marge is dead, all our family soon to be on the streets... I should have abandoned him somewhere that first evening, as I said to Petunia, but we had to ‘protect’ the demon, so we kept him. And what good did it do? Hmm, what good?”

Certainly not for him, thought Snape. It was no longer just a migraine, but nausea that was overcoming him now. Where had he gone wrong? Or more precisely, where had Potter gone wrong?

He took a deep breath and tried to suppress the furious desire to cast a Legilimens at the man to extract from him the information he wanted. Patience, he had something to do first…

“I would like to see the boy’s room,” he demanded abruptly.

The man grumbled.

“You’re not coming any further into my house! You and your sort have already done enough harm here. I’ve told you the boy’s not here, now leave!”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” replied Snape dryly. “The room. Now.” He rolled his wand between his fingers, whilst fixing Vernon with a penetrating gaze.

The Muggle grumbled out a few words that were supposed to be insulting, but moved reluctantly towards the stairs.

The house was as meticulously well-kept and traditional on the inside as it was on the outside. With the exception, however, of the door the man stopped in front of: it was covered with solid locks and seemed poorly fixed to its hinges, as if it had been regularly slammed or broken down.

Snape experienced an instant of doubt: was this really Potter’s room? Did they think he was a wild animal? The lack of understanding Dumbledore had spoken of seemed to have reached rock bottom. Vernon opened the door and gestured with his chin that he could enter.

“After you,” the wizard signaled him.

The man grumbled, then after a second’s hesitation, went through the door, Snape on his heels. The first thing the Potions master noticed were the bars on the window. Dumbledore had alluded to them, but strangely the image hadn’t really registered. At this hour of the day, the sun came through the window, projecting their shadow across the room, making it difficult to see anything else.

The bare walls, the battered mattress, the empty wardrobe, it all conspired to make the room seem like a cell. And it had only been two weeks since the boy left… So this was where the famous Harry Potter grew up. A new story, a new puzzle was slowly taking shape in the professor’s mind.

He was going to get to the bottom of this.

“What happened the last time Harry was here?”

Vernon ground out a few words, then seeing the Potions master's expression, he cleared his throat.

“I’ve already told all this to that old fool. I told the boy to pack his bags and leave, that he wasn’t welcome here anymore.”

“How exactly did you phrase it?”

Vernon figeted, visibly ill at ease. Now was a good time.

“Legilimens!”

An instant later, Snape found himself once again in a slightly different version of the room. A few belongings were lying on the floor, the wardrobe was shut, and a fatigued-looking teenager was watching a redder-than-ever Vernon Dursley pace towards him.

The boy was thin, he saw, thinner even than the version resting at Grimmauld Place. There were large dark circles under his eyes and Snape thought he could make out the shadow of a bruise on his cheek.

“She’s dead,”

The boy seemed as surprised as Snape had been, but he apologised without seeking clarification.

“Sorry!” Vernon finally shouted, “you’d better be! It’s your fault ! Your fault!”

Yes, it looked as though even Harry didn’t see how he could be implicated. Snape couldn't help but feel relief.

“You, your abnormality… your fault… always! You bring bad luck! You attract death!”

While Vernon was endeavoring to inform the boy just how he was responsible for all the misfortune in the world, Snape was able to watch as Harry's expression became more and more empty and sorrowful. Guilt was now written all over his face.

Snape groaned: the boy made it a point of honour never to believe a word adults said to him, but he accepted without objection the irrational accusations made by his uncle. Where was the logic in that?

His guilty appearance was not lost on his uncle either. Snape watched the man slowly unbuckle his belt with a malevolent smile on his face before winding it around his hand, letting the buckle swing free. Potter did not seem aware of what was coming, but Snape couldn't help but shudder: the boy’s wounds! No, it wasn’t possible, he hadn't dared!

Vernon confirmed his fears by swinging the strap as hard as he could against the boy‘s chest. The boy scarcely reacted, lost in a haze of guilt. A second blow seemed to pull him out of his stupor, and Snape thought for an instant that he was finally going to fight back, but he could only stand helpless in face of the boy's capitulation.

Without trying to further protect himself, he accepted the punishment as if he'd deserved it.

The Potions professor could not believe his eyes. Potter… Potter, who had faced Voldemort as regular as clockwork, who had defied a dragon and the Dementors and who endured no authority if he'd decided not to. Without a word, Potter accepted being accused of murder and being beaten mercilessly, in the most humiliating manner, for a crime about which he hadn't the slightest idea!

The belt struck again and again, the iron buckle tearing his skin and the boy still did nothing to defend himself. Out of strength, he ended by collapsing semi-conscious to the floor. This did not seem to calm Vernon, whose fury doubled, a perverse gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

Finally tired of having to bend over to hit the boy, and worn out himself, he kicked viciously several times to finish the boy off.

‘And there’s the cause of the broken arm,’ mused Snape, watching a particularly violent kick land on the boy’s shoulder. Then on his sides…

‘Yet another thing I didn’t notice,’ he thought to himself bitterly as he heard a dull crack.

“You don’t live here anymore.”

With a last glance filled with contempt and hate, the man spat on the boy’s unmoving body and left without looking back.

No, Potter didn’t live there anymore; that would have been certain even if the brute had not wished it. He, Severus, would've never permitted it… As for Dumbledore, he didn't even dare imagine his reaction when he learned the details of his protégé's eviction.

The vision became blurry. Snape now felt rather ill, but he had no intention of staying there. Why hadn't the boy defended himself against a mere Muggle? He'd seemed so fearful and resigned... Refusing to break the Legilimency link, he searched Vernon’s memory for other recollections of the boy.

And he found them…

Potter that summer, crying out in his sleep and being hit as his consolatioon.

Potter a bit younger, cooking and cleaning the house into the middle of the night.

Potter starving, trying to filch food and ending up locked in his room.

Harry, definitely smaller, crying because his cousin, ressembling a nasty baby elephant, had beaten him and Harry'd received a slap for having provoked him.

Freak. Good for nothing. Son of an alcoholic. Delinquent. A mistake of nature. Burden.

And to finish, the image of a small boy who couldn’t have been five years old, cowering, terrified, deep in a cupboard, face dripping with tears, closing his eyes as an enormous hand flew towards his face.

That was enough. Oh yes, that was definitely enough. Snape had just skimmed fifteen years of Potter’s life and he hadn't the least desire to dig any deeper.

How could he, this Muggle, this poor excuse for a human being! He who should have been honoured beyond his wildest dreams to have the privilege of raising the boy who lived. Survived, that was the well-chosen word, and more than once, by all accounts.

Any wizarding family would have raised the boy like a son, and this Muggle who was supposed to be his uncle… Only, did he know what he was risking if the wizarding world ever one day came to find out?

How could the boy be so arrogant at Hogwarts and yet so submissive in front of his family ? For certain, Snape had been able to see a few outright attempts at rebellion in the adolescent Harry in Vernon’s memories, but nothing that held a candle to the resignation and anguished submissiveness that he'd shown all these years.

At Hogwarts, however… In his memory Snape ran through different scenes of Potter in the castle. Potter, yes, but which one? he mused for a moment. James and Harry, who resembled each other so much that that they blurred into one another… And yet.

What would the arrogant James Potter have said if he’d been able to see his his terrorized son in the back of a cupboard, or being beaten by a belt by the one who was supposed to raise him as his own child ? He would turn over in his grave… but Snape was incapable of feeling glad about it. His old enemy was no longer in a position to avenge his son, but, he, Snape, was. And he had never had such a good opportunity to repay his debt to James.

Opposite him, Vernon Dursley was breathing heavily, his breath short and his eyes unfocused.

Aware that the wizard was scrutinizing him, he jumped and started to mumble.

“It isn’t… I didn’t… it’s not like that.”

“Not like that ?” replied Snape softly, taking a step towards him.

“No! It’s not what you think!” shouted Vernon as panic overtook him. “Listen, that boy Potter, he’s not normal!”

“No, indeed. He’s a wizard, a hero in our world, Merlin forgive me and, in any event, the only person to have survived the Dark Lord on several occasions. His destiny is to save our world… A child. An adolescent with responsibilities too great for him and with many more problems than most people realise…”

“He’s a freak!” interrupted Vernon. “He’s brought nothing but misfortune since he day he arrived! He’s bad, it’s in his blood, he…”

“I’ve heard enough,” said Snape dryly. “I am sufficiently well-placed to know that Harry is not a model teenager. But still, even if he had been a reincarnation of the Dark Lord himself, I would still be unable to find any excuse for your abominable treatment of a child. And I speak only for myself… I would not like to be in your place, Vernon, when Dumbledore and the rest of Mr Potter’s fan club learn how you have systematically and methodically ruined his life. Do you have even the faintest idea what that child represents?” he hissed.

“Nevertheless, Mr Dursley, we have something in common,” he continued in a calmer voice.

He thought he saw a glimmer of hope in the man’s eyes, but this was quickly replaced by panic when he realised that his feet were not touching the floor.

“We both experience certain difficulties in suppressing our murderous impulses.”

Vernon’s eyes literally bulged with terror when he found himself thrown against a wall. Then against another. And then another. Or was this the ceiling?

When he opened his eyes, he was stretched out on the floor, panting. He threw a wild look at the Potions master, who looked him up and down, a disgusted look on his face.

“I would stay longer to discuss the benefits of education with you, Dursley, but I believe that your belt and yourself have much to talk about,” said Snape before murmuring a spell in the man’s direction.

Vernon let out a little croak as he felt the heavy belt slip from his waist and float up into the air.

“I don’t want to interrupt your tete-a-tete. On the other hand, I still have to meet your charming little family; I'm going to wait for them in the sitting room, if you will excuse me,” sniggered Snape as he left the room with a brief nod of his head.

He had scarcely shut the door when he heard the familiar sound of a leather belt violently striking skin. The same sound he had heard repeated endlessly, in Vernon’s memories a few minutes earlier. He looked at the door with a certain degree of satisfaction, fastened the locks one by one, taking care that each click resonated mercilessly.

A good deed accomplished.

“Don’t ever again presume to lay a hand on my cat,” he murmured.

Then, to the sound of Dursley’s screams, he calmly went down the stairs, and into the sitting room to await the rest of the family.

Snape made a circular scan of the overly clean room. Everything here looked artificial, right down to the photos covering the walls and the pedestal tables. A fat blond boy surrounded by his smiling parents; a perfect little family with their fixed smiles. Nothing to hint that Harry belonged here, and without a doubt, that had effectively been the case.

Snape thought briefly back to the incessant allusions to the spoilt-boy Harry that he'd generously made all these years. If it hadn’t been so pathetic, he would have almost laughed.

Snape, who'd thought he'd mastered the subtle art of a well-placed insult, was going to have to reevaluate his standards anew. In more ways than one.

The front door opened and voices could be heard in the hall.

“Vernon! We’re home! Can you come and give us a hand?”

Snape stood, a small smile on his lips, and moved nonchalantly towards the new arrivals.

In the foyer, Petunia and her son were struggling with some large boxes. She hadn’t much changed, thought Snape. Even thinner, her face fixed in an unpleasant expression, her movements stiff… how could this woman be related to Lily? Petunia caught sight of him suddenly and jumped, dropping a package.

“Who are you? What are you doing in my house? Where is Vernon?”

Snape continued to stare at her without saying a word. Petunia frowned, a little glimmer of understanding deep in her eyes.

“Dudley, go to your room, dear.”

“But, my compu…”  The enormous teenager, almost hidden beneath rolls of fat, noticed the intruder and froze as he saw his clothes and the wand he held in his hand. He squealed like a pig and ran up the stairs, leaving his mother to face the wizard alone.

What a fine example of filial devotion, thought Snape.

Petunia continued to stare at him, an expression of disgust and hatred on her face.

“I know you. You’re that horrible boy who turned Lily into a freak.”

“Is it an obsession in this family to impute imaginary crimes to others?”  Snape asked dryly.

Petunia clicked her tongue.

“Where is Vernon?”

“He is not available at the moment. You will find him in your nephew’s bedroom, but not before we have had a little chat.”

Petunia let out a horsey little laugh.

“About what? That little freak my sister left us, I presume? He’s not here. And he’s not coming back again. Vernon made sure of that.”

Snape felt his anger growing. Petunia… Lily’s sister, this gangly girl always hanging onto her little sister's arm, whether to protect her or hold her back, no one knew.

Given, Vernon was a bully....but the same blood as Petunia's ran in Harry's veins.

One more time, Snape returned to the same question; how could she?

“Yes, I am aware of that,” he said finally. ”Your husband and I had a little chat... a heart to heart."

The woman frowned suspiciously.

“Mr Dursley gave me, quite involuntarily I must admit, the opportunity to see some particularly significant scenes in Harry’s life with you.”

Snape was silent, awaiting a reaction. Petunia froze.

“We took him in under our roof. We fed him, gave him clothes, sent him to school. He had everything he needed,” she hissed.

“That’s not what I saw,” replied Snape softly; “Why, Petunia?”

The woman’s face twisted with rage and frustration.

“I never asked for this burden! If he was that precious to you, all the fools of your sort, why didn’t you keep him? It wasn't enough to have such abominations in the house with Lily and everyone thinking she was so great. If our parents hadn’t worshipped her, her and her abnormality, perhaps she would have stayed normal! Like me... but they didn’t care about that, did they? And then the boy... as if we needed a freak in our family!”

“And you saw to it that he was never pampered, as Lily had been...”

“Of course,” replied Petunia shortly, “I wasn’t going to allow the slightest chance that he’d turn out like my sister.”

“So you would claim to have mistreated the boy to save his life ?” asked Snape, with a smidgeon of hope.

But Petunia one again looked disgusted.

“Save him? That’s what we did by taking him in, the little snake, isn’t it? If he’s managed to get himself killed, for all that I care, good riddance. Perhaps, we’ll finally be able to live in peace.”

Snape felt overcome with bitterness. Regretfully, he asked the question that burned his lips.

“This is Lily’s son, Petunia. How could you not love him?”

He tried to hope that the woman would insult him, protest, shout that he had no right to say it and that, of course, she loved him, in spite of everything...

But Petunia’s expression destroyed his every hope.

“Why should I have? Dumbledore was able to make me take him and keep him under my roof, but he couldn’t force me to love him, could he? Especially when I had my wonderful little Dudley, so beautiful, so kind, so normal. As for Lily... the boy is nothing like my sister. He’s the spitting image of his good for nothing father. I want nothing to do with that freak.”

Snape was speechless.

That he would find this a pertinent argument was one thing, but Petunia? Lily’s sister, who had raised Harry? What was wrong with this woman?

She had loved her sister, he was sure... After her death, she should have felt honoured and deeply moved to find herself entrusted with her son, and should have cherished him in memory of Lily.

As he would have done.

Oh, Lily, he thought... how many times will you have been betrayed?

He looked at the narrow-faced woman with a mixture of disgust and sadness. She was so different from her sister. Harry, even though for all intents and purposes he had never known his mother, and looked so dangerously like his father, was actually more like Lily than Petunia had ever been.

Seeing the way the Potions master was looking at her, Petunia scowled.

“You, why did you not take him, if you care so much about him? After all, my sister was forever talking about you, every time she came home. He could just as easily have been your son.”

“He could have been, yes, but for a few years,” Snape replied impassively.

‘He should have been,’ he thought.

“So keep him if you find him. Don’t count on me to take care of him. I’ve done enough for the little ingrate, I never want to see him here again. Not after what's happened.”

“You're in a postion to know that Harry had nothing to do with that accident,” said Snape.

“Perhaps. But Vernon doesn’t know that....Nor does Dudley.”

Her tone of voice clearly indicated that the conversation was finished.

Severus rather agreed. He felt more exhausted and stiff than after a round of Cruciatus at the hands of Voldemort. Everything about this house, about this family was unhealthy.

And Harry...Merlin. Harry should never ever return here. He would see to it. For who had really looked after the boy?

Certainly not his so-called family, who wanted nothing more than for him to disappear. Not Dumbledore either, who had let him grow up and return here... Did he even know the half of it? Snape hoped with all his heart that such was not the case. Otherwise... what was he to think?

In every case, one fact remained, Potter could have had as many admirers and purported bodyguards that he wanted, but no one had really taken care of the boy.

And he firmly intended to change that.

He would not allow Lily’s death to have been for nothing.  For so much suffering. He would not allow anyone to hurt his cat.

In any case, whether the boy wanted it or not, he intended to keep a close eye on Harry, and not just during Quidditch matches.

When he finally stepped into the street, the sun was still shining. Snape found this almost strange. Disturbing.

The world had just tilted slightly, say five degrees to the right. His world, which revolved around Potter since he'd arrived at Hogwarts five years earlier. Potter, who was not Potter, in the end. But Harry, rather. Or if necessary, Shadow.

With one last glance at number four, Privet Drive, Snape concealed himself in the shadow of a wall to Disapparate.

At the moment he disappeared, a face suddenly appeared before his eyes, making him jump. For a second, he could see Lily’s face smiling at him, her lips forming the words ‘thank you’.

And behind her, the familiar and yet different face of James Potter, who graced him with a look full of gratitude.