Had anyone been able to look into the house of the Potter’s in Godric’s Hollow that fateful Halloween night, no one would have ever expected that the loving family inside the Potter house would be torn apart in a matter of minutes. No one would have expected the Potter family to become nearly extinct in one foul swoop of fate. No one would have expected attacks to take place; no one would have expected any of it.

Lily Potter had been downstairs trying in vain to convince her fifteen month old son that strained peas were, contrary to popular belief not to be: shoved up the nose, placed in the diaper, thrown across the room, used as war paint, hair dye, or any form of art media. Though she was failing miserably to keep her son clean, she was succeeding in getting him to eat some of the world’s most disgusting, ground up food and like it; or at least like playing with it.

James Potter on the hand was trying, and succeeding, to convince Harry to do just what his mother was attempting to teach him was wrong. Peas were in fact the perfect consistency to throw at something and dye it a pretty puke green.

Life for the Potters couldn’t be much more peaceful. Yet, outside their humble abode the dark and stormy clouds of fate had begun to gather.

Faint pops could be heard if one was listening very hard for the sound, but no one was. No one was aware that Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters had arrived to remove yet one of two prophesy children from the world. The first probable prophesy child, Neville Longbottom, did not fit all the criteria.

No one knew that, that fateful Halloween night would mark the end of the first reign of Lord Voldemort.

“JAMES POTTER! You stop that this instant! The last thing I need in my house would be another Marauder! Harry please stop, Mummy doesn’t want to take another bath. JAMES, DON’T YOU DARE THROW THAT!” Lily Potter could be heard yelling all the way down the street. She’d finally caught a glimpse of James egging Harry’s behavior on from behind her back.

“Our son needs to learn how to eat properly! He should not be…” Lily continued on until a handful of peas, thrown by Harry, hit her on the side of the face.

“Apparently… he doesn’t… think so!” James said in between gasps and spurts of laughter while holding his side. This was at least the eighth time that night James had burst in to such laughter.

“Alright, THAT’S IT! It’s time for a bath, mister!” Lily said after cleaning the peas out of her mouth and nose. She then proceeded to wipe Harry’s face with a dish rag and pick him up out of his highchair to take him upstairs for the third bath that night. The first had been needed after a day of playing in the mud and the second after Harry had found an old set of paints.

James had, of course, had no problems what so ever with Harry getting in to trouble with either the mud or the paint.

Granted, he wasn’t the one to have to clean the child off.

“Lily, you could just Scourgify the peas off him. You are a witch you know,” James snorted, still trying to control his laughter.

Lily only shot him her patented ‘I know what I’m doing so bugger off’ glare. The glare that could easily rival any of Severus Snape’s glares in it’s intensity. Lily then proceeded to walk upstairs, trying not to get anymore covered in peas than she all ready was, to bathe her son.

After she’d gone upstairs and turned on the bath water, James finally pried himself off the floor to clean the “masterpieces” from the wall and floor. Unlike his wife, James was not above using his magic to do chores. Finishing that, he then moved to the living room to wait for Sirius’s arrival by flying motorcycle. He was supposed to arrive some time before midnight.

The sound of Lily’s childish yet angelic laugh was easily heard echoing from the upstairs bathroom as well as Harry’s far more age appropriate shrieks of happiness. A sound as splendid and peaceful could not be heard anywhere else in the world.

Lily had just finished redressing the young Potter heir when the sound of a door exploding off it’s hinges was heard throughout the house.

James reacted instantly, grabbing his wand and running towards the sound. As he passed the stairs, he saw his wife slowly coming down the stairs, Harry clutched tightly to her chest. She had a look of utter terror on her face.

“Lily, they’re here. Take Harry and run!” James yelled over the mounting noise as the back door was blown to smithereens. “I’ll hold them off.”With that, James disappeared around the corner in to the front hall.

Shouts of Avada Kedavera were heard as Lily ran to Harry’s room, the only place that was, by this time, swarming with Death Eaters.

Lily slammed the door and put Harry in his crib, so she could use her wand without the extra burden of having a child on her hip, preventing movement and spell casting. An instant death sentence, to both mother and child.

She had no sooner laid the child down when the bedroom door exploded, sending small pieces of wooden shrapnel flying into the room. In the doorway, wand held level, was Lord Voldemort and several of his Death Eaters. All of her Auror training was instantly rendered useless as she saw the wand of the most feared man in the wizarding world pointing his wand at her son.

“No!” Lily screamed, her body instinctively moving to protect her child.

“Move, Potter,” Voldemort said, sneering.“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

“Stand aside you, silly girl…stand aside now…”

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-”

Voldemort could only smirk as he looked at the quivering, sobbing mudblood that stood before him. Did she honestly think that her death would prevent the death of the boy?

“Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy…”

One of the Death Eaters behind the Dark Lord let out a shrill laugh at the plea. What mudblood would plead to Lord Voldemort and receive their wish? If a pureblood couldn’t, there was no way a mudblood could. Voldemort didn’t become the Dark Lord by being kind and understanding.

Voldemort’s smirk only grew as he said the curse Avada Kedavera in much the same manner that one would say the time or weather. After all, he didn’t want to waste a moment before killing the Potter boy.

With Lily out of the way, Voldemort could lay claim to his prize. Pointing his wand at Harry’s forehead, Voldemort was nearly knocked off his feet as a large explosion rocked the house.

Apparently James Potter was not as dead as previously thought and was still fighting down stairs. The explosion was all the Death Eaters finally blowing up his body in an effort to get rid of him.

Falling forward, Voldemort caught his balance by grabbing Harry’s neck.

Looking straight into the toddler’s green eyes, Voldemort couldn’t help but laugh as the child gasped for air. Finally, Voldemort uttered the killing curse.

It was then that all hell broke loose.

Any Death Eater that happened to be present at the time watched in horror as the curse meant to kill the young child in front of them rebounded off Harry’s head, ripped through the Dark Lord’s wand arm, proceeded down the arm that was holding Harry’s neck, and bouncing once more, shattering Voldemort’s magical core and destroying his body.

When questioned later as to the occurrences at the Potter’s house, those who were present at the attempted murder of Harry Potter said that they could actually see the green of the curse even as it ricocheted through the body of the Dark Lord.

The magical backlash from the curse ripped through the house, setting walls aflame and destroying the house and knocking out many of the Death Eaters. Those who didn’t get knocked unconscious ran for their lives, knowing full well that if they were caught they would be arrested, placed in Azkaban, and most likely receive the kiss.

Yet, amidst the rubble, there lay the young survivor, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

It took only minutes for Aurors to arrive and discover Harry. Within the hour all newspapers had been notified of the Potter’s death and Harry’s miraculous survival.

As soon as Albus Dumbledore had heard of Harry’s survival, he sent the only available person to retrieve the child while Dumbledore handled the press and Minerva McGonnagal staked out the Dursley household to make sure of no other attacks.

The Dursleys were Harry Potter’s only living relatives, and, even though they were muggles, Harry would have to stay with them because of the blood protection that was activated by his mother when she died to save him.

During a small break in the barrage of questions that the press was throwing out, Dumbledore managed to slip away and make sure that Harry made it to the Dursley’s safely.

After removing all the lights from Privet Drive to allow Hagrid, the half giant who was in charge of transporting Harry to the Dursley household, a safe and unseen landing, all Dumbledore had to do was wait a few minutes.

As soon as Hagrid landed, Dumbledore took Harry from the half giant and began to carry the sleeping child towards his new life with the muggles.

After reaching the steps, the long bearded headmaster then produced a note from the breast pocket of his robe and pinned it to the blanket wrapped around Harry’s sleeping form. After wishing the sleeping baby the best of luck, Dumbledore turned on his heel and apparated away, remembering to turn the streetlights back on as he left.

Only an hour or so later, Harry awoke feeling very hungry, achy, and confused. His head hurt terribly, his throat was sore from where the snake-faced man had grabbed him, he was lying outside on cold, hard cement, and he wanted his mummy. Not to mention, his nappy was full, so of course, he wanted to be changed and held. So he did what every baby does best early in morning…He cried.

But cry as he might, no one could hear him; no one noticed. No one except for the snakes in the garden.

The snakes didn’t care though. They could tell that this was a young one, and they refused to help one that didn’t want to help it’s self.

Besides, they wouldn’t have been able to comfort Harry very well anyway.

Harry, for all purposes, was mute.

From the Dursley’s point of view, all that Harry could produce from his mouth was a strange hissing noise, and that was the only noise that they had ever heard Harry. Even when they had first found Harry on their door step, he wasn’t crying but rather hissing.

It was an incredibly annoying noise to them so Vernon Dursley, Harry’s uncle, decided to try and beat the habit out of his nephew. Every time Harry would try to speak and hiss instead, Vernon would tell Harry he was a freak, and beat the poor child with his belt until Harry was bloody and unconscious. Later, Vernon would beat Harry again for getting blood everywhere. By this time though, Harry’s magic had healed the majority of his wounds.

By the time Harry was in kindergarten, he’d nearly given up trying to communicate in any way to the humans who were around him.

The garden snakes, on the other hand, were always willing to keep Harry company. Though they had at first been rather cold towards Harry, (they thought he was going to kill them), they soon warmed up to him after they realized he could speak their language.

Though the teachers had suspected abuse was occurring at the Dursley household soon after they first saw Dudley and Harry together, they had no proof one way or another in which to back up their suspicions. Harry would shy away from any raised voices or any threatening movements, but he never showed any injuries other than a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

The teachers learned not to take this lack of injuries at face value, though. For some reason, Harry’s skin couldn’t ever be broken. It was the strangest thing that the teachers had ever seen.

One time, Harry was being dragged around the playground on his knees, yet after the teachers had broke it up, he didn’t have a scratch on him. In fact, the only thing that looked slightly different was Harry’s hair, which was even messier than before.

Though he never showed it, Harry did feel the pain of the skinned knees. He never liked it when other people could tell when he was in pain because he always equated their knowledge with more pain on his part.

Needless to say, kindergarten was the last time that Harry was allowed to go and play on the playground with the other kids during recess. It was far to obvious that he was getting tormented by the other kids for the recess monitors not to notice. Of course, for some reason he didn’t show that he was injured, there was no telling what else the bullies could do to him.

As Harry’s kindergarten year progressed, the teachers became more and more thankful that they had stopped letting him outside to be tortured by his fellow classmates. Harry had been struggling with even the simplest aspects of the English language.

His handwriting was illegible on a good day. Even for a kindergartener, it was terrible. It was almost as if he couldn’t remember what the letters were supposed to look like, even though the teachers had just covered them…Again.

Needless to say, Harry was in desperate need of tutoring when it came to English.

Yet, in math and science, Harry was able to do just fine.

While the other students were struggling with simple addition and subtraction, Harry was already doing simple algebra. The only thing that was slightly different about Harry’s algebra, when compared to the algebra that the middle school students were doing was that instead of using letters for variables, Harry used scribbles.

These scribbles only proved to be yet another baffling element of Harry Potter for the teachers. Whenever Harry was working on a problem, the scribbles looked exactly the same. There was never any variation.

That was, until the Dursleys caught wind of how much better Harry was doing in comparison to how Dudley was doing when it came to math.

Not long after the Dursleys discovery, Harry’s math grade suddenly started to fall. Eventually, Harry dropped so far behind his classmates that he had to be moved to a special education room.

For most families, having one of the children moved down to a special education room was something that was looked upon with fear and dismay. For the Dursleys though, this was a thing to be joyful about. Finally, they had proof that their nephew was far dumber than their son.

This drop was, of course caused by Vernon Dursley in order to, “keep Dudley from feeling like he was inferior to his brain dead cousin.”

To the faculty at the grade school, this rapid drop in test scores and comprehension only seemed to back up the Dursley’s story of how Harry’s parents were drug addicts and drunks who got themselves killed in a car accident.

It wasn’t hard for Harry to be considered brain damaged. He never spoke at school or made any sounds what so ever. He never made any friends, he never seemed to do any form of school work, and he never paid any attention. Most of the time the teachers would try to be teaching him something but he wouldn’t be even pretending to listen. He would be looking out of the window.

And so Harry’s grade school years crawled by, slowly but surely.

By third grade, Harry was no longer able to be in the same class room as all the other “normal” kids. His grades were to poor and his reading skills were still at the same level they were when he was in kindergarten.

His uncle had told him that “freaks like you are the only people to be put in classes like that.” While Harry didn’t understand the majority of that statement, he did understand “freaks like you” because he’d heard his uncle say it enough and he also understood “classes.” Unfortunately, Harry jumped to the wrong conclusion.

The day that Vernon had said that, Harry hadn’t brought something in for show-and-tell. Because participation was one of the few things the kids in the special education class were graded on, Harry was being allowed to bring something in the next day.

Harry, who had no real possessions other than the ratty old blanket he was found in and some of Dudley’s broken army men, decided to bring in a friend rather than a toy.

The next day, Harry came to school with one of the adders that lived in the park several blocks from Privet Drive.

Though the poor snake had to be brought to school in Harry’s lunchbox, Harry assured it that it wouldn’t be in there for long.

Thankfully just after Math class, the first class of the day, there was show and tell. Everyone who had forgotten to bring something the day before went over to the cupboard in the corner where they had all stored their assorted stuffed animals or action figures. Harry, on the other hand, went over to where all the lunchboxes were stored.

This was a weird occurrence because Harry never brought a lunch to school. The Dursleys refused to pack him one.

After waiting only fifteen minutes (in which there were three kids who got up in front of the room only to panic and sit back down), it was Harry’s turn.

He shakily walked to the front of the classroom and set the lunchbox on the table.

‘I hope this works,’ Harry thought. ‘I hope that Uncle Vernon was right and they are freaks like me. I hope they are. Maybe then I’ll have someone to talk to.’

Harry took a deep breath and opened the lunch box.

Nearly the entire room jumped back in shock. No student had ever brought a snake to school before; especially not a venomous one. If that hadn’t been shocking enough, when Harry started to “speak” everyone in the room was dumbfounded.

“This is my friend, Salutha. He is an adder,” Harry stated, thinking that the other students could understand him. “Don’t worry, he’s nice and won’t bite… Hopefully… No really he won’t bite.”

Harry slowly picked up the snake and began to try and pass it around like all the other students had done with their show-and-tell, but he soon realized that his fellow students didn’t understand what he had just said.

Obviously this was not what Vernon had meant.

After showing the class Salutha, Harry returned to his seat in the back of the class room and talked to Salutha for the rest of the day. The teachers were dumbfounded at Harry’s sudden “social” streak. Of course, they had to inform the Dursleys of Harry’s venomous choice of show-and-tell.

The beating that followed that phone call left Harry nearly unconscious for almost a week. The school was told that Harry had gotten sick from touching the snake. Salutha was hunted down and killed by Aunt Petunia within that week.

After the beatings and the death of his friend, Harry became even more withdrawn than he was previously. He hardly ever smiled or raised his eyes from the floor. One would almost think he was depressed.

After this incident, life at the Dursley’s was far more tense for the young child. Every movement was questioned and no sound was made by Harry.

By the time Harry was ten, he was not only one of the lowest ranked in the class, he also was one of the shortest. The teachers had long ago dropped the thought that Harry was being abused at home; for the most part they believed that he was just a shy, misguided, and bullied little boy.

The orphan son of two drunkards who was taken in willingly by his sainted aunt and uncle.

Outside of school though, Harry had taken to looking at old college math and chemistry textbooks and trying to understand them just by looking at the diagrams and example problems. It was tough to understand though because Harry still had the reading level of a preschooler. Harry persevered and soon had the complete periodic table memorized and understood math up to college calculus and statistics.

Never the less, he still had to hide his knowledge while at school for fear that his uncle would discover his actual intelligence.

Finally, after many years of sitting in the special education room being bored by remedial math and confused by remedial English, Harry was promoted to the middle school, which he would start in the fall.

Finally, he didn’t have to go to school with Dudley, who was going to Smeltings Private School. Harry was to go to the regular middle and high school in Surrey.

Leaving the grade school for the last time, Harry thought, ‘This will be a summer to remember.’

Truer words have never been spoken.

‘The rumbling of the motorcycle got louder as they ascended into the cloudbank. The giant holding him tightened its grip on him, making sure that he didn’t get too cold as they got higher.

‘They had to get higher, otherwise the muggles would see them. That wouldn’t be good.

‘“Almos’ there ‘arry” the giant said to him.

‘‘Strange,’ He thought, ‘I understood that. And he isn’t a snake! This can’t be real.’’

And indeed it wasn’t, for as Harry thought that, his aunt was headed to his cupboard to wake him up so he could make breakfast. She never did and if it weren’t for the fact that she was the one who taught Harry how to cook, he would’ve thought that she wasn’t even able boil water.

“UP!” Aunt Petunia screeched, “UP NOW!”

Harry jolted awake and sprang to his feet so fast he forgot that he was no longer locked in the shed in the backyard and hit his already aching head on the stairs.

That was the fourth time in the past two days his head had, had an unwanted meeting with the stairs. Two of those times Harry had been startled while in his cupboard. The other two times, were from Dudley knocking him down the stairs.

After pulling on a semi-clean shirt, tying his hand-me-down pants up with a length of broken extension cord, and rubbing away the salt tracks from his face, Harry left the only place in the Dursley household that he could call his own and walked out into the kitchen. His only hope for the day was that he could get a bite to eat. And that all the packages that needed to be placed on the stoop were light weight.

His back was still sore from falling down the stairs.

Keeping his head bowed and his eyes down, Harry went through the well practiced motions of cooking the bacon and eggs, toasting the bread, and making coffee at the same time. Only seconds before his uncle entered the kitchen, Harry had a full breakfast setting on the table.

The table he was not allowed to sit at.

Taking his traditional place at the corner of the room to wait for instructions for his chores for the day, Harry couldn’t help but wonder exactly what the Dursleys were talking about. He could only understand bits and pieces of what they were saying yet this understanding was not enough to fully comprehend an entire conversation.

‘That’s odd,’ Harry thought, ‘They’re talking about me and Ms. Figg but their mad about it. Generally they like getting rid of me.’

It was then that Harry realized why his aunt had screamed at him to get up so early. Today was Dudley’s birthday. The packages that Harry was standing next to were not packages that were to be put out on the front step for the mailman.

Harry was suddenly glad that he’d realized this before placing them outside. It was a pity that he never got anything for his birthday, but then again he didn’t think that his parents would have even given him presents for his birthday.

He was a freak and that was all he was ever going to be. The Dursleys at least treated him like he was meant to be treated. They didn’t coddle him like the teachers at school, as if he would ever be less of a freak.

Freak. One of the few words that Harry knew. Other than that Harry knew about fourteen other words instantly, most of them being chores.

CRACK!

Dudley broke Harry out of his thoughts of his freakishness with one solid punch to the jaw. Something was wrong with the presents. After thinking a bit and counting the number of presents that Dudley had received, Harry realized that Dudley didn’t have the same amount of presents this year as he did the year before.

Unfortunately, there was nothing that Harry could do to remedy the situation so he did the only thing that he could think of to prevent the beating from escalating.

He stood stock still, tensed up his muscles, and waited for the next blow.

When the second blow didn’t come Harry dared to look up. Aunt Petunia was standing next to Dudley telling him something that Harry didn’t understand and Uncle Vernon was hefting himself out of his chair.

“Clean this mess up, Freak!” Uncle Vernon yelled, motioning to the table which was now covered in bread crumbs, jelly splatters, and bits of partially masticated food.

While Harry didn’t quite understand what his uncle had just yelled at him, he wasn’t stupid enough to stand there waiting for his uncle to repeat what he’d just said. Waiting would result in more chores, starvation, and, if Harry was lucky, only a few bruising blows to his chest. Harry had only waited for a repeat of something his uncle said once in his life, and that was when he was four.

Harry went over to the sink and grabbed a wet dish towel to clean the table, floor, and anything else that the Dursleys had managed to cover in partially masticated breakfast food and condiments.

‘Table first,’ Harry thought, ‘That way any crumbs that fall off will land on the floor. I only hope that Aunt Petunia won’t give me extra chores before I finish.’

Slowly Harry began to clean off the table, restraining the hiss that tried to escape as he bent over. His back must’ve gotten more injured during the last fall down the stairs than he thought. He knew he’d have to pay close attention to the chores he was given otherwise the pain that was knifing its way up and down his back would make it impossible to move, much less concentrate on what he was being told to do.

Just as he was finishing up, he heard his name being called.

“Freak, get over here!” Aunt Petunia yelled.

Coming over to where he’d heard her voice, Harry quickly became puzzled. Why was she standing next to his cupboard, holding the door open? He hadn’t done any of his chores yet, nor had he knowingly done something that was against “the rules” and it was to early in the day for him to be put in there for sleeping. If Aunt Marge was coming over, Aunt Petunia would’ve cleaned the entire house on her own for fear that Harry would break something.

“In,” Aunt Petunia said, pointing inside. She had long ago given up on trying to explain things to her nephew with words that were more than two syllables long. He was just too dumb to understand what she wanted to tell him.

Though Harry didn’t truly understand what his aunt had just said, he did understand the meaning of the gesture.

Jumping into action, Harry quickly dove into the cupboard, praying that his punishment would be given quickly and that he would be able to walk tomorrow. His back was really killing him.

As soon as he was on his bed, his aunt slammed the door shut and quickly locked it, leaving Harry to tremble in the darkness of the cupboard, fearing the next time the door was to open.

But as the minutes crept by, Harry soon began to realize that he was not thrown into the cupboard because of something he’d done wrong, but rather just so he wouldn’t be in the way. Listening closely, Harry could hear the sounds of Piers (who’d arrived mere seconds after Harry’s door was locked) and Dudley talking animatedly about something Harry couldn’t understand.

Though Harry was getting more and more confident that he would not be receiving a beating, he wasn’t able to calm down until he heard the muffled sounds of car doors slamming and an engine starting. Once Harry was certain that the Dursleys were gone, he opened the proverbial floodgates and started sobbing.

This had become a yearly ritual of sorts. The Dursleys would leave Harry either locked away or at Mrs. Figg’s house while they went and celebrated Dudley’s birthday. Every year, Dudley would get to go to a local attraction with a friend while his cousin would remain locked in a cupboard. Harry would remain in there until Dudley’s friend had left, then Harry would be let out to clean up the mess that Dudley and his friend had made during the few short hours they were celebrating at home.

Harry used to love spending his time alone sleeping or looking at the picture books he’d stolen from Dudley’s second bedroom, but not anymore. Not since Dudley had locked Harry in the truck of Uncle Vernon’s car.

That was when Harry was nine and it had taken all day for someone to realize that Harry was missing. Vernon had even driven the car to work and back with Harry still in the trunk, crying and trying to figure out how to call for help without being “freakish” like his aunt and uncle would always call him when things went wrong.

After they had finally found him, Harry was punished for having not completed his chores. He was then forced to do all of the ones from that day that night. This was made even more difficult by the fact that his “punishment” had resulted in a broken arm.

Since that day, Harry hadn’t been able to stand the dark enclosed space of the cupboard that was his bedroom. There was always a high possibility that his aunt and uncle would forget to let him out.

Just the thought made Harry start to cry harder.

They couldn’t forget about him, could they? The answer was obvious.

Yes, yes they could.

Within ten minutes of the Dursley’s departure, Harry was sobbing so hard that, had he been a normal child, his wails could’ve woken the dead. Finally, after almost an hour of constant sobbing, Harry fell into an exhausted sleep.

Severus Snape was not a happy man, nor had he ever been. His entire life seemed to be made up of failures, disappointments, and regrets. Successful potions master he might’ve been, but that did not make up for all his past transgressions. No, far from it.

After the fall of the Dark Lord, Severus had thought that his life would be better. No more spying or late nights making new potions that, had they been published in a potions journal, would’ve been undoubtedly been classified as “illegal” or “highly dangerous.” Finally, he was being given time to relax.

But even that was not true. Headmaster Dumbledore insisted that he teach potions to all those brats who’d never even use their brains without the proper amount of prompting. And now this. Eleven years of tormenting teenagers, and finally the one student Severus had least been awaiting the arrival of was to attend this year.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn’t-Croak. The boy who was undoubtedly a clone of his father, but with even more to lord over everyone.

The boy’s idiotic father was bad enough. Getting caught sneaking firewhisky into Hogwarts while underage was one thing. Getting caught by a fellow classmate hanging around a werewolf, on the night of the full moon no less, was asinine. Yet on both occasions, James Potter was not punished with anything more than one hundred lines.

Severus knew that any child of James Potter’s would, without a doubt, carry the same imbecilic genes as its father.

With the first, and thankfully only, Potter child set to arrive in about a month and a half, Severus was already preparing his traditional beginning of the year (read as: “I hope some of these morons get scared and leave now”) speech with the hope of scaring the child either to the point of wetting himself or enough that he’d leave the class. Either way, Severus would end up with information to antagonize the child with.

Severus had a very, very sick sense of humor.

With the thought of wounding the spawn of Potter as much emotionally as the Marauders had him, Severus turned back to the potion that he was brewing with a smirk on his face that could easily scare small children.

Harry Potter rolled over slowly on the cot in his cupboard, wincing as his broken ribs were jostled, yet smiling all the same. His birthday was only a week away! Even though he knew that he’d never get anything for it or get to bring any friends over (if he ever got any, that is), Harry knew that with each passing year he was getting closer and closer to escaping the hell-hole that was the Dursley’s.

Now that Dudley’s birthday and the days of celebration following it had ceased, Harry was back to his normal chores and routine. All during Dudley’s birthday week, Harry’s work load had tripled, as had the amount of times he had lost sleep, not finished or missed a chore when his aunt was saying them to him, and gotten beaten. Naturally in that order.

Now, though, Harry felt almost as if he’d been given time off. This past night’s sleep had been a good one, he’d managed to nick a light bulb out of Dudley’s second bedroom so his cupboard wasn’t dark all the time anymore (he’d partially unscrewed it so his aunt and uncle would think it had burned out), and he’d been given a piece of cheese last night as a dinner. Granted the cheese was slightly moldy, but beggars can’t be choosers. Harry was lucky to get a piece of bread a week, cheese was a rarity.

Suddenly the sound of Aunt Petunia’s footsteps broke Harry out of his thoughts of food. He quickly reached up and turned off the light, feeling the same jolt in his chest that he always did when faced with the dark, and closed his eyes, pretending that he was asleep.

“UP!” Aunt Petunia screamed, throwing open the cupboard door.

Harry sprung up as quickly as he could with three broken ribs and a concussion, remembering to duck this time so as to not hit his head, and ran to the kitchen to start breakfast. He wasn’t going to be allowed to use the toilet until after Vernon had left for work.

Thirty strips of bacon, two dozen eggs, fourteen pieces of toast, three cups of coffee, and two cups of orange juice later, breakfast was on the table, fully prepared to be devoured by the three Dursleys. Having accomplished this in under twenty minutes, Harry was feeling very pleased with himself. But rather than celebrating, Harry chose to go over to his corner and await further instruction.

Ten minutes into the meal, the mail came. Two bills, a letter from Aunt Marge, and one very strange, thick letter that had a wax seal holding the envelope shut lay on the door step. Harry couldn’t think of any reason why that would be there, so he assumed that it must have been one of those advertisements in a new and interesting envelope. It must’ve been for his uncle.

Harry quickly sorted through the mail, making sure that all of his aunt’s magazines were separate from the bills and the two letters for his uncle. As soon as he’d finished this, he nearly ran back into the kitchen to hand out the mail. He really hoped that his aunt and uncle would continue to be as nice as they had been the night before. He was already feeling the beginnings of hunger starting to gnaw at his stomach and really wanted something to stop the feeling.

But it was all for naught.

As soon as his uncle saw the strange letter, he nearly leapt from the table and, grabbing Harry’s hair, drug his nephew into the garage and proceeded to beat Harry until he was listless, then getting bored with this method of torture, grabbed the two dog leashes that had been left after Marge’s last visit and beat Harry with those until he was unconscious. During this entire fiasco Uncle Vernon had been screaming at his nephew about “freaks that should’ve been thrown into the gutter upon arrival” and how Harry had “brought this on himself for being born.” Vernon’s temper only flared more as Harry tried to get away using nearly every tactic short of biting and groin shots.

Harry, of course, didn’t know what was going on. His uncle was screaming words at him that he didn’t and would never understand. He was being beaten in the garage, which was odd ( he was generally beaten in the living room). And, to top it all off, after each hit with the clasp end of the leashes, Harry could feel the freakish pulling in his chest that generally signaled the beginning the weird occurrences that always happened around him.

After nearly fifteen minutes of continuous beating, Harry’s unconscious form was thrown unceremoniously into the trunk of Vernon’s company car. Several of Harry’s previously broken ribs were jostled so horribly, if he hadn’t been knocked out previously, the pain would’ve caused him to go unconscious.

A short car ride later found Harry someplace on one of London’s dirtier alleyways. Any passersby that might’ve been willing to help the small almost-eleven-year-old boy wouldn’t have been able to distinguish him from the other rags in the pile that he was left in.

To say that Minerva McGonagall was angry would be the largest understatement since the founding of Hogwarts. She was about as far from being angry as she could possibly be without actually screaming at someone and murdering them on the spot for breathing wrong. No, she was still willing to leave that little aspect of anger and rage to her dark and potions-loving colleague, Severus Snape. And she was also willing to hand him one more of her unwanted duties, the writing of the Hogwarts acceptance letters to future students.

If she saw another one of those blasted letters that summer, she swore she would scream. And she wasn’t alone, even the Hogwarts owls were getting sick of seeing them.

Never before had she needed to sign so many. There was no getting around it though. Without her signature on it, the letters would be considered null and void to anyone who wanted to test the magical signature to make sure that it was legal. The entire process of writing the letters, though, was now far more efficient than it had been in years past where all the letters had to be written entirely by hand and then sent out. Who ever had invented the Quick Quotes Quill was an absolute genius in Professor McGonagall’s opinion. She could only imagine how cramped her hand would’ve been after writing all of the most recent letters.

After the third day of signing these letters, she finally decided to stop signing them without checking to make sure that they were not going to the same person more than once. All of the letters that were sent to a muggle household were equipped with a charm to notify the Hogwarts staff if a prospective student was not receiving a letter due to his/her parents non-belief in magic. If this was the case, then a delegate was sent to the residence to deliver the letter and explain the magical world to the parents.

What Professor McGonagall found made her blood run cold. All, not one or two, but all of the letters that she had recently written had been for the child of two of her most memorable students of all time, Harry Potter.

Upon further inspection, it became clear that not only were they all addressed to Harry, but they were also sent to different addresses. Nearly one hundred had been sent thus far and not one of them had been sent to the same address twice. To make things seem even more dire, only one of the letters had been sent to the residence where Harry had been placed. The rest seemed to be going to different places on London streets.

After several moments of looking over where the different addresses were located and seeing that the were all in a relatively short distance from each other, Professor McGonagall finally went to see if there was anything that could be done outside of send more letters.

When Harry had first awoken from his “drop off,” he was even more terrified than normal. He had awoken in a very small alley in the middle of the night and found that there was only one other living being there with him.

An owl.

Another bloody owl. This was the second owl that Harry had seen in his life time and it had only been several hours since he’d seen his first, yet this one was different. This one had a letter in its talons and seemed to insist that Harry take the letter.

Harry flat out refused to do so. There was no way in hell that he was going to take something that was so obviously the reason for his being kicked onto the street. But the owl kept insisting, and, having finally gotten sick of the human child in front of him shying away when it was so obviously injured, the owl flew over to Harry and nipped his little finger.

This was the first time in months that Harry spoken a word and the first time in years that he’d spoken to another being. He had to though, that owl bite really hurt him. While it wasn’t bleeding, Harry knew that the owl could’ve done a hell of a lot worse.

“Please don’t hurt me, I don’t want your letter. It got me hurt,” Harry whispered, knowing that the owl couldn’t understand him.

And indeed it didn’t, but it did know the language of the serpents was to be feared so it quickly dropped the letter on Harry’s head and flew off into the night sky.

This was a very strange occurrence in Harry’s mind as no one had ever reacted that way before. Generally those who got to here him speak reacted in either hatred (as with the Dursleys) or confusion (like his teachers.) Never before had he had someone, or something for that matter, be afraid of the way that he talked.

Frustrated to no end about the fact that he couldn’t even read what was in the letter that the owl had so desperately wanted him to have and still aching from his latest beating from his uncle, Harry curled up against the wall and drifted off into a troubled sleep.

He was awoken the next morning by eight more of the same letters being dropped on his head, but this time he paid them no mind and instead gathered them up and stuffed them into the oversized pockets of Dudley’s old pants for use of some sort later. He planned on using them as either a pillow or a bed later if he got enough, but even if he didn’t, he was sure that he could find a use for them. Not that they were worth anything though, he’d have to find some way of getting money for food. Speaking of which, the bread that he’d been given the night before had lost any value that it might’ve had in halting the hunger that was gnawing it’s way through his stomach.

Food was becoming a must, so Harry set off on a quest to find some scraps that were laying around. That was the only food that he was used to anyway.

This was how Harry spent his week alone. Wake up to find more letters and throw away a few (he was now getting to many to fit into his pockets). Then he’d spend the rest of the day avoiding people who’d try to ask him questions while he was looking for food. Already he’d been approached by several people who’d yelled at him, about what he didn’t know, but what ever it was he was going to try not to do it again.

Finally, after a long day of searching for something to eat, Harry would curl up either under a bridge or in a deserted alleyway (the latter being incredibly difficult to find in London) and hope that no policeman would find him. He really didn’t want to have them try to talk to him and take him back to the Dursley’s. Harry had already become accustomed to life on the streets and preferred it to life at the Dursley’s. On the streets, he could get something to eat daily. At the Dursley’s, he was lucky to get fed weekly.

Life for Harry Potter was finally looking up.

“Albus, we need to do some thing besides send more letters to the boy. I don’t even think that he is receiving the letters. Don’t you even dare try to offer me one of those lemon drops,” the irate Deputy Headmistress said, trying to get her boss and colleague to wizen up. “I almost think that we need to send someone to check on him and make sure that he is where he’s supposed to be.”

“Oh, nonsense Minerva. The boy is fine and is doing well, if he chooses not to open the letters, that is his decision. We can’t make his decisions for him,” Albus Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling like mad. He knew that the boy was safe because that is what all of the instruments that he had focused on Harry told him so.

“Albus, if the savior of the wizarding world does not receive a wizarding education how will that look for the school that he was supposed to attend. Harry’s name has been on the list of attendees for this year ever since he was born, and you know it. This is not about whether or not Harry wants to go. This is not his decision to make. Albus, can’t you see that?!” Professor McGonagall almost yelled. “Lily and James wanted their son to attend here and I will make sure that their last wishes are carried out!”

Albus Dumbledore sat calmly through this entire rant, not making a gesture of any kind. Minerva did have a point. This would look terrible on Hogwarts part, and on his part, if Harry Potter didn’t attend because of some petty reason. Though the most likely reason for Harry not wanting to open his letter was purely pre-teen attitude at it’s finest, Dumbledore didn’t want to risk his reputation because of it.

Having finally made his decision, he said to his irate (and possibly steaming) colleague, “Fine, I will send Hagrid to check on him.”

“Why Hagrid? If Harry has any doubts about the reality of magic in the world, he will undoubtedly want to see some,” Professor McGonagall said.

“Never underestimate the power of the human spirit, Minerva.”

“You didn’t…”

“What are we talking about?”

Only several minutes later, having finally sent Hagrid to go check on Harry, they got the news that they had been dreading. Harry was missing and had been for over a week, and while Minerva had a general idea of where he was, he was in an area of London that was to densely populated by muggles for them to try apparating in.

A search party was quickly formed and since magic was not to be used in the presence of muggles, the search party was composed only of those who knew how to blend in with muggles and search without the assistance of magic. It was a very small search party, to say the least.

Unfortunately for Harry, Severus Snape, his fathers enemy and practice target, was on said search party.

‘Why did James Potter have to procreate?’ thought Severus Snape as he began to plan his search of London. ‘And why did it have to disappear in a muggle city? I almost think that both Potters’ have it in for me. The only thing that could possibly be worse that this is if it were James Potter, himself, that we were actually searching for.’

“Severus, I know you hated James, but please refrain from killing his son on sight. You haven’t even met the child yet, and you already have that murderous glare,” Professor Burbage, the Muggle Studies Professor, said snickering.

When Severus had first been called to the Headmasters office, he thought he would only be told, yet again, he would not be receiving the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and the Hospital Wing needed more Calming Draught and Pepper-Up Potion before the students arrived. Just the same general things he was told every year.

This year however, he had been told he had one other task that he needed to do. Find the elusive Boy-Who-Lived in Muggle London. Unfortunately, his exact location could not be properly calculated because he had no wand, and he had had no major displays of accidental magic recently. These were the only two ways that a witch or wizard could be located without delving into magic that required a specialist to perform.

Severus could already feel the beginnings of a headache blossoming in his temples. Naturally, the one branch of magic that would be dead useful in a situation like this was the one Albus Dumbledore couldn’t perform.

London was by no means a small city and finding a person in it, especially when you had no idea of his or her location, was nearly impossible. Discovering a cure for the common cold would’ve been easier by far, but Severus knew that he at least had magic on his side. Of course, he’d have to be careful as to how he used it. It would be too easy for a muggle to see him cast a standard locator or “point me” spell.

While Severus would’ve preferred finding the cure for the common cold over “Potter Searching” any day, there was absolutely no way he could ever say no to Albus Dumbledore. He owed Dumbledore his life.

“So, are we all clear on the plan?”Professor Burbage asked. “We all start from a different location that Harry was either last seen at, or a letter was sent to, and we work outward from there. He can’t have gone far in just a week or so having no money.”

Severus snorted. If he was anything like his father, he would’ve been able to just con money off of some poor old lady that thought he was, “oh so cute.”

“Now, everyone,” the Headmaster said. “Please remember that Harry has had very little contact with the magical world. He will have no idea what you are doing with your wands (should you use them), and he will also not understand what you mean when you are talking about how you are taking him to Hogwarts via portkey. And Severus, do not antagonize the boy for any injustice that his father had done to you when you were a school boy.”

The only thing Severus could do in reply was sneer. If the boy was overly sensitive when he arrived, it wasn’t going to be of anything that Severus had said directly to him. Severus had chosen to take the first location that a letter had been sent to because to the small chance of actually having to talk to the brat.

“Headmaster, I am sure that everyone here understands your concern of Mr. Potter’s welfare and willingness to become a member of the magical communities quite well by now,” Professor Burbage said, adjusting her had so it fit more snugly over her brow. The entire search party nodded in agreement, except for Severus, who just simply rolled his eyes.

“Well then, everyone grab a portkey and be on your way!” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling madly.

Severus quickly grabbed the nearest portkey and stalked to the apparation point, from which he apparated to an alley in London where the Potter clone had spent his first night alone.

As soon as he landed, Severus began to scan the alley for any living being in sight. Seeing none, he took out his wand, laid it flat on the palm of his hand and said quietly, “Point me, Harry James Potter.”

The effect was instantaneous. The wand nearly flew out of his hand as it rotated to point in the proper direction. This could only mean one thing.

Severus did not choose the right location if he wanted to avoid the son of his most hated childhood enemy. Harry was very nearby.

Muttering swear words under his breath, Severus stalked toward the section of the alley his wand had indicated. Rounding a small curve in the alley, he noticed several small alcoves. This was obviously Potter’s new domain.

It was disgusting.

After looking in only the first alcove, Severus knew the boy would need a bath as soon as they were at Hogwarts. The entire thing looked as if it had been transformed into a trash dump. The walls couldn’t be seen under all the graffiti and there was trash in it that, had Severus been mad enough to stand it, would’ve reached his thighs, if not higher. If Potter was in that mess, he would’ve suffocated long ago and there was no way Severus was going to ever pull him out.

The next two alcoves Severus checked were in much the same condition as the first. They were filthy and covered in more grime than the cauldrons after the first First Year potions class. Then he went to the last alcove and was shocked. The entire thing was clean.

Not the shiny, indoor, rich kind of clean that could only be found in places such as Malfoy Manor, but it was clean none the less. The walls had been scrubbed down so the graffiti wasn’t as visible, and all of the trash had been removed. The only thing that made the appearance of this alcove even less appealing than the previous ones was the fact that, in the very back of it, curled up next to the wall, lay a sleeping Harry Potter.

‘Honestly,’ Severus thought, his upper lip curling in disdain. ‘The boy is living on the streets and he still manages to sleep in.’

“Potter, wake up,” Severus snapped, believing the boy would just roll over and go back to sleep. That was what every teenage boy did after all.

Severus was shocked, however, when Harry’s eyes snapped open and his entire body flinched backwards into the wall, as if trying to hide. Harry’s arms also shot to cover his head and his legs curled up to his chest to protect his vital organs. The terror in his eyes was obvious, and Severus began to wonder what would cause such a reaction from a boy who had come from a doting family and had only been living on the streets for a few days.

“Potter, come here,” Severus said in the calmest voice he possessed. The boy in front of him looked as if he was going to have a panic attack at any moment.

Harry just stared at him through a small opening in his arms. Harry knew that people who talked nice generally would betray you in some form or fashion later. Besides, he had no idea as to who this man was, nor did he know what the man in front of him was saying. Harry knew that he wasn’t one of the street dwellers that he’d seen wandering around the alley recently. This man was far too well dressed for that, and he obviously didn’t realize Harry never spoke and only rarely understood what was being said, which was something nearly all of the homeless people figured out on their first meeting with him.

“Potter, I know you can hear me, now come here,” Severus said, trying to stay calm, but slowly losing his patience with the boy. What on earth was wrong with him anyway? He looked as though Severus was speaking a foreign language to him. Honestly, thinking that he could get out of talking to someone just by acting like he didn’t understand the language that was being spoken to him when the other person knew he had been raised speaking that tongue. Harry was definitely his father’s son.

Harry just continued to stare at the strange man in front of him. There was absolutely no way he was going to go over there. This man didn’t even know his name. Harry knew quite well his name was either Harry (as his teachers called him) or Freak. He could tell that the man standing in front of him was beginning to get frustrated, but Harry couldn’t tell why. The man kept saying too much and too fast without any emotion or body language for Harry to glean even the slightest bit of telling information from. For all Harry knew, this was the strange man’s alcove and he wanted it back.

Severus decided that, if the boy wanted to pretend to not understand English, he wouldn’t waste time just standing there telling him to come over.

Severus rolled his eyes, thinking, ‘I might as well just get this over and done with.’

Looking at what he could see of the boy’s face, Severus began telling him about Hogwarts in about as monotone of a voice as he could manage. Why did he have to be the one to tell the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Make-Severus-Snape’s-Life-A-Living-Hell about a school he should have already known about?

“Mister Potter, you are a wizard. Your parents were magical as well. You are going to be attending Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry like your ancestors before you. Now come here so I may take you to meet the Headmaster.”

Still he received no evidence that the Potter boy had understood what he had said. Finally, Severus had had enough, stepped towards the boy, and grabbed his arm.

“When I say come here, you should listen Mr. Potter. I will put up with none of your shenanigans once we are in school,” Severus snapped, yanking Harry to a standing position and out of the shadows.

Suddenly, many of the puzzle pieces fell into place. Harry had several large, fading bruises on his neck as well as a split lip. He had obviously been hit very hard several times a few days ago, but not since then. These injuries had come from prior to him being thrown onto the street.

Being this close to another beating caused Harry to panic and think to himself, ‘He doesn’t have any reason to hurt me. He won’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me!’

In his panic, he didn’t realize he was whispering aloud.

It was then Severus heard something that made his skin crawl. Potter was whispering something to himself, and, as Severus leaned in to hear what was being said, a cold feeling over took him. He recognized that language, just as every other Death Eater did. While he didn’t understand what was being said, he did understand the implications of what this meant.

Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, Figurehead of the Light Army, was a parseltongue.

Severus quickly pulled out the portkey he had grabbed from Dumbledore’s office, thrust it into Harry’s hand, and said the activation password.

Harry only had enough time to realize the strange man had given him a small glass orb and said a few strange words before he felt a huge jerk, like that of a hook, behind his navel. A few seconds later, Harry felt his feet slam into the ground, and he found himself in the strangest room he had ever seen in his life.

Aperture Science

The sensation of using a portkey was one that not even the most experienced wizard could become used to. Even the creator of the portkey-construction spell described the travel method as, "the most nauseating feeling of lack of balance that anyone could ever feel." No matter how many different attempts were made, there was no way that was found to make the portkey any more pleasurable. While there were some people who were able to stay standing while portkeying, they generally disliked the hooked fish feeling that the portkey gave them.

Severus Snape was one of these people.

The only positive thing that he could say about the portkey was that it allowed for easier, quicker transportation of other people. Apparition was fine if you were travelling alone. Much faster, a little strange feeling, but significantly better. Sidelong apparition was incredibly difficult, especially if you were transporting a muggle. Or a hyperventilating, struggling, abused, and scared Potter.

Portkeying was definitely the better form of transportation in this case.

Upon landing, Severus instantly began the traditional "telling off of the old coot." For some strange reason, it seemed as if the missions Severus was sent on by Dumbledore generally ended up never finishing in Severus's favor. The man was manipulative to the point of insanity. For Severus, saying no to Albus Dumbledore was almost like saying no to the Dark Lord. It just wasn't done. In either case, it wasn't healthy. The Dark Lord would kill anyone who said no, and Dumbledore would fill the transgressor so full of sweets their teeth would fall out.

"Headmaster, I have found the Potter brat."

"Excellent! Am I right in assuming that's him?" The Headmaster said, his eyes twinkling madly.

"Yes sir. But I must tell you, the boy is not... right in the head."

For once in his life, Severus Snape managed to knock his mentor off his omniscient throne.

"How so?"

"As I was trying to... Coax... Him out of his little hideaway in an alley, I noticed that he was whispering something to himself. As I got nearer to him, I began to think that either I was going insane or I have aged more during my years teaching here than I thought." Severus said. There was no way that he was going to let this little bit of information out quickly. The longer he took in telling this bit of information, the more information he could glean from his former mentor.

"I do believe I know the feeling," the Headmaster said with a knowing smile. "Continue."

"It appeared as though he was not whispering in English, sir, but I recognized it."

"And what was he saying, Severus?" By now, Professor Dumbledore was truly interested in the information that he was being given and was no longer engrossed in the muggle candy he had been fondling previously.

"Sir, there is only one person that I know who would be able to translate." Severus was rather amused at how long this had dragged on. Usually, he would've just jumped to the point, but, on those occasions, he was only confirming suspicions that Dumbledore had. For once, he had unknown information that wasn't of life or death significance.

"And who is that?"

"Sir, Potter was speaking very fluently in parseltongue."

To say the Headmaster was shocked would have been an understatement. For the first time in a long time, he had been struck speechless. He had always suspected that there might be some residual effects of surviving the killing curse, but there was no way that he could've researched any similar cases. No one had ever survived the killing curse until Harry Potter. By now, it had become known to the elderly Headmaster that the symbol of the light had one of the darkest abilities known to wizard kind.

"Severus, is there any other abilities that he has shown whilst you were transporting him? Any sort of defensive or accidental magic?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

Severus quickly thought back through the entire discovery and transportation of the boy who lived. If ever there was a time that Severus loathed having instant recall, it was now. While anyone else would've been able to quickly say that, ‘no,' there was nothing else that the brat could do and be done with it, Severus knew that he couldn't. Even if he tried, Dumbledore would just ask him if he was sure.

"No, sir," Severus replied at last. "Nothing else was apparent."

"Well, I believe then that we shall have to make certain of this, now shouldn't we?" Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling madly.

"And how do you propose that we do this?" Severus said, fearing he already knew the answer. Nothing good could ever go his way when Dumbledore was in an eye-twinkling mood.

"Observation, my dear man!" Dumbledore said, gesturing wildly.

Unfortunately, the Potter clone saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and quickly cringed out of the way of what he deemed to be a possible threat. In the midst of ducking his head, he managed to knock it against one of the nearby shelves, upsetting several of the devices which had been sitting there. Try as he might, the boy was unable to stop them as they fell to the floor in a series of sickening crashes.

Though he had not been able to prevent their decent, and impact with the floor, the miniature James Potter did try to clean up the mess that he had inadvertently made.

"POTTER!" Severus yelled just as the boy was reaching for shard of glass that was coated in a slightly gooey, and possibly poisonous, potion. Harry jerked away from the loud, incomprehensible yelling that was going on and nearly rammed his shoulder into the very shelf he had knocked his head against.

"Come here, Potter," Severus ground out as calmly as he could. The boy was an exact clone of his father in the Snape-irritation department. Only, Potter Sr. wasn't one to jump away from a possible threat. No, he would jump towards it.

Harry didn't move a muscle. He could only stare at the man who had whisked him away to a magnificent room in a castle only to yell at him for destroying said room. It was only a matter of time before the beatings started. Harry could only hope that they didn't take place in front of the strange old man with the candy. For some reason, Harry felt that the candy-man wouldn't harm him.

Not moving, unfortunately, seemed to be the worst possible thing that Harry could've done in front of Severus Snape.

Severus started muttering under his breath about "arrogant Potters and their abnormal progeny." Why couldn't the boy follow a simple instruction? Was he really just that dumb? Or maybe...

"Headmaster, is there any way to discover a person's native tongue?"

"Why do you ask? Surely, there is no way Harry could be a native speaker of any language other than English. None of the monitoring spells that I placed on him said that he had ever left the country," Dumbledore said, mildly confused.

"But is there a way?"

"No. Severus, the brain is a very complex. There is very little magic that is not highly regulated, or illegal, that deals with the brain. Why do you ask?"

"It doesn't seem to matter what I say, Potter doesn't seem to understand a single thing that I say. It does not appear as though he is only ignoring me, as I originally thought."

Both men turned to look at the pre-teen whose eyes were flickering between the two of them. Harry's muscles were coiled, as though he were ready to jump away at any moment. It was obvious that he was still very spooked about the mess that he'd made. His facial expression, however, was the confirming factor that both Dumbledore and Snape had been looking for.

His head was cocked ever so slightly to the side and his brows were furrowed, as though he was deeply in thought. To both the elder men, his confusion as to what their conversation pertained to was so evident, he looked like a first year muggleborn that had just been told they had to take their N.E.W.T.'s.

"What are we going to do with him?" Severus couldn't help but ask.

"We will need to return him to his relatives. They've never once complained..." Dumbledore started, only to be interrupted by a scowl Severus sent him. "Severus, he needs to go back there. It's where he's safest."

"Headmaster, look at the boy! He is practically skin and bones! Besides, even you cannot be so blind to have not noticed the bruises!" Severus snapped. Though the child may have been a Potter, he was still just a child. No child should have to go through that kind of treatment.

"What bruises, Severus?"

Severus, who had been watching Harry closely to make sure that he didn't do anything stupid with the remnants of the broken devices, spun around so quickly he felt mildly dizzy.

"What do you mean "what bruises", they're all over his neck!" Severus growled.

"Severus, look at his neck." Dumbledore said seriously.

Severus turned back to Harry, knowing that he couldn't have mistaken shadows for bruising. There was no way that shadows could've appeared to be hand prints. Besides, Harry also had a split lip. There was no way that he could have hidden that without the use of magic.

When Severus looked, however, all the evidence was gone. There wasn't a mark on the boy short of that wretched scar. Maybe there were other things about the boy that couldn't be assumed. Harry Potter was turning more into an enigma as the day wore on.

Severus drew his wand and quietly said "Finite Incantatum."

The effect was rather instantaneous. The bruises reappeared, as did the split lip, but both disappeared yet again rather quickly. Harry's magic had again covered his bruises just as it did every time he was injured.

"Interesting!" Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling madly at the amount of power displayed. "Well then, if you are so adamant about him staying, we should find him a room. Don't you believe so, my boy?"

"Of course, Headmaster. Do you have any ideas?" Severus asked, a feeling of dread beginning to eat at his insides. Somehow he knew this wasn't going to go his way.

"Since he speaks parseltongue, I believe it would be best if he were to stay down with the Slytherins. Do you have any objections"

"None, for now."

"Though, it still is the summer. Would you be willing to take him in for the rest of the summer?" Dumbledore asked.

"No. I have too many other things that I need to do," Severus snapped.

"Severus, please. You are the head of Slytherin, and you have the most experience with both abused children and parsletongue. You are the best choice for the boy. If he went to anyone else, any of the other teachers, they would either be wary of him because he speaks a "dark" language, or they'd fawn over him."

"Albus, I have potions I need to make for the Hospital Wing..."

"I have confidence that you will still manage to finish them all."

"... and I need to prepare for the upcoming year!"

"Severus, you use the same rubric and lesson plans each year. If this has anything to do with the fact that he is a Potter, you must remember that James was definitely not a parselmouth."

Severus just remained silent. Dumbledore had several points all of which were very valid.

"Excellent, you'll do it then?" Dumbledore asked, assuming Severus's silence would mean yes.

Severus turned to Harry and motioned for the boy to follow him. There was no way Severus was going to get out of the office if he didn't submit to Dumbledore's will this time. Severus couldn't help but wonder where his summer free of bratty children went.

Snape couldn't have been more ready to string up a student than he was when he finally arrived at the Slytherin dorms. Just having the Potter brat attending Hogwarts was bad enough, but having the boy spending time down in Slytherin territory for the summer was something Snape had only ever had nightmares about. Granted, the boy would've been completely out of his element if he had been put anywhere else. No other house would've been able to deal with a child that spoke only parseltongue.

All the way down to the Slytherin dorms, Snape had had to nearly constantly be making sure that the boy was following. Even though he didn't show it, Potter was injured, and it would do no good to have him further injure himself by falling over trick stairs or turning the wrong way and getting lost.

Harry had nearly wandered off eight times by the time he and Snape made it down to the dungeon. Harry couldn't help but be distracted by the portraits, or the suits of armor, or the ghosts. Everything in the castle was a new experience for him. Besides, following behind the dark man was a rather difficult task as the castle itself was rather dark and the man kept blending into the shadows.

Finally, they made it to a fairly long stretch of blank wall. Snape had suddenly stopped, causing Harry to almost run headlong into him.

Severus had never had to do this for a student before. In the spells that had been placed on the entrances to the dorms, an override had been placed. This was just in case a student was unable, for some reason, to say the password. In the past, students with speaking difficulties had been in attendance, but never had there been a student in which so much of their past (and therefore speaking ability) been unknown.

Severus had only read about the override once, but he still remembered it thanks to his near photographic memory.

Grabbing one of the Potter boys hands, Severus placed it on the wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Snape then placed his own hand over Harry's smaller one, and, touching his wand to each of his fingers, Snape uttered a quick incantation. He then removed his hand from Harry's, changed his grip to the boy's wrist and placed Harry's had back on the wall.

Severus was actually rather anxious. If he failed at the override, Potter Jr. would have to stay with him.  Luck was on his side for the first time that day as the wall split and opened up to the Slytherin common room.

Harry, meanwhile, was feeling so many mixed emotions; he felt he wasn't going to be able to stay standing for much longer. How was the dark man able to make the wall split? What was going on? Where was he?

Before Harry was able to even attempt at finding any of the answers to these questions out, he was being dragged into the common room and forced onto a couch.

Severus believed that the boy sitting in front of him wasn't going to have any idea what he was saying, so Severus decided to keep the "Welcome to Slytherin" speech and rules very short. Generally, when all the first years were there, this beginning of the year ritual took at least an hour. With Harry though, it would be rather fruitless explaining everything to him when there was no way for him to understand.

"Welcome to Slytherin house. I am the head of your house, and my name is Professor Severus Snape," Severus began, making his sentences shorter and far less eloquent than what he was used to. Obviously, he was making some form of progress, as the boy had cocked his head slightly when Severus had introduced himself.

"Bat?" Harry said quietly. To Snape's ears however, it sounded as though the boy had said, "Ssssse-hy-ussss."

"Did you just say my name? Can you truly understand what I'm saying? Answer me Potter!" Severus nearly yelled. If that boy was playing him on, there was going to be hell to pay.

‘Bat? His name is Bat? Is that what he said?' Harry thought, watching with apprehension the "Bat" man get rather angry. Harry, however was used to people not understanding what he was trying to say. Gestures however, seemed to be far easier for others to understand.

Shaking slightly as "Bat" got more angry with something, Harry quickly pointed a Snape and repeated "Bat."

Severus was quickly getting frustrated. Something must have gotten lost in translation as Potter was now making gestures trying to get some form of information across to Severus. Something about the name "Severus" seemed to be making the boy rather excited, though this excitement was rather dampened by the obvious fear that was shining in Potter's eyes.

Potter was now making flying types of motions with his hands, but Severus had had enough stress for one day. He wasn't about to try playing charades with the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Potter, you are here because you were sorted here. If you have any problems, my quarters are two portraits away on the right." Severus said, sweeping over to the first year dorms and motioning for Harry to follow. "Here is where you shall be staying."

With that, Severus left the house that had been his home for seven years.

Harry, meanwhile, stood staring at the beds. He had no idea what he was doing here. All the beds were made, every piece of furniture was dusted, the floors were clean, and the fireplace was spotless. Obviously "Bat" didn't want him to clean, but there was no reason for Harry to be here then. Granted, "Bat" had motioned very vaguely towards one of the beds, but there was no way he meant for Harry to sleep on the bed.

Maybe he meant underneath the bed?

Harry then checked under the bed. There was some form of storage and no room what-so-ever for him to sleep. Besides, Harry wasn't tired quite yet. He'd only been awake for a couple of hours and wasn't feeling too tired despite not having the best night's sleep. Emotionally, he was feeling rather strained, but these feelings had yet to actually move to his body.

Now that "Bat" had left, Harry was more curious than anything. He'd never been outside the Dursley's other than the weeks after Uncle Vernon had dropped him off in London. Now he was in a castle! His life seemed to be getting better and better then longer he was out of the Dursley's house.

And he had noticed there were several large bookshelves in the first room they'd walked into. There had to be some books with math or pictures of some sort in them. Harry also knew that they weren't going to be books that he'd ever read before. He'd never seen leather bound books before and could only hope that he was actually allowed to touch them.

Quietly, he opened the dorm room door and stuck his head out to see if "Bat" was still around. No one was there though. Harry quickly ran over to the bookshelf and pulled out the first book that caught his eye. Opening it, he saw that it was written in English and had no pictures. He flipped through it just to make sure he wasn't missing any, but there wasn't a single picture in the entire thing.

Harry replaced that book and grabbed out the next one. Still no luck, though he did find several diagrams of a hand holding a stick and making some sort of complex movement. Harry set that one on the side to look at more closely later.

A little over an hour later, Harry had gone all the way through the first book shelf and had pulled out all the books he could look at and at least make some sense of. For the most part this consisted of more books with diagrams on the different movements and several books that seemed to be on cooking. Now the only question was which one to begin with.

Harry stared at the books he had set aside for a while before finally deciding on the one of the "cooking" ones. While it didn't have pictures it did have some numbers in it. That and Harry loved to cook. The Dursley's might have made his life terrible, but he had learned how to cook, and cook well, while living in their house.

Harry soon grew frustrated with this book though, as he had actually never used a cookbook to make anything with. If Aunt Petunia had wanted him to learn a new recipe, she would have him watch while she made it first. The next time the Dursley's wanted the same meal, she would hover behind Harry and make sure he didn't do anything wrong. If he did, she had no problems with hitting him over the head for his mistakes.

Moving on to one of the books with the diagrams, Harry was quickly enthralled with the different movements. For not the first time, he found himself wishing he knew what the rest of the book said.

Eventually, Harry got rather bored with just looking at the pictures and decided to find some way of doing them. Looking around the common room for a bit, he eventually found a feather that was pointed, slit, and stained at one end. It was straight like the stick in the pictures, though, so Harry decided it would have to work.

It took Harry a few tries, but eventually he managed to figure out how to wave the feather without it catching too much air and rotating in his hand to much. Once he had worked around this, he then started to attempt making his wrist movements match those in the book. The first couple of times he rolled his wrist the way the picture showed, he heard it pop several times and a sharp pain ran through his hand. He didn't think too much of this though, since the pain had happened ever since Dudley had slammed Harry to the ground and stood on it several years ago. Harry thought it might've broken, but it wasn't as obvious as when he'd broken other bones, so he didn't think too much of it.

Once his right wrist was aching, both from the popping and from the repetition of the motions, Harry switched hands. It was slightly more difficult with his left hand, but he'd already taught himself how to do many other things with his left hand. Other more difficult things that he normally would've done with his right hand, like paint by the ceiling when the Dursley's decided that they needed to have their dining room repainted.

Finally, Harry began to feel tired and curled up in the corner. The couches looked rather inviting, but Harry wasn't going to try them out, just in case "Bat" was watching. Pulling out a few of the letters he'd kept in his pockets, Harry laid his head on them and slowly drifted off to sleep.

No more than two hours later, Harry awoke in a cold sweat. Nightmares had always been a problem for him, but tonight was different. Tonight, he didn't dream, yet again, of his mother's death, but he instead dreamed of "Bat" holding him while Harry's mum laughed.

While it wasn't really a nightmare, it was still disturbing in a way. He'd never dreamed about anyone other than his parents, the green light, and the flying motorcycle.

But now...

Harry felt he needed to see "Bat." He needed to find out if that was truly a dream, or if it was actually a memory. The only way he could think to do that was to find out where "Bat's" room was. He had pointed to the right, but this was a huge castle. Harry could only hope he was nearby and not several stories up. Harry was suddenly hit with a wave of fear and doubt. What if "Bat" would get mad? Would he hit Harry like Uncle Vernon did?

Harry sat there with his back against the corner for a while, trying to summon the courage he needed to stand and find "Bat." Swallowing thickly he stood and made his way to the door. He then sighed and walked out, turned right, and walked down the corridor a ways.

There were no doors. There were quite a few portraits though, and they were all asleep. Maybe they were like the wall and there was a room behind them. Turning around, Harry walked back to the first portrait and tried to get the occupant's attention. The elderly wizard just waved his hand at Harry though, as if shooing a fly. Harry tried again, but the man just did the same thing. Finally, Harry gave up with that portrait and went on to the next one.

Trying yet again to gain the attention of the occupant, Harry managed to at least rouse the occupant, but this one only answered him in English.

"Oh dear!" It exclaimed. "I must find Salazar and tell him the news! Did you need something dearie?"

Harry just stared at the lady in the portrait. She would've been more attractive if she wasn't burning on a stake. He just pointed at the portrait and cocked his head.

"Oh, you want in? Silly me, here I thought you just stopped by for a chat. Do you have the password?" she asked, giggling slightly as though the flames were tickling her.

Harry just stared.

"I'm sorry, but if you don't have the password you can't come in. Severus was very strict about that."

"Bat?" Harry said, repeating the one word he understood.

"Yes, Severus. So do you have the password or not?"

"Bat?" Harry repeated again.

"That's not the password, that's who lives here! If you don't have the password you'll have to go."

Harry knew there was no way he would ever be able to make sense of what the burning lady was saying, so he turned around and headed back to where he thought the common room was. He came to the large blank wall, placed his hand on it, and nothing happened. Harry just stared at the wall in disbelief. Why wouldn't it open?

Trying again, Harry moved a little farther down the corridor, but the effect was the same. There was no secret door here. Walking back to where "Bat's" chambers were, Harry sat down with his back against the wall. He could only hope that "Bat" would come out soon.

When Severus awoke the next morning, he couldn't quite figure out why he felt that something was wrong. He'd done nearly everything the previous day in the same fashion that he did every other day. He woke early, ate a small breakfast, chatted with the headmaster, found Potter...

Severus groaned and wished he could roll back over and fall asleep. No luck. Once he was awake, there was no way he would be falling asleep until nightfall. It didn't matter that he was in the dungeons, for some reason, when the sun was up so was Severus.

Potter. Why did everything have to revolve around Potter? At least there were certain aspects that Potter Sr. and Potter Jr. didn't have in common. Eyes and language made all the difference in the world to Severus. There were two people that he wouldn't/ couldn't curse in all the years that Severus had lived. Lily Evans was his only friend for quite a long time and the Potter brat was her son. He had her eyes.

The other person Severus didn't even want to think about at this time in the morning, but that language sent shivers down his spine every time he heard it.

Sitting up, Severus summoned his robe and house shoes. No need to catch a chill this close to term. No one could sound very intimidating with a stuffed nose.

After those initial thoughts of the boy he had placed in the Slytherin common room the night before, Severus wouldn't have thought of the boy again for quite some time if the fates hadn't intervened. Or Albus Dumbledore, for that matter.

Severus had just sat down to begin reading the Daily Prophet when his Floo flared and out stepped the Headmaster.

"To what do I owe the pleasant surprise, Headmaster?" Severus said, calmly. He had long ago given up trying to ward his Floo against Dumbledore's arrival. If that man wanted to speak with someone, there was no stopping him.

"I was just wondering how Harry was settling in to Slytherin," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.

"Just fine, I would imagine. There are plenty of snakes for him to converse with there," Severus growled, knowing that he would most likely be doing Dumbledore's bidding again today.

"Have you spoken with him?"

"As much as is possible for him to comprehend."

"Did he reply?"

"I have no idea. He said something, and it sounded very similar to my name. I don't know if he was saying something or just repeating sounds."

Dumbledore had taken a seat in one of the few chairs in Severus's quarters that wasn't covered in books. While the potions master was very picky about some things, cleaning wasn't one of them. So long as he knew where the object he was searching for was located, cleaning wasn't necessary.  For the most part, flat surfaces were notes taken from the books that were open near-by. Books on chairs all had to do with approximately the same subject or had to do with a new theory Severus was in the middle of investigating.

"Well at least it seems he is willing to get along with you, my boy," Dumbledore said, popping a lemon drop into his mouth. "Now, the reason I came down here, other than to check on how your new charge was actually to ask a favor of you."

"No," Severus didn't even wait for the old coot to tell him what it was. He'd already done several "errands" for the man, he did not want to have to do another one.

"Severus, I implore you to reconsider. All I ask is that you make sure your new charge is healthy."

Severus couldn't help but glare at the man he considered to be his mentor.

"And how, may I ask, do you purpose I go about doing this?"

"At the very least, making sure that he is properly clothed for living in the dungeons with you," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling madly behind his half-moon spectacles. "And I don't mean just shrinking some of your clothing down so it fits him."

"Fine, I will be sure to owl order some for him."

"Oh come now, Severus! A little fresh air would do you both good! Besides, the boy is starting school this coming fall. I have access to the Potter vaults, so paying for everything won't be a problem." Dumbledore exclaimed, though it was obvious he wasn't about to let Severus get out of the task at hand.

By the time Dumbledore had left, Severus was enraged. Not only did the man have the gall to tell him what to do with his spare time, he also made Severus promises of rare potions ingredients Severus would never have been able to turn down.

Now, to find the Potter brat and get this ridiculous excursion over with. Severus was actually rather pleased with his new charge's inability to speak English. This meant Severus wouldn't have to put up with whining for different odds and ends throughout the trip.

Stepping out of his quarters, Severus did something he was overjoyed no one was around to see. He tripped over what he first thought was a mound of rags. Managing to right himself before he ran headlong into the wall, he turned to find a rather tired looking Potter staring back at him. Potter was the pile of rags lying outside his door.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" Severus nearly screamed, as the boy shrank back against the wall, expecting to be hit. Though "Bat" had been nice last night, Harry couldn't help but remember that was how all adults acted at first.

Though it took him several minutes, Severus managed to reign in his temper enough to speak civilly with the child who had just tripped him.

"The Headmaster wishes me to take you shopping so as to procure some more suitable ... clothing for you," Severus said, feeling as though he were talking to himself.

Harry just frowned as he tried to make sense of the sounds "Bat" was making. Finally, "Bat" said something Harry comprehended.

"Come."

Harry stood and cautiously followed "Bat" into probably the oddest looking room he had ever seen. There were books everywhere, as well as jars of unidentified substances. "Bat" reached into one of them and pulled out a handful of a green substance. He then motioned for Harry to come forward and stand in the fireplace.

Harry didn't have time to worry that "Bat" was going to burn him alive. Only seconds after he stepped into the fireplace, "Bat" said something and Harry found himself spinning very quickly in place as colors flashed by. All of a sudden, he found himself falling face first out of the fireplace.

But it wasn't the same fireplace he had stepped into.  He now found himself in a bar he had never seen before. Granted he had never actually been in a bar before, but he had seen pictures. And this one was nothing like any of the pictures.

While he would've liked to stand and gawk at his surroundings, "Bat" had grabbed his shoulder and started pulling him towards the back of the bar. Harry didn't even have time to try to escape the sudden grab, as "Bat" had drug him to the other side of a door Harry hadn't seen.

Severus was on a mission. Like every other time he had the misfortune of coming to this dreaded place, he had only one goal in mind. Get in, find what was needed, and get out. Three simple steps, but he knew with the Potter brat it would take much longer than his normal ten minutes.

After opening the archway (which left Potter Jr. gaping), Severus then took his charge straight to Madame Malkin's. Thankfully, they were the only ones in the shop at the time, as it was still rather early in the day. After ordering the required uniform and several articles of everyday clothing for the boy, who had stared at the floating tape-measure like it was about to eat him, Severus then took him to the apothecary to gather all the necessary ingredients.

 While Severus was in his element, it was quite obvious The-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die was far from at ease. Granted, jars full of pickled body parts were not normally found in most muggle homes. In fact, the majority of wizard homes didn't even have an operating potions lab, a fact Severus found ridiculous.  If the parents knew next to nothing about potions, how did they expect their children to know anything about the subject?

Quickly grabbing all the necessary ingredients, Severus then grabbed his charge and pulled him along to the bookstore.  By this time, Harry was getting rather freaked out (for lack of a better word) by all the people that were arriving in the alley. The last thing he wanted to do was stay there for much longer. He knew that at least "Bat" trying to get whatever it was they had come to buy as fast as he could, but Harry couldn't help feeling overwhelmed by the shear amount of people who were now milling around in the alley.  While he normally would have loved looking around the bookstore, it was getting crowded as well.

Severus had to admit, the boy was holding up rather well. If they continued on their excursion at this rate, they would be done quite soon. The sooner they finished shopping, the sooner he could get back to brewing the required potions for the hospital wing.

Next, a wand. Severus couldn't help but hope Harry could find a wand in a short amount of time, but he knew he shouldn't get his hopes up. Nothing with that boy ever went according to plan. He was supposed to be loved by his family, that didn't happen. He was supposed to speak English, he definitely couldn't do that. He was supposed to not be in school during the summer, but here he was living in the dorms.

Walking into Olivander's, Severus couldn't help but feel slightly nostalgic. This was the same shop he got his own wand. Now where was Mr. Olivander?

"Severus Snape. Ebony and dragon heartstring, 13 ½ inches. Supple yet strong, good for the instantaneous reactions needed when brewing dangerous potions. Come for a wand for Mr. Potter?" the wispy voice of Olivander filled the shop.

"Correct. Potter if you would come here," Severus said, motioning the boy forward.

Harry stepped forward, staring at the strange man who was now measuring him, much like the lady at the clothes shop had. She, however, didn't measure the distance between his nostrils.

"Which is your wand hand, Mr. Potter?" Olivander asked the frightened boy standing in front of him.

"He doesn't speak English," Severus stated abruptly, as Harry just cocked his head.

"Ah, am I right in assuming he doesn't speak any language recognized by any established institution?"

"You are very correct."

Olivander reached over very calmly and took Harry's chin and made him look up away from the floor.  Olivander then stared into Harry's eyes for a short time before exclaiming, "Ambidextrous."

Severus couldn't help but feel like he missed something in that exchange. While it was not a good feeling for someone who had been a spy for the light, Severus had to accept it. Olivander was someone most did not ever understand. He was an enigma even to Dumbledore.

After going through quite a few wands, Olivander finally handed Harry a "most curious" wand.

‘Of course,' Severus thought as he led Potter away from the wand maker's shop. ‘Of course he would end up with the brother wand to the Dark Lord's! Not only does he speak the same language, but he also has nearly the same wand.'

Before they could get back to Hogwarts, Harry did something he had never done around Severus, he grabbed Severus's sleeve and purposefully got his attention. Naturally, Severus was not pleased by this development.

"What!" Severus snapped.

"Bat." Harry said, looking at one of the bats he saw right outside the pet store.

"Yes, that is my name." Severus practically snarled.

"BAT!" Harry said, more insistent. He then pointed to the bat.

Severus finally understood, but could hardly believe it. All those years of students calling him the ‘greasy bat of the dungeons', and he now knew that was more true than he'd thought. Thinking about this revelation a little more, he found himself realizing why the Dark Lord seemed to adore dragging out his name.

"Come, Potter. We need to be going."

Bat indeed.