Harry Potter was a small thin boy with messy black hair. Everyone whoever met him always said that he was the spitting image of his father, except his eyes. His eyes were brilliant green, and he had inherited them from his mother. Voldemort, or the Dark Lord depending on who you were talking to at the time, had killed both his parents nearly fourteen years ago. The dark wizard now was after Harry again, since he failed the first time. Voldemort's failure had left a dark scar, not only on Harry's life with the deaths of his parents, but also in the form of a lightning bolt on his forehead.

Harry sighed heavily as Mrs. Weasley, a redheaded witch, gently pushed him up the stairs. He hated his life. He couldn't escape his horrible nightmares even when he was awake, and everywhere he looked people plotted against him. When he opened the door to the bedroom, a witch with long bushy brown hair threw her arms around him. He had to admit it slightly annoyed him. First, not a single person in his life wrote him all summer long, and now everyone acted like it was perfectly acceptable. He couldn't understand why he was so angry all the time. He guessed it was still grief over what had happened before summer when he watched Voldemort murder his classmate, Cedric Diggory. He wished it would all go away, the pain, the fear, the anger. He was so bloody tired of everything.

Harry forced a smile on his face as he faced his two best friends, though. It wouldn't help anything if they saw the ugly side of him. He needed them just to stay sane. He glanced around the small bedroom. He had no idea where he was. The only thing he knew was that four people, one he recognized as Professor Moody (the real Professor Moody), burst into his bedroom before taking him to this place.

"So, you two both look well. Good summer," Harry sarcastically asked. He scoffed as his words echoed back to him. He sounded like Snape.

"Oh, Harry, we wanted to write you, but—"

"What! You forgot my address, Hermione?" Harry sneered. He could feel his anger coming back. "Yeah," he scoffed. "That's what I thought."

"Hey! Don't talk to her like that!" the redheaded boy yelled.

"I'll talk to her any damn way I want, Ron!" Harry yelled back.

It was as if it wasn't even him speaking anymore. Harry felt like he was someone else, someone horrible. All the time, he felt all of his anger bubbling in him, waiting to explode. Unfortunately, his temper exploded right there in front of his two best friends…soon to be ex-best friends the way he was speaking. He couldn't hold it back. It just spewed out of him.

"Dirty filthy little Mudblood," Harry sneered with a look of disgust on his face. Seconds later, he felt someone painfully yank him out into the hallway. He slammed against the wall and came face to face with a very pissed off Severus Snape.

"Never use that word, Potter!" Snape snarled in his deathly quiet voice. His black eyes were coals as he glared at the young man in front of him.

"Make me," Harry replied matching Snape's tone. He immediately smirked when he caught the man's shock. He then felt himself lifted up off the ground before being close enough to touch noses with Snape. "Come on, you miserable bat! Make me!" he snapped. He immediately cried out when the man yanked him again before dragging him back downstairs. In the inside, Harry was slightly scared. He had never really seen Snape that ticked off before, but he was just slightly scared.

"Get out of the way, Black!" Snape roared as he and Harry burst into the kitchen.

"What in Merlin's name!" Black then drew his wand and pointed it at Snape. "Unhand my godson this instant, Snivellus, or I'll—"

"You'll blow the house down, Black?" Snape sneered. He then yanked the boy closer towards him before opening the boy's mouth. Potter tried fighting him every step of the way, but Snape had the upper hand. Deciding that it was probably safer to use a spell than to pour the soap in the boy's mouth, he spelled it into the boy's mouth. Little soap bubbles immediately bubbled out of the boy. The bubbles then vanished after a few seconds when Snape saw the remorse in the boy's green eyes. "If I ever catch you using that wretched term again, Potter, you won't just have soap in your mouth. Do we understand each other?" The boy slowly nodded. "Good. Now apologize to Miss Granger." He released Potter and folded his arms across his chest. "That is unless you would like me to 'make you' again, Mr. Potter?" The boy immediately fled the room. All of his anger quickly left him as he went do as Snape asked.