“Hey, Scarhead! Want a hankie!”

“There’s a lav over there, Potter. Why don’t you go and have a cry over your mudblood parents.”

“Such a media whore. Will do anything to see himself in the papers…”

“Cheat…”

“He only gets away with it because he’s the old poof’s pet…”

Harry stumped through the dungeons, head down, arms tightly crossed, too depressed to even respond to the other students’ vicious taunts. Yesterday, Rita Skeeter, a journalist, had practically kidnapped him whilst Dumbledore was out of the room and then, after a brief interrogation, translated his ‘ums’ and ‘errs’ into soppy, ‘two fingers down the throat’ tat: the lying cow had made up whole quotes about really private stuff, like Harry’s feelings about his parents, embroidered his life-story to breaking point and, worst of all, crammed the misspelled names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions into the last sentence, omitting to mention Cedric at all.

If Harry had thought that things couldn’t get worse, that the other students couldn’t hate him more, he’d been wrong; the Hufflepuffs were livid, the Ravenclaws considered him to be no better than a ‘kiss and tell’ bimbo and the Slytherins took delight in ridiculing him over the article. Hell, even some Gryffindors were looking askance at Harry and, in light of what Skeeter had written, he couldn’t really blame them.

And now Harry had his duelling lesson with Professor Snape. It seemed bizarre to Harry that, only yesterday morning, he’d actually almost looked forward to this class; although Harry’s usual interest in clothing only extended so far as to appreciate stuff that lacked holes, patches or obvious stains, creating his sleek ‘battle’ robes had actually been enjoyable and he’d happily anticipated reattempting the obstacle course- this time with considerably more success.

However, given the white-hot glare that Snape had zapped him with at breakfast…

As Harry approached the snake handler’s portrait, the door materialised and flew open.

“You’re late” Professor Snape snapped, baring his yellow teeth “I do not tolerate tardiness, Potter, even from a ‘tragic hero’! Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

Gritting his teeth Harry followed his teacher’s billowing cloak, silently repeating his usual mantra: ‘I will not rise to the bate, I will ignore him, I will be respectful, I won’t give him any reason to take off more points’.

Once inside, Harry set down his book bag and straightened up, looking at his Professor with what he hoped was an unthreatening and respectful expression. However, given that Snape was regarding him very much as a hawk would eye a cheeky mouse, Harry was somewhat dubious as to whether his attempts would be enough.

“I trust you have my book?” Professor Snape snarled, holding out his hand.

Stifling a sigh, Harry pulled open his satchel and, with cautious care, withdrew ‘Warlock’s Weft’. Almost as soon as the book was out of the bag, Professor Snape snatched it and began riffling through the pages, scanning for damage. To Harry’s chagrin, his teacher appeared even more angry when he couldn’t find anything with which he could fault Harry.

“It appears, Mr Potter, that you have, at last, learnt a modicum of respect for other people’s belongings.” the Potions Master sneered, his baritone tightening like a silken noose “It is, indeed, a pity that you are incapable of respecting other people. However, it would be foolish not to expect you to fully exploit your ‘supporting characters’. I expect that the great ‘Harry Potter’ epic needed human interest, hmm?”

Harry stared at his teacher, green eyes wide. He’d expected scorn, ridicule, even anger but not this corrosive bitterness. It wasn’t as if Snape was related to the other Triwizard Champions and, Harry thought, he’d certainly made his dislike of Harry’s parents clear throughout his years at Hogwarts.

However, Harry’s shocked expression seemed to only fuel Professor Snape’s anger “It would be too much to hope” he snarled “that, unlike your arrogant father, you would have the slightest scruple in exploiting another person’s misfortune to aggrandise yourself.”

“Well!” snapped Harry, flushing “If my Dad was as arrogant as you say he was, he wouldn’t have minded, would he?”

“You had two parents, Potter. Your mother...”

“I wouldn’t have thought my mum counted as anything to you, Sir, seeing as she was what you Slytherins call a ‘mud-blood’." Harry replied sarcastically.

The Potions Master’s countenance drained white and, almost vibrating with anger, he closed his fists, convulsively, as if he could barely restrain himself from throttling his student. “Never! Use! That! Word! In! Front! Of! Me!” he barked, his breaths fighting out from between his clenched teeth in harsh hisses “Your arrogance, Potter, is beyond belief. You, like your damn father, believe yourself omniscient. You know nothing! Nothing about me!”

Harry opened his mouth, torn between apologising and fighting his corner.

However, before Gryffindor courage could prevail over survival instinct, Professor Snape snapped “I believe that it is you who does not value your muggleborn mother. I expect you consider muggles as little better than house-elves, hmm, Potter?”

“What!” Harry gasped “How can you say that! Hermione’s my best friend!”

“Friend? Hardly, Potter. You use the girl as a study guide and walking encyclopedia. It is clear for all to see that you favour Weasley’s friendship. However, I suppose that, having been waited upon hand and foot by your muggle relations, you would not see them as fully human.”

The banks of Harry’s fury broke. “How dare you tell me off for thinking I know everything about you, you hypocrite! You know nothing about my life at Privet Drive! Nothing at all!" Harry cried, his green eyes blazing "You’re the arrogant one, always going on about how I’m a spoilt brat…”

“Enough, Potter! I will not…”

“Shut up!” Harry screamed “Until I was eleven, I slept in a cupboard under the stairs and they only moved me to a bedroom when they got the Hogwarts letter- they thought someone was watching them. I’m their house elf! At home, I do housework and gardening eighteen hours a day and I’m lucky if I get the scraps from their plates! Dudley and his gang beat me up if I venture outside and, inside, I’m a punch bag for Vernon! You think I’m spoilt now! Huh!”

As Harry panted, his hands balled into fists, Severus said quietly “You are exaggerating, Potter.”

“L….ike Hell I am.” Harry gasped, suddenly on the verge of tears.

“Dumbledore told me that you were living with Lily’s cousin Melanie and her husband.” The Potions Master said, the expression in his dark eyes unfathomable. “I believe that Vernon was, in actuality, married to your mother's sister, Petunia?”

Harry frowned, why would Dumbledore lie?

“Mr Potter?” Professor Snape asked quietly.

“Yeah. Yeah Vernon is Petunia’s husband” Harry replied, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“And you have lived with them since..?”

“Since my Mum and Dad died.” Harry replied, blinking tears from his eyes, eyes that were exactly the same shape and colour as Lily’s, save that their lashes were sable rather than mahogany.

Professor Snape’s mouth twisted and he looked away. “Come with me, Mr Potter.” He said in a tight voice, walking across the grass and tugging the door open. Although awash with adrenaline, Harry was still aware enough to be surprised, and a little fearful, to find himself outside Dumbledore’s Office.

“The doorway of the Room of Requirement moves, Potter.” The Potions Master explained in an uncharacteristically gentle tone.

“Um, Sir” Harry started, “Er, I don’t think this is really necessary. I mean, I expect Dumbledore already knows…”

“It is wholly necessary, Potter.” Snape said bluntly “Now, I believe the password is ‘Parma Violets’.”

The Potions Master strode up the staircase and shoved the door open, smashing the handle against the wall. Albus looked up from his paperwork, peering at the irate young man with concern “Severus..?”

“Mr Potter has just informed me that he is currently and, indeed, for as long as he remembers has been living with Petunia Evans!” Professor Snape snarled, rigid with fury.

“Ah!” Professor Dumbledore stood up, straightening his robes nervously.

“You do not deny it?!” Snape snapped, his eyes flashing obsidian fire.

“Regretfully, no, I cannot deny it, dear boy." Professor Dumbledore replied, his white eyebrows knotting. "Ah, Harry, come in, don’t hover in the hallway. Now, my boys, if you could just take a seat…”

“I do not want a seat, Albus, or a cup of tea or a cake or even a bloody sherbet lemon” the Potions Master cried “I just want the damn truth for once!”

“As you wish, Severus.” The headmaster replied, his azure eyes clouding with concern. He walked around his desk, to stand at a sensible but courteous distance from his irate professor “You wish to know why I left Harry with Petunia”

“Yes!”

“Um…” Harry said quietly, looking nervously between Professor Dumbledore, who was twisting the end of his beard, and Professor Snape, who has the demeanour of a ticking bomb.

“Yes my boy?” asked the Headmaster, grateful for a diversion.

“Er… does Professor Snape know my aunt?”

“We grew up in adjacent streets, Potter, and a more prejudiced, petty, spiteful, jealous, nasty, little cow than your Aunt used to be, I have yet to meet. I doubt that she has improved with age.”

Harry nodded, then felt silly for doing so because, although the students all believed Snape had eyes in the back of his head, the Potions Master seemed too intent on staring down Dumbledore to notice anything. 

“Which,” Snape snarled “naturally, leads to the question of why your esteemed Headmaster saw fit to leave a helpless infant at the mercy of a woman with none!”

Dumbledore sighed, looking tired, and pinched the bridge of his nose “My priority was to keep Harry alive. Although, with Voldemort’s demise, Harry had gained a reprieve, we are both aware, Severus, that he will rise again. You, I know, see proof of it every day.”

Professor Snape stiffened, his jaw tensing. Dumbledore waited for a response and, when none was forthcoming, continued “When I was in the position of placing Harry with an adoptive family, I was in a quandary; Voldemort might return in a year, a decade, even a century and, moreover, many of his more dangerous followers, for example the Lestranges, were still at large. Had I placed Harry with a wizarding family, he would have been raised by devoted, loving parents, yes, but only until their locations were discovered by those out for his blood. And, indeed, sooner or later, that family would be discovered.”

The Headmaster sighed “The alternative was to utilise the ancient magic which Voldemort knows, despises and, therefore, has always underestimated. Lily died for you, Harry; she bartered your life for hers and, thus, a magical contract was formed, signed with her own blood. The same blood which runs in your veins and, also, in her sister, Petunia’s. As long as Harry can call Petunia’s house his home, Voldemort and his followers cannot harm him there. Therefore, although, I am ashamed to admit it, I condemned you to ten dark and difficult years, I only did so with your best interests at heart.” Dumbledore finished, gazing forlornly at Harry, tears shimmering in his forgetmenot blue eyes.

“I understand, Sir.” Harry whispered in a choked voice, bowing his head.

“Well I bloody don’t!” snarled Snape “Quit the crap, Albus! Why not adopt the boy yourself!”

“Huh?” Harry gasped.

“As erudite as ever, Potter.” the Potions Master laughed darkly. “Well, Albus? Everyone knows that you are the only person Voldemort has ever feared, none of his followers would have been foolhardy enough to cross wands with you.”

Albus’ mouth trembled “But, my dear boy, my responsibilities are such…”

“You could have resigned as Headmaster, Albus,” snarled Severus, prodding the Headmaster in the chest “Professor McGonagall is more that capable of running and protecting the School, as is Madam Bones of the Wizengamot.”

Professor Dumbledore paled, looking like an elderly fox confronted by a particularly powerful hound, “I… I have no idea how to raise a child… I am an elderly bachelor… I…”

“Were you afraid that you would spoil him, Albus?” Professor Snape snapped, his black eyes hard as hematite.

The Headmaster’s blue eyes widened “I… it was a consideration… as a Headmaster, I have never had much to do with discipline, it is usually a matter for the student’s Heads of House, and, having no children of my own…” Dumbledore sighed “Few people have loved Harry as I do, yet I will not always be around to protect the boy and, as long as Voldemort and his sympathisers live, Harry will be in danger. If he were an indulged child, one used to relying on his guardian for protection and support…”

“I see” the Potions Master said, his voice as deathly sweet as arsenic “You were preparing him for his future.”

“I would have, quite literally, killed him with kindness.” Albus retorted “A pampered little prince…”

It happened in less than a second. Professor Snape jerked forward, his fist blurring, there was a crackle of bone and Dumbledore collapsed, his nose bloodied.

As Harry gaped in horror, the Potions Master stamped towards the prone Headmaster and kicked him, rolling Dumbledore onto his side.

“Please, Sir! Don’t” cried Harry, rushing up to stand between Dumbledore and the fuming Potions Master.

Professor Snape sneered “I was moving him into the recovery position, you dolt!” and yanked open a cupboard, grabbing a couple of thick, vellum scrolls. “Come with me, Potter.”

“We can’t just leave him!” Harry insisted, staring with wide green eyes at Dumbledore’s elderly and, now that he was unconscious, strangely small form.

“He’ll recover; it takes more than my right hook to kill the old bastard.” Snape sighed “Now, come! Or do you wish to summer with the Dursleys until you reach your majority?”