September 1, 1991 (early evening)

Severus Snape brought order to the dungeon classroom, flicking his wand like an orchestra conductor's baton, causing row after row of tall wooden stools to line up just so before the lab tables. Jars of ingredients reflected the flickering torchlight, their shining surfaces polished to perfection. Cauldrons lined the back wall, scrubbed to dull gleaming, ready to produce the first disaster of the new school year.

The Hogwarts Express was on its way, chugging steadily northward from London. Hundreds of dunderheads had already embarked on their first sugar-high of the year. By the time the train stopped in Hogsmeade, the children would be totally wired for mayhem.

And mayhem did not please Snape. Mayhem did not amuse him. Mayhem caused his taut nerves to tighten even further. He'd never felt so high-strung while waiting for the train's arrival as he did today. It was the brat's fault, Snape thought sourly, glaring around at his perfectly- arranged dungeon as if daring anything to slip out of place. Potter's brat. Harry James Potter himself, arriving for his First Year at Hogwarts. Undoubtedly to be Sorted into Gryffindor. Just like his malbegotten sire.

Snape could just see the boy now, in his mind's eye: tall for his age, black-haired-make that MESSY black hair-mocking hazel eyes above his arrogant smile... Exactly like James Potter, Gryffindor's Golden Git. To put it mildly.

The little punk would waltz into the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast, accepting accolades from right and left, and the next seven years would be absolute hell on earth for Severus Snape.

That's why Snape had decided to take a stand. If the best defense was a good offense, then Snape had already geared into full defensive mode. NO favortism, as the brat would doubtless receive from all the other staff members. NO assistance beyond the basic instruction given to all students equally-any marks would have to be EARNED in full. NO bowing to the boy's longheld celebrity status, regardless of what the whelp felt the Wizarding world owed him.

He, Severus Snape, would put Harry James Potter firmly in his place.

"Our. New. Celebrity..." Snape intoned the scornful statement in his most intimidating voice- half whisper, half silky growl-overlaying it thickly with sneering sarcasm. Yes, that was it. Put the brat on the spot first thing, before he knew what had hit him-give him an oral pop quiz at the beginning of the first Potions class. James Potter's son would never have cracked a book before boarding the train; he'd be waiting for his teachers to spoonfeed him the information. Snape would see to it that Harry Potter CHOKED. Show him up for the lazy layabout that his father had always been. Reveal his shortcomings not only to his fellow Gryffindors, but also to the Slytherins, who would do the other half of Snape's work for him. Yes, his Slytherins would never allow Harry Potter to live down his own incompetence.

After all...

"Fame. Isn't. Everything."

Snape smiled. This was one Potter who would NEVER get the better of him.

-:-

-:-

-:-

From his position at the Head Table, Snape frowned the length of the Great Hall, ignoring Quirrell's incessant stuttering to his left.

The First Years were filing in behind Minerva McGonagall, and try as he might, Snape couldn't make out the telltale features of the Potter brat anywhere in the nervous group of children that had come forward to congregate before the stool where the Sorting Hat sat. Surely, Harry Potter must look like his deceased father's Doppelganger. Surely?

Snape scanned all the young male faces. And again. And once again.

Nothing.

And when he looked once more, this time trying to identify any of Lily Potter's own features on one of the boys, he failed anew. Was Harry Potter's face a throwback to some earlier generation, perhaps amongst the Muggles on his mother's side? Or-Snape WISHED Quirrell would stop whispering and keep that damned turban a few inches farther away from Snape's sensitive nose-or, was Potter simply not here?

If so, why not? Obviously, he had magic. His name had been down on the Headmaster's list since birth. Or had his well-to-do Muggle relatives decided to send him instead to an elite Muggle school instead of allowing him to receive the magical education to which he was entitled? Petunia, he remembered, had despised her sister's magic, the gift which Petunia had been born bereft of, the gift which had inspired such jealousy in Petunia as a child. Perhaps she had refused to send her sister's son to the school which had ultimately caused the irrevocable split between Lily and Petunia? Snape wouldn't put it past her...

-:-

-:-

Snape's nerves tightened even further as McGonagall began calling the First Years' names alphabetically. Halfway through the alphabet... Almost to the P's... And then past-Minerva had omitted calling Potter's name. Snape peered to his far left, taking in the tightness at the corner of Albus Dumbledore's mouth. So, Potter's absence must be disturbing news to the Headmaster, too.

After Blaise Zabini had been Sorted into Slytherin-no surprise there-and Dumbledore had whimsically pronounced a few stray, unrelated words, the entire Hall tucked into the Feast. Snape noticed a tense, whispered discussion between McGonagall and the Headmaster, before they, too, partook sparingly of the array of foods which had appeared in wondrous glory upon the Head Table. At length, Dumbledore dismissed the sated students from the Feast, watching absently as they departed for their respective Houses.

"A word, if you please, Severus." A gnarled hand clasped the black-robed shoulder of the Potions Master.

"Of course," Snape assented. A veneer of good manners forced him to nod in Quirrell's direction, although Snape did not meet the Defense teacher's eyes. "If you will excuse me?"

"Y-Yes. Cer-Certainly." Quirrell's turban bobbed spasmodically, his fork pausing over the last of his fruit tart.

Snape swept his ebony robes away from the Head Table and followed Albus Dumbledore through the small door to one side of the Hall's head end. McGonagall was already waiting for them in the small chamber across the narrow, torchlit corridor. After clearing and warding the door, Dumbledore made the announcement.

"Harry Potter is missing."

Snape couldn't bring himself to feel much surprise or concern. He'd seen Potter's absence for himself during the Sorting.

"And so is Hagrid," McGonagall added.

THAT startled Snape. Although, come to think of it, Hagrid's vast presence had been missing from the other end of the Head Table. Not that Snape had thought to miss him. Rubeus Hagrid was most noticeable when present; his absence simply opened up space. Or some such, Snape rationalized with one part of his mind. Besides, Hagrid had been gone from the school for several days already, if he recalled. Little wonder, then, that he really hadn't missed seeing the gamekeeper at supper.

"It's like this-" McGonagall began, worry pinching her lips.

"Minerva noticed several days ago that Harry's Hogwarts letter kept being regenerated and sent out. She did some checking and discovered some ... irregularities ... in the manner in which the Finding Quill had addressed Harry's letters."

"Yes!" She nodded emphatically. "Most irregular, indeed, Severus! I had the Finding Quill list every location in which Harry's Trace had been Found since his eleventh birthday on July 31. Quite an odd collection of locations, as it turns out."

Snape's eyebrow rose fractionally. But not much. He wished the Transfiguration professor would fall out of lecture mode and just SAY where Potter was. Or had been.

"The original letter had been addressed to Harry in ‘The Cupboard Under the Stairs' at his Muggle uncle's house."

Snape's eyebrow rose slightly higher. "Perhaps he was playing Hide-and-Seek?" he suggested rather acerbically. Really, Minerva would go off over nothing.

"No, Severus," McGonagall denied. "The Finding Quill tracks to the child's usual sleeping quarters. Of all places in a home, the place where a child regularly sleeps is the child's most personal space-where a fraction of the Trace remains, even when the child himself is elsewhere, either at home or away, so long as the child remains in residence in the abode itself."

Snape frowned. "So, ‘The Cupboard Under the Stairs' is where..."

"Where Harry Potter usually sleeps." She nodded. "Or, rather, slept."

Snape didn't bother to elevate his eyebrow any further. He just looked at her, waiting.

McGonagall glowered. "Slept," she repeated because he had failed to ask the obvious. "The second letter was addressed to Harry in "The Smallest Bedroom', still at his uncle's house."

Snape continued to look at her.

"Another five hundred letters were also addressed to ‘The Smallest Bedroom'."

"Five HUNDRED?" Both of Snape's eyebrows shot upwards. "What are you saying?"

Dumbledore laid a quiet hand on Snape's shoulder. "What we believe has happened, Severus, is that Harry himself has not taken possession of a single letter of all those which have been delivered. The letters keep getting regenerated, are taken to the owls by the house elves, and the owls deliver them to the source of Harry's Trace, but Harry himself has not read-or been allowed to read-any of the letters."

Snape stared at him. "Petunia. She hated Magic. She has probably destroyed all of the letters. Unless the Finding Quill has malfunctioned."

"That's the other thing," McGonagall spoke up. "After two and a half weeks of the letters being addressed to Harry in Surrey-that was from August 1 to the 18th-the Finding Quill began churning out various hotel addresses. Also, several bed-and breakfast establishments. Sometimes up to eight different addresses of the sort in a single day!"

Snape snorted, waving his hand dismissively. "As I suggested, obviously a malfunction. How could Potter possibly sleep in eight different hotels in a single day?"

"An excellent question, Severus," Dumbledore answered thoughtfully.

Sighing deeply, Snape asked what he knew he was expected to ask. "How do you plan to locate him, Headmaster?"

"I already sent Hagrid after Harry," Dumbledore said musingly. "I decided that the Dursleys would probably be better able to deal with a person than with owls."

"A person, perhaps. But HAGRID? Do you really think that was wise, Headmaster?"

This time, it was Dumbledore who sighed. "Possibly not, Severus. As Minerva mentioned, if the Finding Quill is to be believed, the family appeared to be constantly on the move from August 18 through the 23rd. However, since the afternoon of August 23, the letters were all addressed to one location, which is where I sent Hagrid, with a letter in hand for Harry to read."

"And what location would that be? At home in Surrey again?"

"No," snapped McGonagall. "From August 23 until we sent Hagrid out on August 28, the letters were all addressed to ‘Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut on the Rock, The Sea'."

The small chamber filled with silence as Snape attempted to wrap his mind around this new information. Finally, after swallowing a time or two, Snape managed, "'The Floor'? Potter is sleeping on the floor? In a ... hut?"

"On a Rock in the Sea, Severus," Dumbledore finished, a twinkle coming back into his bright blue eyes. "A mystery, my boy! One we sent Hagrid to solve, but he has failed to return with Harry." Dumbledore's face fell. "It is worrisome," he admitted. He looked Snape in the eye. "I want you to search for them, Severus. Find them both, and bring them to Hogwarts. Please."

Snape stared into Dumbledore's eyes, and a message seemed to pass between them. Snape's lips tightened.

"The Floor," he said. "Hut on the Rock. The Sea. You have nothing more to go on?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Really, Severus. How many Huts on Rocks could there possibly be in the Sea?"

McGonagall looked ready to clonk Dumbledore over the head with the nearest battleaxe. Snape wished she would-it would save him the trouble of doing it himself.

"You say Hagrid went missing on August 28? Four days ago? Presumably, that's when ... something ... went amiss," Snape deduced.

"To the contrary, my boy." Albus Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again, always a dangerous sign when the twinkle went contrary to the situation at hand. "I suspect something happened long before that-probably the day after Harry's birthday, when the first owl went out to Surrey."

Snape huffed and turned away, waving his wand to cancel the wards. "Hut on the Rock, The Sea," he muttered. "Lovely start to the school year, I must say."

"Might I suggest a Locater Charm, Severus?"

More likely, a Twinkle-Extinguishing Charm, the Potions Master groused to himself as he headed for Hogwarts' massive main door.