His boot soles landed solidly on pavement, and Snape whirled in quick reflex, wand at the ready, but discerned nothing posing any sort of threat in the brief shadows along Privet Drive in Little Whinging-he snorted at the very name of the town-in Surrey.

Hut on the Rock, indeed.

As if he'd go Apparating about the Kingdom, blindly relying on Locater Charms to pinpoint such a nebulous "address". In Dumbledore's dreams, he growled, setting off up the street, already spotting Number 4 among a selection of upper-middle-class homes which were virtually indistinguishable from one another except for the numbers above their front doors. As he approached Number 4, the lights were on inside, and a large shadow moved past one of the curtained windows on the first floor. Definitely, the Dursleys were home, and in all likelihood, the Potter brat was with them, not in some Hut.

On a Rock.

In the Sea.

Hmphh.

Only two neighborhood residents remained outside at this hour, unloading items from an expensive SUV parked in a driveway a few houses away. Snape waited until the Muggles had carried several boxes into their own home and shut the front door before he Finited the Disillusionment and rang the bell at Number 4.

A young male voice shouted, "I'll get it!", and a small earthquake plummeted down the staircase-Snape could feel the very doorframe vibrating beneath his fingers.

The front door of Number 4 precipitately jerked inwards, revealing a rotund boy with a red face, holding a stick of some sort.

A woman's voice drifted through the doorway. "Who is it, Diddykins?"

The red-faced boy surveyed Snape, from his long black hair to the very end of his long black robes trailing a pretty distance across the Dursleys' front porch.

"That LOT!" shouted the boy. "That LOT!"

Lot?

Before Snape could utter a word, the stout child had flung himself at the wizard, shrieking a war cry of sorts, which echoed off the house fronts up and down the quiet street.

Several sharp blows pelted Snape's left forearm, which he'd raised without thinking to protect his body from being struck by the child's sturdy stick. Instinctively, he pulled his wand behind his back to prevent its being shattered by a random blow from the boy's rapidly-flailing length of wood. Amidst the pummeling, Snape's keen hearing detected various front doors opening across the lamp-lit street, and up and down its length. Interior light spilled across multiple porches as the Dursleys' neighbors craned their necks to peer intently at the ruckus taking place on the front porch of Number 4.

"YAAAAAAHHH!" shrieked Dudley again, this time aiming a sharp jab at the tall wizard's groin.

Snape dodged to the right, and the end of the stick stabbed painfully into his left hip.

Enough was ENOUGH!

Quick as a striking snake, Snape's left hand finally grabbed hold of the horrid stick, wrenching it from the stout child's determined grasp. He tossed the stick far behind him, hearing with great satisfaction the hollow wooden clatter the stick made as it landed in the street. He could hear several of the neighbors chuckling and imagined their fingers pointing at the stick as it rolled to a halt in the middle of the pavement.

"Dudley! What on earth-?" Petunia arrived at the door and gave a horrified gasp. "The neighbors are watching! What did you DO? Get back inside!"

Dudley pointed at Snape, who was now pointing his wand right back at the boy. "HE did it, Mum. He's one of THEM, isn't he?"

Petunia stared at the wand in shock, then slowly raised her eyes along the length of the many- buttoned sleeve, up past the shoulder of the black robes, to the older-but-still-recognizable face which she remembered with anger and fear from her childhood.

"You..."

A disdainful sneer distorted the wizard's features unpleasantly. "Petunia."

Heavy footsteps compressing carpeting sounded from behind her. "Pet, what's going on?" Vernon pulled the door open wider, a spoon in his free hand. Upon seeing a wanded stranger standing on the porch, Vernon wrapped his plump fingers around Dudley's shoulder, pulling the boy protectively behind Vernon's own bulk. "Who are you? What do you want?" A whiff of peanut butter floated out onto the porch with his questions as he brandished the spoon.

Snape raised his wand, pointing it at Dursley's face. In a low voice, he announced fiercely, "I am Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I've come for Harry Potter."

"Shoot him, Dad!"

"Vernon! The neighbors!" hissed Petunia.

And, indeed, the neighbors had advanced from their doorways to the edges of their front yards, straining their eyes and ears to see what those pretentious Dursleys were up to now.

"I hit him with my Smeltings Stick, Dad! I thrashed him good!"

Vernon observed the sour look that the "Potions Master" was giving his progeny and said, "Well done, son! Well done."

Losing patience, Snape stepped forward, planting his boot firmly upon the threshold of Number 4. "Where is Potter?"

"Not here." Vernon shook his head emphatically, causing his jowls to roll back and forth. "Not here at all."

Snape scowled. "I should like to see for myself."

"Vernon-the neighbors..."

Several individuals had actually crossed the street and were lining up along the curb in front of Number 4. Like ducks in a shooting gallery, Vernon thought in disgust. Better to get this ... stranger ... off the porch. As quickly as possible.

"Very well," Vernon said reluctantly, stepping back to allow Snape in. His shoe heel trod heavily upon Dudley's toes.

"OW! OW! Dad! You stepped on me!"

Snape smirked.

The neighbors laughed aloud along the curb.

"Vernon!"

The door of Number 4 slammed shut, and Petunia waited for several long seconds before daring to part the sheers in the front window to ascertain if the neighbors had returned to their own homes. To her shock, she found them clustered instead in a group by HER curb, obviously discussing this intriguing turn of events. If only Snape hadn't worn that damned robe...

"He's not here, I tell you!" Vernon protested as Snape swept from room to room throughout the lower level of the house, his wand pointing pre-emptively into every corner. A quick magical scan had revealed nobody else in the house besides the three disgusting Muggles and himself, but he understood the intimidation factor of a stranger invading one's personal space to conduct a search. Besides, there was something he needed to see for himself, something he needed to make sense of. In this house.

And what a house... Snape's brow furrowed as he took in the magazine-perfect décor, polished, shining, and virtually lifeless, aside from the Muggles it sheltered.. One of the most jarring aspects had to do with photographs-dozens of expensively framed photos on tables and walls, most featuring the kid with the stick, some of the kid and his parents, but none of another child. It was hard for him to imagine that the son of Lily and James Potter had ever lived here at all, much less for the past ten years.

After circling through the lounge, dining room, kitchen, and study, yanking open every door he saw as if to make sure Potter wasn't hiding behind it, Snape returned to the foyer before going upstairs to search the second floor. And that's when he saw it-the bolt. The sliding bolt on the OUTSIDE of the door leading to The Cupboard Under the Stairs. His heart thudded with a burst of adrenaline. The only reason for a bolt to be located on the outside of a door was to prevent the door being opened from the INSIDE...

The bolt was slid back when Snape spotted it-unlocked. Cautiously, he opened the truncated door, pointing his wand tip into the dim interior.

"Nothing of interest in there," said Vernon sharply. "Nothing at all."

Oh, but there was...

"Lumos."

And in the light emanating from his wand tip... A thin, much-used mattress, with a lumpy pillow. A collection of toys, each one missing some part or other, but none of the missing pieces themselves. The broken toys were carefully arranged on the far end of each shelf, too far to be reached easily from the opened door. The near ends of the shelves contained bottles of household cleaners and various spray cans and dust cloths. Near the middle of the upper shelf, a small glass half-filled with water sat beside a glass juice bottle which was nearly full of additional water. A badly chipped saucer contained a shriveled apple bearing the beginnings of a rotten spot. Cozying up to the apple were two slices of dried-out white bread with a bit of mold along the nearside crust. Several tattered, oft-read books stood, like a row of soldiers ordered by height, next to the head of the mattress, below the bottommost shelf.

Stooping, Snape maneuvered his shoulders through the cupboard door and knelt on the thin mattress. Pointing his wand toward the descending underside of the staircase, he saw the rest of it. Drawings-some pencil, some ink, some in unsteady crayon-tacked and taped to the inside wall on the same side as the door. Only someone actually sitting inside the cupboard would be able to admire them. Amidst the usual childhood subjects, he saw other, more disturbing images:

Pictures of a smiling family of three-and a small, black-haired boy with blue tears dripping from green eyes. Pictures of smiling schoolchildren playing in a group, while a small, black- haired boy sat alone. Pictures of a large, angry man hitting a small, black-haired boy with an angry red ball of a fist. Pictures of a smiling family of three sitting down to a feast, while a small, black-haired boy sat in the doorway of a cupboard under the stairs, holding a slice of bread with a single crescent-shaped bite missing. Pictures of a laughing family of three and another large, laughing person (woman? man? wearing a dress AND a moustache?) pointing at a small, black- haired boy hanging precariously by his hands from a tree limb, while a small dog with big teeth barked at him from the ground below.

Strangest of all, a picture of a small, black-haired boy sitting behind the vertical spars of a- fence?-watching a green-starburst? water splash? firework?-spreading out in front of him, since this boy was drawn from behind. Snape squinted in the wandlight, then crawled forward to stare into the center of the green starburst. A very tiny dark mark-it turned out to be a tiny question mark, no more than a quarter of an inch high-had been carefully drawn into the center of the emerald chaos. Obviously, the boy was questioning what he was looking at.

But Snape's blood chilled as he stared at that drawing, realizing its horrifying significance. If that was what he thought it was, how could Potter... Surely, the boy couldn't remember ... THAT.

Stunned, Snape studied the progression of the artist's ability. Quite obviously, these were all Potter's artwork, drawn from early childhood to the present. Often, he'd used old newspaper, drawing heavily with a crayon in a vain attempt to obscure the crowded lines of type. The pencil

and ink art made use of ruled notebook paper, for the most part. On the rare occasions when the child had managed to obtain plain paper, he had responded by throwing all of his heart and soul into his drawings, and he undeniably possessed good talent. Just like his mother, Lily's son was an artist.

Snape sighed heavily, looking at the various signatures on the pictures, from HARY to HARY POTR to HARRY POTTER to H.J. POTTER.

Potter had not just slept in The Cupboard Under the Stairs. He had lived here. LIVED here.

In this cupboard.

Lily's little boy.

For-TEN years? The evolution of his artwork would seem to indicate as much. Not to mention, there were still a few old toddler toys lined up beneath the bottom step of the stairs. Also, little shoes of various sizes, some with missing or knotted laces, others with soles peeling away from the uppers, neatly paired together too far back for an adult to reach from the door.

Snape had been prepared to despise the son of his old schooldays nemesis, James Potter. But he hadn't been prepared for ... this. Nothing could have prepared him for the reality of Harry Potter's existence. Not even the Finding Quill's clues had seemed to reflect reality. No child deserved to experience neglect, and this degree was unconscionable. Snape could easily see the psychological and emotional effects of abuse recorded in the boy's drawings. And in the picture showing the family feasting while the boy practically fasted, food deprivation was probable. Not to mention the red-fisted brute of a man in that other drawing... This artwork recorded a sad history which reminded Snape of the one fact which he'd been willing to overlook entirely as he had prepared to denigrate the incoming First Year student: this boy was also Lily's child, not just James Potter's.

Snape withdrew from the cupboard, realizing that discovering where the boy had been still failed to answer the question of where he was NOW. Time to search the upstairs of the house for further clues before he left ... for the Hut on the Rock? In the Sea? If Potter no longer lived in this Cupboard Under the Stairs, perhaps he really had moved into The Smallest Bedroom on the second floor?

The Potions Master spotted the Dursleys huddled in the foyer, Vernon and Petunia having a muttered discussion. Snape had caught Vernon's angry "...waited too long..." as he backed out of the cupboard, followed by Petunia's sharp whisper "...sliding bolt could never hold HIM..."

Snape sneered silently at them as they pressed back against the foyer wall as he passed. He rounded the newel post and made it two-thirds of the way up the stairs before the doorbell rang.

"MORE of their lot!" growled Vernon, angrily waving his spoon.

Snape's eyebrow rose questioningly. "OUR lot? I assure you, Dursley, the Headmaster sent only me to fetch Potter. He knew that I required no assistance to handle the likes of you ... people."

Petunia's cheeks flushed an ugly crimson. Vernon's face darkened to plum. "How dare YOU, you FREAK!" Unwisely, he pointed the rounded end of the spoon at Snape. And suddenly, the spoon drooped over on itself, leaving Vernon and Petunia staring at it in horror.

"He did that with his FINGER!" whispered Dudley, aghast at such unspeakable power.

Snape smirked again, his black eyes boring into Dursley's horrified orbs.

The doorbell rang once more.

"Shouldn't you answer that? It's nothing to do with me-or my LOT."

Dudley was standing closest to the foyer window and took a cringing peek beyond the sheers. "Hey, it's Mr. Dewhurst from up the street."

"Are the rest of them still out by the curb?" whispered Petunia, dreading the answer.

Dudley nodded.

"Well, Dudders, see what the GENTLEMAN wants," ordered Vernon.

Snape's resounding snort told them that he had perceived the deliberate, ill-disguised insult to himself.

Turning the knob, Dudley opened the door to the inquisitive face of their speak-to-him-in- passing neighbor.

"Good evening," Mr. Dewhurst greeted the Dursleys. "I just happened to find this in the street and wondered if it might belong to any of you?" He held up Dudley's Smeltings Stick.

"That's mine!" exclaimed Dudley.

"What do you say, son?" Vernon said, coming up behind Dudley to clap a hand on his shoulder and, at the same time, attempt to obscure Dewhurst's view of Snape, who was still lingering on the stairs.

"Thank you, sir."

"You're quite welcome, young man."

Vernon extended a meaty hand toward Dewhurst, who took the opportunity to step over the doorsill to shake hands.

Once inside, to Petunia's mortification, the nosey man had an excellent, full-length view of one Severus Snape, standing regally half-turned partway up the staircase, looking down upon the foursome in the foyer below. Snape's robes, which he had neglected to exchange for a shorter traveling cloak before leaving Hogwarts, trailed down, down, down, down the stairs, like the formal train of a macabre black bridal gown.

Dewhurst took it all in-the trailing robes, the knee-length ebony coat with countless buttons, the pale face framed by a swinging length of greasy black hair-and he snickered.

"Bit early for Halloween, isn't it, mate?"

Snape did not move. Not one iota.

But his overall neutral demeanor abruptly changed to one that could only be construed as seriously threatening.

Suddenly, Dewhurst wasn't laughing any more.

"I'll-I'll just be going."

Without even bidding the Dursleys good-night, Dewhurst stumbled backwards over the threshold and high-tailed it to the curb, where his cohorts were eagerly waiting. To their astonishment, he ran past his neighbors, beating a rapid retreat up the street to his own house, where he quickly slammed the door. Having gaped after him for a few seconds, the cluster of neighbors congregating in front of Number 4 scuttled en masse up the street to Dewhurst's Number 11.

All except that odd Mrs. Figg, who waved merrily at Vernon Dursley from her own doorway across Privet Drive, before he managed to viciously slam the door to Number 4.

Behind the closed door, Petunia let fly. "You KNOW he used that stick as an excuse to come in here and get a closer look at HIM!" she shrilled, pointing a furious finger at Snape. "They'll TALK. About HIM. About US. We'll NEVER live it down."

Snape rolled his eyes and continued up the stairs to the second floor.

The first doorway he came upon led into a child's bedroom. More than waist-deep in toys and discarded, oversized clothing, the room appeared ready to burst. Unbeknownst to Snape, when Harry had been told to move from the cupboard into the smallest bedroom, Dudley had thrown a massive tantrum at the idea of Harry living in the same room as Dudley's overflow of toys,

even if more than half of them were broken beyond any sort of repair. To calm Dudley, Petunia had ordered Harry to carry the toys that Dudley wanted to keep back to Dudley's first bedroom. The remainder, which he no longer wanted, Harry was ordered to throw into the rubbish bins. The end result was the tumultuous mass of possessions which Snape currently viewed with disbelief.

"DAD! He's looking in MY room!" whined Dudley loudly from the foot of the stairs. "Make him leave my stuff alone. I don't want HIM touching it."

Snape glared down the length of the carpeted staircase. "Trust me, Mr. Dursley," he addressed Dudley in his coldest classroom voice, the one which could make even Slytherins shiver in dread, "I haven't the slightest desire to touch your ... stuff."

Turning away from the Dursley boy's bedroom, Snape took a cursory glance into the bathroom, the master bedroom, and the walk-in linen closet with the pull-down ladder to the attic, before he opened the final door. This door had several types of locks affixed to prevent any possibility of the room's occupant from getting out against the Dursley's wishes. At the moment, the locks hung loosely open, and Snape slowly pushed wide the door to The Smallest Bedroom.

A single, rather lumpy bed with a tattered blanket stood along one wall. A quick search of the dresser drawers revealed very few items of clothing, all of them sized to fit the boy downstairs. The same within the cheap armoire. But Potter had lived here, however briefly. Artwork again-pages and pages of drawings of owls, all of them bearing envelopes in their beaks- stacked neatly in the top drawer of the rickety desk. All of these pictures were signed with a simple H.P., and due to the subject matter, must have all been drawn during the past month. But where was Potter now.?

For no other reason than that the space existed, Snape lifted the threadbare blanket and peered beneath the bed. It was there that he discovered Potter's secret.

Books. All of them new. Several still wrapped in gift wrap, with tags inscribed "To Dudley" with love from someone named "Aunt Marge", as well as from "Mummy" and "Daddy" on birthdays and Christmases. Potter had stolen his cousin's books?

Snape thought back to the few neatly-arranged, worn books down in the Cupboard. Obviously, Potter enjoyed reading. He also examined his memory of Dudley's bedroom-a plethora of toys, a computer, plastic weapons, and so forth, but no books. Not a single one had been visible in that pile of juvenile detritus. Was the idiot with the stick even capable of reading? The shelves in his room were crammed full of everything BUT books. So, it would seem that he either lacked the ability or the inclination. Potter, however...

Snape Accioed the books from under the bed, flipping through the collection. Even the unwrapped ones had been inscribed inside to Dudley, who had apparently never read them.

After considering a course of action, Snape Conjured the books and artwork from the Cupboard. To them, he added the books and drawings he'd found in The Smallest Bedroom, along with various small items from Potter's desk drawer. With a wave of his wand, he shrank the lot and slipped the collection into one of his pockets. He'd need the drawings from the Cupboard as evidence, along with Potter's testimony, but as far as he could tell, these Dursleys were unfit to raise Lily's child, and that fool of a Headmaster was going to see that for himself.

The books themselves were important to Potter, and Snape could not imagine the child wishing to keep anything else from this house, aside from his own artwork. That idiot with a stick would never miss the books-of that, Snape was certain.

Yes, he'd locate Potter and take him to Hogwarts. Dumbledore would just have to make other living arrangements for Harry Potter's time away from school.

His robes billowing with anticipation, Snape rushed down the carpeted stairs.

The Dursleys quickly retreated into the lounge.

"WHERE is Harry Potter?"

A few hexes and a bit of Legilimency later, Snape figured he had sufficient information to be able to Apparate to the general area of the shoreline near the town which Vernon described as nearest to the Rock in the Sea. From there, a Locater Charm should allow him to finally pinpoint Harry himself.

"You haven't heard the last of this," Snape stated, letting the threat hang baldly in the suddenly-chill air of the lounge.

He flung open the front door to Number 4, swooped down the steps, billowing for all he was worth. An eager face and pointing finger appeared in nearly every window overlooking the length of Privet Drive.

Arabella Figg scurried down her own front walk. "Severus!"

Snape paused, somewhat irritated. He'd planned to billow all the way down the street and around the corner before Disillusioning himself and Disapparating. It would have given the Dursleys' neighbors plenty of fodder for gossip for weeks to come.

"Did you find Harry?"

Snape stared at her. "You knew he was missing?"

"Albus just firecalled me. I told him that the Dursleys had left on holiday on August 19, taking Harry with them, and they returned four days ago on the twenty-ninth. I was out shopping, and

when I returned, their car was in the driveway, and their lights were on, but I realized only after speaking to Albus that I haven't seen Harry since they got back." The woman looked at him imploringly. "Is Harry all right?"

Snape grimaced. "I don't know, but I've just learned where they left him. I'm going there now."

"Good luck, Severus."

Snape raised an eyebrow, whirled dramatically, and recommenced his billowing grand exit from Privet Drive. If anyone required Obliviating, he'd leave it up to the Ministry.

Down the street he billowed, to literally disappear around the corner.