London at this time of year was rather wet, if not downright dreadful. It was summer, but billowing clouds crowded the skies and dropped rain ceaselessly. People travelled in small groups, huddled together under umbrellas and looking over their shoulders every few minutes- even the non-magic folk were on alert.

It was unnatural for the weather to behave as it was, but along with the weather had come a feeling of morose darkness, of loneliness, of horror. Depression, some muggle psychologists would call it, but how could a depression grip the entire city of London as it had? This bleak darkness had descended upon the cities and suburbs, filling every crevice, every single space with this overbearing emotion. Unheard of as it was, there was no explanation.

Unless you lived in Magical England.

It was even more chaotic- or rather, subdued- in Diagon Alley.

The cobble stone streets were completely empty, and shops along the path were dark. Most had large pieces of wood nailed to the windows, showing the vacancy in the centuries old stores. Posters were scattered over the ground warning of new curfews, or escapees from Azkaban.

A sharp gust of wind blew through the alley, picking up papers and garbage and strewing them further down the street. Once such piece of paper was the Daily Prophet from that morning, the front page hosting an overly large image of towering buildings on a stormy island in the middle of a rough sea.

“Minister-‘The Dementors are no longer under the Ministry’s control’” The headline blared in bold letters.

“Azkaban prison is world-renowned by the wizard population as one of the most secure holding facilities in the world. This statement was put into question, and the prison put under review, three years ago with the infamous escape of murderer Sirius Black, whose accusations were recently dismissed and an Order of Merlin rewarded after his untimely death one month ago.

This prison is located in a warded section of the British Isle, and is guarded by Ministry guards and dementors at all times. Or so it had been. This reporter has recently interviewed the Minister of Magic, and uncovered the betrayal of these dark beings that seem to inhale and feast upon the happiness of others, only leaving behind grief and depression.

When further questioned, the Minister admitted to the Dementors being loyal to darker forces.

What does this mean for the wizard public? Are we no longer safe within the confines of our houses with these dark figures looming about?

To read more about the impeachment of former-Minister Fudge turn to page 15

To read more about the effects of the Dementors turn to page 3

To purchase Dementor repelling equipment turn to page 6”

As simple an explication as any, the Dementors were causing the gloom that hovered above Britain. Muggles could not see these creatures, more than likely why the small groups were so apprehensive and on edge. The presence could be felt, of course, but they could not see these magical creatures. To them these creatures were more dangerous than any out there, not that they could know that.  

A popping sound startled the ravens that were roosting upon a chimney, causing them to squawk indignantly and fly away. A dark figured had appeared in the middle of the alley, striding forward towards one of two shops open at that time- Balting’s Books.

The bell above the door rang, startling the shop owner from her doze behind the counter.

“Hello, Professor, what can I do for you today?”

The dark haired man strode down a section of very large and ancient tomes, pouring over the titles before finding the one he wanted and sliding it out with one finger. He opened the book to his page of choice and read over the miniscule words quickly before flicking it closed and throwing it onto the counter.

“Twenty galleons, sir.” The timid assistant behind the register stated, cowering away from the dark man when he glared.

“You’ve raised your prices?” He snarled, turning on the shop owner, who also shrunk under the man’s gaze.

“Business has been down; we had to in order to keep shop here. You must understand that, right Professor?”

“I don’t want to hear your sniveling excuses, Balting. You are now one less customer. You must understand that, right?” He mocked as he threw the money onto the table, picked up the book, and walked out.

As soon as he stepped out of the shop, he apparated away to his manor in West Essex.

The manor was elegant, yet eerie. A family home that had hosted generations of Snapes within its walls, it looked centuries old with its stone, towering walls and paned windows; the battlements also didn’t help with the foreboding feeling that surrounded the place. Green grass and gardens spanned across the property, a far off dark line on the horizon signifying the end of the property and its wards. It was a house that suited the dark man, yet contrasted him just as much.

Opening the door with a flick of his wand, he entered and charmed the lights on. The inside was luxuriously decorated with plush couches, a fully stocked kitchen, elegant portraits and painting lining the walls, and the interior design of a palace. Snape set the book upon a mahogany desk which also held several more materials matching the book’s thickness before collapsing in an armchair and watching the fire in the grate.

“Twinky,” he winced at the name, “please fetch me a tea service.”

One popped into existence before him and a small creature with large ears bobbed into the room with a platter of biscuits.

“Would master like a freshly baked scone or pastry?” The large eyed elf seemed to almost bounce upon her heels.

Snape sighed and gratefully took a scone before sitting back to take his tea.

He had been running errand upon errand in preparation for Potter’s training the following day. The brat would be staying with him for a month and a half in which time he would prepare the boy for the next year as well as train him further in defense and mind magics.

A detailed schedule had been drawn out for Potter the night before, planning out his day hour by hour, minute by minute. Every day basically gave Potter 6 hours to sleep, 2 hours for eating and personal time, and 16 hours of intensive teaching and tutoring. There was no way Potter could get into mischief with the schedule, Snape was sure of that.

Knowing the boy he would find some sort of trouble the moment he stepped foot over the threshold, but it was good to have authority over the boy for his stay. He could teach the boy real discipline, though a part in Snape’s mind told him he mightn’t need it at all.

The words from their previous conversation were concerning, though only mildly. Potter was more than likely exaggerating a brief grounding or reprieve from countless sweets by his guardians.

He had a nagging suspicion, however, that not even Potter’s overdramatic self could create a lie such as physical abuse. Though, wouldn’t have Dumbledore done something about it? Or wouldn’t have Order members seen it when staking out the property?

Running a hand over his face, Snape stood and walked over to the desk holding Potter’s new textbooks and materials for the next month. Most of the books were very rare and detailed. Ranging from books on Defense, Occlumency, Animagi Transformations, and basic Strategy manuals, the Sixth Year texts cowered in comparison.

A small part of the back garden had also been transformed into an intensive physical training area, which would be used daily from 5 in the morning until 8 in the morning. The course contained walls which were to be scaled, ropes and trees that needed to be climbed, swamps and pools of water, amongst a menagerie of creatures that were contained by wards surrounding the area.

Leaving the books on the table, he slowly climbed a grand staircase up to the second floor of the house. Walking to his right, he opened a door directly beside a large set of double doors- his quarters- and walked into a small sitting room connected to Potter’s bedroom. The sitting room held two chairs and a table in front of a small fireplace. A painting of one of Snape’s ancestors kept watch over the rooms from directly above the mantle, which would keep an extra pair of eyes on the boy during his off time.

Potter’s bedroom was a soft, elegant yellow with white trimming. A chest of drawers was located directly across from a mahogany four poster bed, and a wardrobe stood in a corner beside it. An ensuite was located to the left of the entrance to the room with tiled floors, a simple shower, and a single sink with drawers for storage underneath. The room held all of the necessities; no more, no less.

The most spectacular part of the room was the large inset window just above a small window-seat that looked upon Lily’s Garden. This was where Snape grew his cooking herbs, the less volatile potion’s ingredients, and a large patch of lilies surrounding a small pond. Beside the pond was a fountain with the Greek Goddess Aphrodite spilling water out of a pot and into a smaller pool where it fell into a larger one. A large oak tree grew about twenty feet from the pond with a white marble bench under that. It was truly a beautiful view, one of the best in the manor.

The garden was also visible from Snape’s room next door, and it was the reason he chose it in the first place.

Snape’s excuse for allowing the boy into this room rather than one of the numerous others on that floor was the fact that he wanted to make sure the boy didn’t get it into his mind to escape, or worse, destroy his house. By keeping him close, small charms connected to his room would notify Snape if anything happened during the night.

Leaving that set of rooms and entering his own, Snape couldn’t help but dread the following day as he washed and dressed for bed. He didn’t know what to expect from the obviously troubled boy, and he was mentally preparing himself for the emotional issues the boy would face with the numerous deaths in his life. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of playing counselor to Potter, but he didn’t see any choice if he was to properly teach the boy the art of mind magics.

As he slid under his covers and noxed the lights, he cringed at the thought of having to tell Potter of the mandatory trust bond that had to form between the two. Snape was still trying to figure out how he would accomplish that gargantuan task as he cleared his mind and fell into the realm of sleep.