Privet Drive, to Severus, seemed to be the literal embodiment of the word 'muggle'. Squat, square houses stood in regimented lines; with spotless gardens, well-trimmed hedges and neatly painted gates. The entire area reeked of 'normal' and Severus hated it. Number 4, sat perhaps even neater and more normal than any of the other houses nearby. Its flowerbeds, well-kept riots of colour, contained no hint of any weeds or debris and the grass was cut meticulously short. It was obviously a very nosy neighbourhood; Snape felt the back of his neck prickle as he caught the sight of twitching curtains in his peripheral vision.

Severus stood before the front door, taking time to readjust his clothes and school his features blank before firmly pressing the bell. Creating a good impression would likely make the hideous debacle easier and faster. He didn't want to hang around.

A few moments later the door was yanked open abruptly by possibly the fattest child Snape had ever seen. Surely this couldn't be Harry Potter? Severus rapidly took note of the pale tufts of sandy hair, the small blue eyes and realised that it must be Dudley Dursley – Harry's cousin – who stood filling the doorframe. The boy, who in Snape's opinion closer resembled a baby whale, glared defiantly.

"Well?" he grouched in insolent tones, "What d'you want?"

Frowning slightly at the blatant discourtesy Snape replied, "I am here to speak with Mr Harry Potter."

The fat face in front of him registered surprise then morphed swiftly into a smile, "Speak...with Harry? You can't speak with that Freak – what a joke!"

The child was clearly troubled in the head and Severus stepped into the doorway intent on speaking with either Petunia or her husband. Bony Petunia Evans emerged from a doorway at the end of the hall and stopped dead when she caught sight of him. Snape was almost impressed at the speed in which her faced twisted into a pinched sneer, "You! You….freak!" she stuttered.

Could no-one in this family complete a fully coherent sentence? Seriously, some more advance vocabulary wouldn't go a miss; her insults had not improved since childhood. Snape was seriously tempted to simply hex them all, snatch the child and run. Taking a few calming breaths, Severus tried to regain his temper and spoke again, this time slower.

"I am here, to speak with Mr Potter, please fetch him." Surely that should penetrate? Obviously yes, as although Petunia's glare deepened further, she still motioned him through a doorway leading to an obsessively pristine sitting room. "Wait here, I'll go retrieve him".

The overpowering odour of polish hit Snape in a wave and he struggled against the overwhelming urge to sneeze. He was just able to step inside before the door was shut firmly behind him and found himself left alone to absorb his surroundings and nurse his growing head-ache.

The walls seemed to be entirely covered in photographs and each and every surface filled with yet more picture frames. Despite the cluttered nature of the room, it shone spotlessly– unnaturally so. The almost clinical cleanliness gave Severus the desire to itch and he instead turned to scrutinise the numerous pictures, attempting to distract himself. The baby whale seemed to be featured in every photo, in varied states of development and dress. Snape was surprised to find no sign of 'Prince Potter' in any of them.

Strange.

Severus spun round as what appeared to be a scrawny 7 year old was pushed roughly into the room. Surely this tiny, nearly skeletal, child couldn't be The-Boy-Who-Lived. Petunia was smirking amusedly, "Here you are, speak with the boy, you're welcome to him." Mildly confused and not quite understanding the humour of the situation Snape focused his attention on the 'thing' in front of him. The boy, Potter, the messy raven hair told Snape that much, was holding himself very rigidly and had his hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles shone white. The clothes he wore were also rather odd; tatty, frayed, far too large and faded - they almost appeared to be cast-offs. The boy's height also caught his interest; surely Potter senior had only just been slightly shorter than Severus himself and Lily had never been categorized in any way as short. The mildly hunched shoulders, adverted eyes and small stature combined produced a very worrying sight.

Deciding not to waste any more time with the, currently, useless observations, Severus drew himself up taller and prepared to speak. He also affected a mild air of anger as no matter what he suspected; it was never too early to begin intimidating. A little healthy fear would ensure proper respect.

"I am Professor Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts, a school for young Witches and Wizards, as you were no doubt informed by the letter you received. I am here to answer any questions you may have", here Severus paused to send 'death glare two' in Potter's direction in order to ensure the brat understood that actually asking questions would prove most unwise, "and to take you to collect you supplies."

Silence reigned. Potter appeared to be very confused and the pink tinge in his cheeks also indicated that he was rather embarrassed. "Well, anything to say," Severus snapped out, he didn't have time for petulance or childish games.

The boy's cheeks flushed fully red and he flinched imperceptivity. Severus looked on in confusion as Potter stepped over to a sideboard, produced paper and pencil and wrote clearly,

I CAN'T SPEAK, I'M VERY SORRY…

Severus finally realised what had been thought so humorous, the boy couldn't talk; this was a major shock to say the least. Unusual too as he was sure he'd heard tales of the infant Potter's early exploits into spoken language; perhaps it was an extremely unlucky but likely side effect of the Dark Lord's spell, although surely someone would have noticed? Such thoughts could be pondered on later and Snape returned his attention to the scrap of paper.

AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY LETTER?

Mmmmm, Snape would be having words with 'Dear Petunia' and felt his fingers twitch towards his wand involuntarily at the mere idea. When Lily had received her Hogwarts letter, to say Petunia Evans had been disgruntled would have been the understatement of the century. He wouldn't be surprised if her disgusting and loathing of anything magic hadn't continued on as strongly as ever.

First thing first though; Severus drew out a second copy of the Hogwarts letter from his inside pocket and handed it to Potter. He noticed with some concern that as he put his arm out, the boy flinched once again and subconsciously leant back. Surely not? Name calling was one thing but... Snape felt his many preconceived notions about the boy begin to crack and falter.

He decided to defer such thoughts to when he had more time and as an alternative and instead observed as Harry Potter carefully opened his letter.

Severus watched as a wide range of emotions flittered briefly over the boy's face before it shuttered and he once again reached for the paper and scribbled away furiously. Potter approached him carefully, as one might a wild and unpredictable animal, stretching out a slightly trembling hand, he tentatively passed over the paper once more.

IT MUST BE WRONG, I AM NO WIZARD, I'M A FREAK INSTEAD.

A second alarm bell sounded clearly in Severus's head and he was flung brutally back to his childhood, where sharp face 'Tuny Evans had catcalled both him and Lily from behind the safety of the hedge next to the park. No closer or she might be infected by their 'Freakiness'.

Returning from his memories Snape noticed that Potter was now tugging at his lip with his teeth and shuffling his feet back and forth nervously. Unable to affect either 'calming' or 'sympathetic' Severus settled instead for 'businesslike'.

"Mr Potter please take a seat", he said, indicating one of the highly floral sofas; he even reached down to pat the cushion reassuringly for good measure. The boy however, jumped back sharply as if burnt, startling Snape somewhat and shaking his head frantically, Potter offered him another sheet of paper.

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!

For all his noble intentions, Severus Snape was beginning see the end of his tether in sight; he was after all in the suburban home of the woman who had helped to make his childhood a misery, trying to have an ,albeit one sided, conversation with the spawn of James Potter. Gesturing more firmly at the sofa, Snape bit out in acerbic tones, "No Mr Potter it is you who does not understand. I asked you to sit so I may have the opportunity to explain further. Now SIT DOWN."

As Severus shouted the last two words he saw Potter stand firmly to attention, close his eyes tightly and raise his left hand, in a fist, to the world famously scarred forehead. What was the child doing now? The entire household must simply exist for the purpose of provoking him. Severus switched to 'death glare eight', which hadn't been unleashed since an incident between the Weasley twins and his ingredients cupboard two years ago, and prepared to release some of his growing ire upon the impossible and disobedient child.

All thought and or anger stopped dead however, as the Boy-Who-Lived- to-Frustrate stuck out his palm stubbornly in Severus's direction.

There, engraved on the boy's palm, glinting brightly in gold letters were the words,

SEE, A DISGUSTING FREAK

The now rather despondent child returned the fist to his forehead and when he stretched it out again Snape who forced to do a double take as the words changed right before his disbelieving eyes,

THIS PROVES IT!