Harry James Potter, hero of the wizarding world, stared forlornly through the tiny gap in his cupboard door. Rising this morning to start cooking breakfast his cousin Dudley had tripped him and Harry had smashed one Aunt Petunia's vases.

Punishment as usual had been swift and unpleasant - one of Uncle Vernon's 'lessons'. Harry didn't want another one but he knew that Freaks needed correction- Uncle Vernon always said so.

Being a Freak was always getting Harry into trouble; it had definitely ruined his first day of school. Miss Bayswater hadn't realised that he was a Freak and talked and listened to him just like all the other normal children.

When Harry had got home Dudley complained straight away to Uncle Vernon and the light bulb had been removed from his cupboard as punishment. Harry had done his best to keep quiet and eventually it had worked, some of his freakiness must also have shown, and now Miss Bayswater paid him no attention.

Good that was good, not being noticed was good.

A shadow passed by the door and Harry flinched back violently against the wall biting his fist against the pain as the raised welts on his back throbbed with the impact. Freaks were not permitted to make noises in fact; evil didn't even deserve a voice. Uncle Vernon was quite clear about that,it must be true as even Aunt Petunia screwed up her face and glared when he spoke.

Harry shut his eyes tight and wished to God and the tooth fairy that he wouldn't accidently make another sound and earn another lesson from Uncle.

He hated all lessons from uncle but especially ones with the belt. They were the ones that reminded Harry of his crimes for weeks and weeks, they were the ones which left permanent bumpy ridges on his back and not just blue black patches on his arms for a few days.

The sharp fiery pain across his back encouraged Harry to squeeze his eyes tighter and wish harder- no more noise.

Within the under stairs cupboard of number 4 privet drive a small raven haired boy huddled in a blooded heap, unaware of the bright golden light that flashed and sparkled around him. This pulsing light continued brighter and brighter then faded suddenly - plunging the cramped space back into darkness.

Severus was stressed. Though years of practice allowed him to hide it and other revealing emotions, there were tell tale signs if one knew where to look. Nothing as pathetic as shaking hands, gritted teeth or rapid breathing; those were for the weak minded. Yet every few seconds Severus's nostrils flared slightly hinting at his increasing ire and rising blood pressure.

The sleeping draught bubbled merrily colour changing from dark green to pale lilac, indicating the last phrase of the potions process. Snape set a timer for 2 hours, sealed the cauldron to prevent any accidental spillages and checking the doors were sealed and warded allowed his mind to wander back to the cause of his worries.

…

Staff meetings were never good, Severus knew he was a private person and his lack of connections with his colleagues only served to proved it. Whilst he respected most of the other teachers and could work with them tolerably well, extended periods of contact left him annoyed and bad tempered.

Staff meetings were the worst; not only was he forced into prolonged contact with all his contemporaries - including those of whom he found brought alarming death-eater urges to the surface - but meetings before the new school year were infallibly about the hoards of snotty children that were ready to invade Hogwarts with their lack of manners and short attention spans.

No, staff meetings were very bad indeed.

When the previous week ,Dumbledore, with eyes twinkling bright enough to blind had announced the dreaded prospective 'first years' meeting would take place a week early, Severus's heart had plummeted with the sickening realisation that something was up. He just hadn't realised how bad that something was.

FLASHBACK

Severus swept sharply into the staffroom taking care to allow his robes to billow out behind him - any opportunity to intimidate others and therefore discourage the idle prattle and chatter people otherwise felt need to subject him to the better. Everyone else was already seated and Severus took the last chair, which was, he was pleased to notice, dark blue in colour and thankfully a little separated from the others. The staffroom did contain some rather horrendous multicoloured chairs and sofas which Snape tried to avoid at all cost.

"Ahh", said the Headmaster rubbing his hands together gleefully, "everyone present and correct at last!"

Snape was rather alarmed to notice that Dumbledore was almost bouncing with childish excitement; inwardly groaning he sunk further back into his chair. Whatever the reason behind the bringing forward of the meeting he was positive it wouldn't be to his liking.

"You are all aware of course", the headmaster continued in excited tones, "that the list of the new students has arrived."

This news was met with excited whispering from most of the room and Severus valiantly held back the urge to roll his eyes. Same every year, it was just more ill behaved children to join the masses, more dangerous cretins with the chance to blow themselves up in the potions lab. No wonder he was moody all the time.

Once the room fell silent, Dumbledore spoke again, "Every year is exciting however this year we are especially lucky to be welcoming Harry Potter not only to Hogwarts but also the Wizarding world."

His heart which had remained at about shin level since hearing of the early meeting fell further, sinking through the floor to his ingredient cupboard deep below in the castle dungeons.

"Finally", exclaimed Minerva, "I can't wait to see how turned out!"

Severus sent her a withering glare; he knew exactly how Potter would be; conceited, arrogant and utterly spoilt – a traditional pampered brat. Could he never escape the curse that seemed to be Potter?

Tactful as ever, Hooch screeched "I wonder how much he looks like James now? He was a near perfect match as a baby." This opened the floor gates for more excited chatter and Severus started to count to 30 in an attempt to keep his frustration at bay.

He hunched his shoulders higher and higher and turned his frown to 'death-glare six' as the meeting descended into nothing more than a Harry Potter adulation hour – Snape could now definitely feel a head ache coming on.

"Well", he said standing abruptly, "I sense I am no longer needed, if you would please excuse me." and made hastily for the door. There, almost there, his fingertips brushed the cold metal of the door handle.

"One moment Severus"

Damn and Blast, he knew it was too be true. Never let it be said Albus Dumbledore did bad news by halves. With great trepidation Snape turned, drawing his robe around him like some attempt at protection. Dumbledore twinkled merrily at him, "I've been considering for some time exactly who should retrieve Mr Potter and I must say that you Severus seem to be the most sensible choice."

Snape expected for a sudden jarring to signify the end of the world at least, yet here he stood the rest of the staff matching and reflecting his utter surprise and confusion. The Headmaster merely smiled serenely and Severus narrowed his eyes to slits in response.

"I am most certainly not the sensible and choice and besides", he added quickly, "I have far too many vital potions to complete and very little time in which to do so."

Satisfied with his answer Snape once more turned for the door. A quick escape would be the best option for sure. He had managed to open the door half-way and could almost taste freedom when Dumbledore spoke again his voice tinted with a hard edge, "Severus my dear boy I do not believe I was making a request."

END FLASHBACK

And lo Severus had been saddled with fetching the dratted Potter boy. The usually calming task of potion making had failed miserably in helping to compose himself and the headmaster's deadline was advancing rapidly.

Storming determinedly into his private chambers Snape set about finding suitable 'muggle' clothing. He had considered simply transfiguring his current robes however with his emotions in such a mess it was risky as they spell might suddenly cut off, leaving him looking quite the fool.

Moreover transfiguration had never been his strong point, James Potter's natural talent in that particular class had seen to that. Snape sighed and swiftly pulled on the passable suit he had found at the bottom of his wardrobe. He was a little reluctant to put this precise suit on as it had last been worn to the Lily's parent's funeral. Overall the entire enterprise was turning out to be one great unwanted trip down memory lane.

Tucking his wand up his sleeve Severus made a few final adjustments to his appearance and with no little sense of foreboding stepping into the floo.

"Privet Drive"

Until the 'vase incident' Harry had held tightly onto the hope that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been wrong somehow and that his freakiness was just a mistake. He had always dreamed that he would awake one morning to find his relative had realised their error and cleared out the spare room just ready for him. After all only Freaks lived in cupboards.

Freshly cooked breakfast would be on the table and new clothes would lie pressed and ready to wear. Needless to say no such thing ever happened and after the 'broken vase' incident, frankly, Harry gave up on the whole idea. For after that he had proof.

Only a Freak could go from fully vocally enabled to utterly silent over night; which was exactly what Harry had managed. It wasn't just 'criminally wilful disobedience' as Uncle Vernon had said after frequently failed attempts to draw sounds out of Harry; but rather a physical impossibility.

Harry had understandably been quite distressed about his sudden lack of ability to make any noise whatsoever, but like the practical child that he was, had quickly come to the realisation that nobody listened to him anyway and as with the many other difficulties he faced - decided to ignore it. His 'silence problem' also had the great advantage of preventing punishments for 'spouting rubbish' and 'snivelling pathetically' as he simply couldn't.

And so life in the Dursley household continued on much the same as before.

Sharp rapping on his cupboard door woke Harry from dreams of high pitched laugher and blinding green flashes of light. Brushing an errant spider's web off his face 10 soon to be 11 year old Harry Potter sat up and leant forward reaching for his glasses. After blindly searching for them for a couple of seconds Harry located them under an old and particularly holey sock. The world quickly swam into focus as he pushed the bent and sellotaped frames up his nose.

Although Harry had not grown very much in the 10 years he'd lived with the Dursleys; his cupboard was still becoming increasingly cramped and Harry took extra care not to knock any of the numerous cleaning products off the shelves as he dressed. Beneath the shiny bottles of bleach, polish and lacquer Harry kept his 'things'.

Two plastic soldiers with missing limbs that he had rescued from the dustbin on a whim and three worn paperbacks with ripped pages and stained covers were the sum total of Harry's existence. He was reminded often that the clothes that he wore were actually Dudleys and furthermore that he should be daily grateful for such kindness.

Personally Harry felt Dudley was welcome to the baggy and frayed cast offs which hung off his undernourished frame in a ridiculous manner.

Rolling up the sleeves of his enormous shirt and tightening the belt wrapped almost thrice around his waist, Harry ducked out from within his cupboard.

He quickly walked the short distance to the kitchen taking care not to brush against any walls and inadvertently leave dirty smudges. Aunt Petunia disliked dirt smudges and mess almost as much as she disliked Harry.

As soon as he had been old enough and able to grip a spatula, Harry had cooked and made Breakfast, now he moved with well practiced fluency over the steaming hobs. The bacon and sausages popped and spat merrily as heavy footfalls heralded the arrival of Cousin Dudley.

Dudley Dursley was as fat as Harry was thin and filled the kitchen doorway easily with his porky bulk. Flipping the fried toast, Harry pondered, not for the first time, how long it would be before Dudley was physically unable to fit through the gap. Would he simply stay in one room or, more likely, would his Uncle and Aunt spend an absolute fortune to widen every door-frame in the house.

Dudley waddled to the table and manoeuvred himself onto a chair with difficulty - his extra girth hanging off the edges. Finding that there was no food in front of him; he shouted "Breakfast!" slamming his cutlery hard upon the wooden table surface repeatedly. Harry nodded dutifully and hurried to carry through a plate laden heavily with food.

The quicker the better, any damage inflicted upon the table would only result in serious punishment for Harry. Dudley damaged the table and Uncle damaged freak boy Harry. Even furniture came above Freaky little orphan brats that had been dumped upon the shoulders of well respecting families to be a 'drain' and 'burden'.

As he was cracking Uncle Vernon's fourth egg into the pan, Harry glance up out of window and noticed with some surprise an owl with speckled brown feathers sitting rigidly on the back fence. Painting the fence had been one of Harry's lengthiest chores last week and he hoped the bird wouldn't scratch or excrete on the fresh, neat paint. Strange - all the books Harry had read definitely listed owls as nocturnal birds. What was one doing out in daylight, blatantly at that?

Harry's mind was swiftly torn from the oddly behaving owl in the back garden as Uncle Vernon arrived in the kitchen.

"Boy" he said, fixing Harry with a cold glare, "why do I not see my Breakfast ready for me?"

Harry hated questions like that, Uncle knew he couldn't reply yet seemed always to expect an answer. Harry was tempted to use his personal 'special' way he had discovered to communicate if it wasn't just so….freaky.

"Still waiting", shouted his Uncle and slammed a chubby fist onto the table provoking the cutlery and plates to jump, "don't make me come out there!"

Attempting to simultaneously remain in control of the cooker, Harry stuck his head out from behind the kitchen unit and bobbed it, trying desperately to convey his obedience and understanding. Uncle Vernon's forays into the kitchen never ended well for Harry – or his back.

"Counting down", commented Uncle Vernon as Harry rushed frantically to finish the last of the scrambled eggs. His last 'lesson' had only been the previous week and the results were still unhealed and sticky to touch.

Placing the crowded plate in front of his Uncle, Harry allowed himself to relax slightly; Aunt Petunia always ate far less and seemed to prefer eating separately from the other two and later.

Harry couldn't really blame her; he wouldn't want to eat opposite Dudley and Uncle Vernon as they shovelled seemingly endless quantities of food haphazardly into their mouths. The pigs Harry had once seen on a school trip to a petting farm held remarkable resemblances to both his male relatives, especially at meal times.

It had been Aunt Petunia who had first noticed the owl. The glass she held slipping through her lax fingers to shatter violently into millions of tiny fragments, spread liberally across the tiles of the kitchen floor. She had turned wide eyed to Harry, as if he had personally invited the creature to invade the back garden. Harry failed to be that surprised, blame was always laid firmly at his feet.

Checking quickly to make sure Uncle Vernon's attention was still fixed upon his food; his Aunt had pushed him roughly out the back door hissing in low tones, "Get rid of it, quick, before your Uncle catches sight it of the dratted thing."

Harry didn't know what would happen should Uncle Vernon espy the bird but his Aunts increasingly frenzied hand gestures suggested it wouldn't be good.

The bird didn't fly away as Harry approached, rather turned its head and looked directly at him with intelligent, clear beady eyes. Acting on an urge Harry stuck out his right arm and watched astonished as the owl hopped dutifully onto his wrist. Its sharp claws dug painfully into the soft flesh of Harry's arm but he ignored the discomfort in favour of tentatively stroking the creature's silky feathers. The bird seemed to enjoy the attention and leaned towards Harry - seeking further caresses.

Harry was abruptly broken free of his revelry by the sound of angry banging against glass. Surprised, he jolted his arm prompting the owl to fly smartly back to the relative safety of the fence. Uncle Vernon, red faced and irate, stood gesturing at the kitchen window. Reluctant to face his infuriated relative, Harry took a final lingering glance at the interesting bird and ran quickly back to the house.

The moment he stepped through the door Vernon grabbed Harry by his hair, yanking it painfully at the roots.

"Disgusting FREAK" screamed Vernon dragging Harry through to the hall, "what have I told you before about controlling your oddities!"

Harry didn't quite understand how the owls sudden arrival was his fault, his freakiness had definitely never attracted any kind of animal or bird before, but he was nevertheless relieved when his Uncle merely flung him viciously into his cupboard; a trip upstairs only meant dire lessons and the belt. Harry was unable however to stop his heart sinking as he heard the familiar clunks of the deadbolts on the outside of his door being flicked across – he was locked in.

Amongst all the commotion Harry did not even get a chance to notice the odd letter addressed to him in green ink lying on the doormat.

Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey

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!