Harry hit the wall hard, throwing his arms out to prevent himself from falling to the ground.

"How dare you backtalk me, you little freak!" Uncle Vernon roared, grabbing him by his collar and jerking him back up, nose-to-nose with his giant purple face. The reek of booze was strong on Uncle Vernon's breath, and Harry cringed away from flecks of rancid spittle spraying across his features. If he was in a normal frame of mind, Harry would have known not to push his luck. But this summer had been anything but normal. Rage bubbled dangerously near the surface these days, an anger so dead and dry that even the smallest spark could cause a raging inferno.

"Get off me!" He bellowed, tearing at his uncle's plump sausage fingers. "Let go, or I'll… I'll –"

"You'll what?" Uncle Vernon sneered. "That freaky headmaster of yours sent me a letter explain all about your dear, departed, criminal godfather. There's no one left who gives a damn what I do to you, boy!"

Harry's eyes welled with angry tears. Uncle Vernon was right. Anyone remaining who cared a whit about him was either too young or too weak to change Harry's circumstances. If only he'd mastered Occlumency… If only he'd known… If only Sirius hadn't died.

Now he was personally responsible for the death of three innocent people. 'The Boy Who Lived'? He thought savagely. More like 'The Boy Who Gets His Loved Ones Killed'.

This last thought forced a single tear to leak from the corner of Harry's eye, and the sight seemed to please his uncle, who chuckled as he released the defeated boy. The mirth was still in his voice – as if he'd proudly won some great battle – when he said, "Your chores aren't done. Get back to work."

.:HP::SS:HP::SS:.

Down a dark alley across from Number 4, Privet Drive, a quiet crack! sounded within the shadows. Snape sneered as he saw that not a single blade of grass or window pane looked out of place in the muggle neighborhood. Unexpectedly the very air shimmered next to him, as if he were staring at a mirage. Suddenly the mirage cleared, becoming a solid mass of indignant Scottish tartan. McGonagall glared at him as the disillusionment charm was withdrawn, hands fisted angrily on her hips.

"It's about time you showed up, Severus."

Snape let a low growl escape his throat and sneered, "YesMinerva. Because I obviously have nothing better to do with my limited summer break than watch over The Golden Boy." McGonagall arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips, not appreciating his unconcealed dislike of the boy. Snape sighed. "If you must know, you insufferable woman, I was brewing more potion for the wolf."

"Wolfsbane? For Remus?"

It was Snape's turn to arch a brow. "Do you know many warewolves?" he asked coldly.

"No. But I do happen to know a great pest of a dungeon bat!"

Snape knew that was what both the students and teachers alike called him. He even embraced the reputation, for it kept the fools at bay and allowed him to live his life in peace. Most of the time, anyway.

"So… What mischief has The Chosen One been getting up to today? Underage drinking? Graffiti-ing the local park? Harassing his muggle relatives?"

"Believe it or not, Severus, unlike most teenage wizards, Harry doesn't seem to like causing trouble." She glared at him, as if daring him to say otherwise.

Snape narrowed his eyes at the witch. "When shall I expect Nymphadora?"

"Midnight. You know what to do if you need us." And with that, and another small crack! as she disapparated, McGonagall was gone.

It was not long after he'd cast his own disillusionment spell that the little dunderhead appeared, carrying a sponge and bucket full of cleaning supplies. Snape had not set eyes on Potter since the altercation in Dumbledore's office after the mutt had died. His blood boiled as he thought of the punch he had received from the boy. Anyone getting the upper hand on him raised his hackles, but the fact that it was Potter made it even worse. That had been the reasoning behind refusing this particular assignment all summer; in fact, he would not be here now if Shacklebolt hadn't had some pressing matter at the ministry and Dumbledore hadn't forced his hand.

He watched Potter drag himself to the hose and start spraying down the large sedan in the driveway. "Pouting, I see," Snape muttered disgustedly. Merlin forbid the child actually be expected to work during the summer.

The boy belongs in the muggle world, he thought sourly. There was nothing so extraordinary about Potter, with the exception of his scar, which the child arrogantly flouted every chance he got. Potter wasn't possessed of any remarkable magical talent, he wasn't particularly intelligent, and as far as Snape could tell, he was extremely lazy. I may as well have a slug for a student, with the amount of effort he gives in my classes.

An hour later, however, Snape grudgingly had to admit that Potter had done a decent job with the muggle contraption, considering it had all been done via manual labor instead of magic. Potter had thoroughly scrubbed, polished, and cleaned every inch of the ugly apparatus until it positively gleamed in the bright afternoon sun.

He watched as Potter walked heavily to the front door, pausing for a long moment with his hand on the doorknob. The boy looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else at that moment than exactly where he was.

Finally opening the door, Potter's voice lacked enthusiasm as he called, "Uncle Vernon. Your car is done."

The walrus of a man emerged a moment later, along with his whale of a son. The whale seemed positively gleeful. I've never seen a whale skip before, Snape thought as he made his way over to the car, stopping just beside it with an air of expectancy.

The elder Dursley was a bit more leisurely in his approach. His sky blue button down was currently unbuttoned and untucked, his white undershirt wet and stained around the neck with old sweat. He ambled over to the car, and Snape watched him take a long pull from an amber-colored bottle as he inspected Potter's work.

Then, with a sudden noise like an elephant, the man snorted deep in his throat, hacked the offending material into his mouth, and spat the great green glob directly onto the vehicle. Snape watched in revulsion as the blob slid down the side of the door like a garden slug, leaving great green smears of slime in its tracks.

"You missed a spot," Dursley chortled, taking another swig from his bottle. "Do it again." Father and son walked back into the house together, laughing at the young wizard's expense. Snape couldn't help but notice that, even with as much temper as he'd seen displayed at school, Potter hadn't reacted at all, almost as if he'd been expecting it…

It was hours later, as the sun was casting golden hues before its final descent that the boy seemed to finally finish the long list of chores he'd been set. So far he'd cleaned the car (again), swept and hosed down the walkway, taken apart and scoured the grill, mowed the lawn, weed whacked around the fences and mailbox, pruned the bushes, washed the windows, cleared out the gutters, edged the garden with an edging shovel, and replanted the flowers.

The whale had come back out while Potter had been mulching the new flower beds, dragging and kicking his feet through the small mounds. Potter didn't even try to stop him. By the time his fat cousin was done with his destruction, he was drenched in sweat and the mulch was everywhere but the flower beds. It was then that Petunia had brought out lemonade and a large bowl of ice cream to her son, scolding him gently for, "Overexerting himself." She glared down at the young wizard at her feet as she walked back into the house, as if daring him to ask if she'd brought anything out for him. He was happy to see the whale leave the house and make his down the street a short time later – presumably to get into trouble with his friends somewhere that his parent's couldn't see.

As Snape cast his fifth Aguamenti charm to refill his bottle a short time later, he noted that the family had never even brought Potter any water at the very least, seeing as the boy had been working out in the sun and it was an extremely hot day. Snape caught sight of the hose, laying disregarded in the grass behind Potter, and it suddenly shot to life with a stream of water, drenching the boy from behind.

"What the-!" But as Potter jumped onto the dancing hose to stop it's movements, he must have realized just how hot he was, for he stood in the flower beds and let the water run over his head for a moment before taking a few gulps out of the end. Turning off the spicket and replacing the hose to its rightful spot, a very wet Potter trudged wearily into the house.

But moments later, a feminine scream emanated from the open front door. "You filthy cretin! You're getting mud all over my floors!"

The scream was followed by an angry bellow a moment later. "Why you little bastard!"

It was the sound of a solid fist connecting with soft flesh and Potter yelping in pain that caught Snape's attention. More out of curiosity than anything else, he found himself walking across the road toward the open door.