Harry brushed away the cat hair which stuck on his knees when he stumbled from the fireplace and raised his head just in time to see Snape lands as if nothing happened.

"Potter, will you manage to handle yourself for twenty minutes?" The man asked. Harry wasn't sure whether should he take it as an insult or a mere question.

It seemed like his hesitation didn't matter to Snape, since he dove into the big, black leather Chesterfield, his hooked nose stabbing a grey cushion. Harry tried not to think about the time that he spilled raspberry juice on the very same pillow; it was the first time he'd ever tried it. Mrs. Figg felt sorry for him, since the Dursleys drove to a family vacation and left him behind with her. She allowed him to watch TV instead of listening to her rumblings about the seventeen cats which inhabited the wild apartment.

Something soft rubbed against his ankle and Harry's hand shot itself towards the noble, black cat. Her name was Meshi, or Beta, or something in between. Harry walked towards the bathroom, closing the door almost soundlessly.

Meshi followed him, slipping inside silently.

"You're a cute, nobble creature, aren't you?" Harry asked with a smile and sat down on the top of the lavatory seat. The cat eyed him suspiciously and began to sniff him, rubbing her fur all over his new pants.

"No, no, don't do that." He whispered. His hand tried to keep Meshi away from his feet. Instead, she began attacking the loose sleeve of his jacket. "Meshi, no! Snape will kill me!" he ordered softly and surprisingly the cat stopped, staring at him with big, yellow eyes, quizzing his sanity on account of the source of his new clothes.

"Well, I'm sane." He told her. "Refusing Snape is way more mental than accepting new clothes from him." Harry's nose wrinkled. "Although, now I owe him. I think. I don't like being in debt to people."

The cat glared at him and the familiar look made him snicker. "You know what? This shit about Snape being a bat is just a bunch of rubbish. He's just a big, feline shadow. I mean, you walk the same and glare similarly."

His face became gloomy. "I can't believe Snape is going to meet the Dursleys. He already knows much more than I've ever wanted anyone to know about them," Including myself, "and it will be pretty awkward. Why couldn't it be somebody else?" His fingers tangled in the hanged towel. "What if he will encourage them? Give them a new way to reach to me?" what if he tells them that I'm a murderer, that I've caused Cedric's death, that I'm the reason to the rise of my parents' killer? "And why I cannot feel sad for my cousin?!" the question was hurled to the air with desperation and Meshi flinched due to his tone.

And abruptly, just as the sadness and distress had appeared, they've banished and made place for a huge grin. "However, this day has one, huge benefit. The Dursleys are going to meet Snape."

Severus' nape still itched with the phantom feeling of missing curtains of hair. He was unveiled, vulnerable. His arms felt light without the familiar weight of his robes, which bear seven different defensive charms. He entrenched himself in the cool leather jacket and buried his nose into a cushion, diving into the first sofa he had seen.

Arabella Figg was out of her house, visiting a family member due to the upcoming Christmas. By some scales, two weeks were soon enough.

Despite his discomfort and the soring ache in his muscles from spending most of the previous night on a chair in the hospital wing, or perhaps due to them, Severus fell into a restless sleep for the twenty minutes he had.

The cat-smelly walls became trees, climbing all the way up to the sky. Severus glanced down on the Chesterfield, which now became a magic carpet.

"Magical Britain do have a handful of rules which are better without ignoring them bluntly." Severus remarked to his subconscious, which didn't seem to mind his desires nor thoughts. It was merely somewhere, afar and close concomitantly, doing its métier.

The carpet began rising in the air and Severus' hands clutched on the textile, clinging to it. He doesn't like flying, never did. What marked the beauty and freedom to some was the symbol for his humiliation. All of his slumps included this element; the first flying lesson, where Black almost broke his arm 'by mistake', his fight with Lily and the night in which he had taken the Dark Mark; shadowed by the hovering presence of the Dark Lord.

The rug was feeding on his inconvenience, rising faster and faster. It had stopped just before a branch of a cypress tree, which seemed barely solid enough to hold him.

Severus cursed his fate and carefully reached out with his foot to the branch. Then, stopping his breath, he leaped and caught the upper branch with his hands. Slowly but steadily, he began climbing the tree.

Each branch creaked harder and not once he had lost his grasp. The man missed the dreams of laying on the grass in the warm sun instead of climbing on a tree with sweaty palms.

When he had reached the halfway to the treetop, he heard a giggle, carried in the wind. On the tree next to him there was young Lily, swaying on a swing. She was about to jump any moment, just like she had always done. Only this time, she was approximately a hundred feet tall.

Instinctively, Severus ran to the end of the branch and almost leapt, but a soft sob caught his ears. It came from the treetop. He had narrowed his eyes and managed to see Harry Potter, curled into a ball.

The Slytherin stared at the happy girl.

Then at her son.

Then at the girl.

But she was long gone, wasn't she?

Severus should focus on the events on his life; he cannot allow himself to grief about the past, drown in it. Reality awaits. He had a goal now, and perhaps, it was a different goal than protecting Lily; keeping Harry Potter safe.

He stole one last look at his childhood best-friend and continued to climb, unable to watch her falling to her death. Once again, because he failed her.

Yet, once again, her sacrifice kept her son safe. And in some way, so did Severus'.

Even if it meant letting go of the past and climbing onto the top of the mountain, with James Potter's taunts and hackles and stupid flips under his tombstone.

Snape woke up exactly ten minutes before seven, and as far as Harry could tell he hadn't used any magical or muggle alarm clock. It was a disturbing yet cool trick.

 "Come, Henry." He crooked his finger. The name sounded strange on Snape's tongue. "Reality awaits." With those words, which sounded more like something that Dumbledore would say than Snape, he vanished through the door, leaving Harry to follow him.

"Bye, Meshi." He called as he left and Snape raised an eyebrow. "Making new friends, Henry?"

Harry nodded. "Strange name, isn't it?" Snape stridden quickly and Harry had to almost jog in order to keep up with him. The casual ability to see Snape's nape was troubling him, since he couldn't keep his eyes off.

And Snape would know. If Harry wasn't staring at his nape right now, he would've sworn that there were obsidian eyes over there, following his every move.

But there, in front of them, stood number four, Privet Drive. As polished and weeded as ever. For the first time, Harry wondered who does all of those chores when he's in Hogwarts. It was a hard job, especially for untrained people. They probably had to hire a gardener. No wonder the Dursleys' didn't want him to go.

A firm rap on the door cut his train of thoughts and Harry smirked. He wondered how long could Snape keep on the façade of Johnathan P.

"Good morning, Mr. Dursley." Snape said in a voice that bore a hint of some accent that Harry couldn't point out. "My name is Johnathan Prince – " Harry grinned. Wait until Hermione hears about it. " – and I've brought your cousin, Henry, back from the boarding school." Even with a different name, Snape made his disdain to Harry very obvious. Harry's smile erased itself.

It's exactly as I thought. Of course, the only wizard which will get along with Uncle Vernon is somebody with a common basis of hating Harry. Maybe they should open a club.

On the contrary, Vernon's smile widened. "You may call me Vernon." He handed Snape a buffy hand. "I think we'll get along very well. Come on in, my wife is giving a ride for the nurse."

Snape ignored the hand and swiped inside, Harry following him gloomily.

Vernon closed the door behind them. "Giving them trouble at the school, boy?" he asked, vindictively. Snape nodded with an exasperated sigh, slumping onto the couch. He looked quite ridiculous over there, mirroring Vernon's posture. While his Uncle's body filled the couch, Snape's slender thorax barely caught half of it. Yet, the man spread his knees and hands, putting them on the armrests.

He looked… dominant.

Harry went to stand near the fireplace, visibly nervous. A noise of a parking car was heard from the outside.

"Oh, it's my wife." Vernon explained to Snape. "Dudders!" he called and after half a minute Dudley was standing near the stairs, right across the room. Snape has dismissed himself in the meantime, saying something about using the loo. The puffed walk of Snape's persona was salient next to Dudley's loose stance.

"Straighten up, little solider." Snape remarked, cuffing Dudley lightly, then turned upstairs.

Harry's eyes continued to prob into Dudley's, trying to understand how could things go down the hill so quickly. He didn't need diet, anymore; he was half of his normal size, his own clothes baggy on him like his second hand, shrunk ones were on Harry. He had a bleak look upon his face and Harry recognized it; it was the look that hunted him in the mirror and in his sleep, every time he'd closed his eyes.

It was the sunk, defeatist look of a man who had seen death.

A boy who grew up too fast.

Petunia and the nurse entered, chattering lightly. Harry glanced at them, then at Vernon; they would never understand. As much as they'd try, as much as they'd want to. This is a feeling which can't be shared to the ones who hadn't seen death themselves. It was a burden for one person only.

For the first time in his life, and specifically since he had received the letters, Harry felt the tiniest twinge of empathy for his cousin.

Severus scratched his chin and scanned the upper floor, once again thanking for the invention of the indoors toilet, the best friend of the common spy. A marvelous justification to wander in a house.

His eyes scanned the doors, beginning to search for Potter's room. He wasn't sure what does he seek.

The series of six locks, which could never be a normal look on an inside door, was the clear sign to finish his combing. With a simple Alohomora the six locks clicked open one by one and Severus stepped into the unfamiliar chamber.

The first thing he noticed was the scent.