The Potions Master drew himself up and glowered down with such ferocity that Harry was hard pressed not to flinch away when he spat, "No. I did not. But I will brook no more of your disrespect. Now sit down!"

Harry sat.

"Now . . . you will tell me when exactly you discovered you could speak to snakes."

Trying to rein in his temper, Severus waited for the Brat to speak. His rage had a tendency to flare when something truly frightened him, though he would not admit to actually being frightened by the Brat. No, of course not. But it was rather . . . disconcerting to find that not only had the Boy Who Had Too Many Surprises Lurking Beneath His Scrawny, Tousled Exterior noticed what memories Severus was riffling through, but had then been able to expel him - a practiced and talented Legilimens - from his mind! Cheeky Brat! Severus should have been able to access those memories with no one the wiser, especially not the boy. He could have done it in his sleep! That he hadn't gotten away with it was almost more troubling than the memories themselves.

But it was worse than that. If the Brat had a natural talent at blocking his mind and shifting his memories around like he had done - as if he were playing Severus for the fool! - that was one thing. However, coupled with the Parseltongue Severus had heard spoken in the memory, which the Brat said only sounded like sibilant English to him, it was something else entirely. If he was somehow accessing two uncommon powers of the Dark Lord's . . . Well. It didn't bear thinking about. Not at this very moment, at least. Perhaps later. When he could get good and stinking drunk.

And the very worst of all . . . Severus had recognized the commanding voice that spoke Parseltongue in the boy's memory. Shivers, which he hoped were well masked as quivering rage, went up and down his spine. He was not ready for this!

Right now, though, he had a chairful of angry Savior of the Wizarding World, whose glare matched Severus' favorite one, almost perfectly. So he schooled his face to an expectant expression and lifted his eyebrows, to show the Brat that he was waiting. Patiently.

"I didn't know I was, sir," the boy grated out. "I told you, it just sounded like English, but like the person had a mouthful of sand or something."

"Have you spoken to snakes before?"

Potter considered, and Severus could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he decided whether or not to answer honestly. "Once. At the zoo."

Severus sneered. Horrible Muggle invention, the zoo, where brainless idiots threw food at monkeys, only to have it thrown back. Often with interest. "Well, Potter? What happened?"

"I was at the zoo. I talked to a snake. Then the glass disappeared and the snake got out."

With a frown Severus wondered, Accidental magic, too? He studied the boy in front of him. He was hiding something. "What else?"

Potter set his jaw. His eyes were twin emerald fires, challenging him, daring Severus to descend upon him like a wrathful god. "Nothing that concerns you."

Something personal then, and given his recent forays into the boy's mind, something to do with his relatives. Their reaction to the magic, perhaps? Yesterday, Potter had told him, in visible terror at the mere possibility of a home visit, that his relatives hated magic and wizards as well. Severus' eyes narrowed. "What did they do to you?"

"None of your business! I don't . . . I don't know what you were trying to prove, sneaking into my memories like that, but you can't just do that."

"Potter-" he started tightly, only to be interrupted.

"Severus Snape," the Bloody Baron said in a low, chilling voice. The ghost was not even looking at Severus, but at the Brat Who Lived to Torment Him, with an expression of almost awe. "I believe you have badgered this boy enough for one night. Your enthusiasm for the task has outweighed its usefulness."

"I believe you are sticking your nose in too far, Baron," Severus told him. "We still need to know what was said in Parseltongue. And since the boy is the perhaps the only one alive who knows it-"

"What do you mean Parseltongue?" Potter interrupted. "What's that?"

Severus was very unhappy about being interrupted. Twice! Thus his answer was little more than a snarl, "The power to talk to snakes, boy! What do you think we've been going on about?"

"How am I supposed to know? I never heard of this Parsel-thingy."

"Parseltongue," Severus said very slowly, as if speaking to a dimwitted dog. "It is considered a power directly linked to the line of Salazar Slytherin. There are-"

"The Salazar Slytherin?"

"Enough! No more interruptions! Sit still and be quiet and I will tell you what I can. Understood?"

Potter fell back in his chair, eyes wide and not quite so angry. "Yes, sir."

"Very well." With some effort, Severus reined in his temper again. "In the last thousand years, there have been very few known Parselmouths-" he held up a hand to shield himself from the inevitable interruption - "which is to say, those who can speak Parseltongue. Amongst those was the Dark Lord, whom you vanquished as a mere infant." He paused, letting that sink in.

"After he killed my parents," the boy muttered, looking away.

"Yes," Severus said heavily, his chest tight. God, Lily! "After that."

"And so you think he's back then. That he's the one who attacked me."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "I do not know. I believed it was inevitable that he would return . . . but I do not know how he could have come within the walls of Hogwarts already."

"Maybe someone let him in."

"Of course they did, you silly child. The question is who."

"Someone who knows a lot of hexes and counter curses, I'd think."

Severus glared at the boy. "Why?"

"Because the one speaking Parseltongue wasn't the same person who cast some of the other spells. Didn't you . . ." Potter shrugged. "No, I guess you couldn't tell. Their voices were totally different."

Wasn't the same person . . . ? Possession, perhaps? Was one of the staff members possessed? The height of irony, if so, a Baron-possessed Potter fighting off a Dark Lord-possessed somebody. For a little while, he thought about the memory, dissecting it piece by piece, and realized he did not recognize the voice of the non-Parselmouth. Damnit!

His gaze went back to the Bloody Baron, who was now regarding him, in turn. Severus drew a long breath. Though he was loathe to ask any boon from the ghost, he had to admit the Baron was simply swimming in knowledge of the kind Severus had little understanding of. "What do you think?"

The Baron favored him with a grim smile. "I think you should walk the child back to his dorm, as it is late, and he is tired. Then you should let me see his memory. I may pick up something you and the Headmaster miss."

"I am not done with him, as I said."

"And yet he is done with you." The Baron gestured to the boy, who was resting his head on his arms on a desk, eyes closed. The tension lines in his forehead were less pronounced in sleep, but still there. And his hands were clenched tight into fists, as if he were fighting some sort of inner battle. He did not appear to be dreaming, however.

Severus watched him for a few minutes, and felt suddenly very old, and very tired. This eleven-year-old boy had already faced down the Dark Lord twice - if it were him, indeed, who had attacked on Friday night - and lived to tell the tale. No one else in the world could boast as much. And yet . . . the boy did not boast. He was full of bravado, to be sure, but Severus saw through that tactic all too well - his own form of defense was often sarcastic vitriol, but he occasionally used the other when necessary. He knew it for the front it was, a mask the boy pulled over his face in order to stand up to threats, so he would not be seen as weak. Severus was sure of it, as sure as he was that the boy's relatives were abusing him.

And wasn't that a fine kettle of murtlap. The icon of the Wizarding World, starved, beaten and locked in a closet. It disgusted him, and enraged him, and he was going to have to make sure someone went with him before he visited the Dursleys, or he would not be responsible for his behavior.

"Very well," he said at last, and the Baron gave a grunt of acknowledgement. "But only because he is in no shape to make rational observations or remember things properly. Tomorrow I shall require him to tell me more of this damnable ability he has to manipulate his mind away from mine."

"Got your knickers in a twist, did he?"

Severus glared at the smiling ghost, then sighed and woke the boy - gently! He was turning into a bloody nursemaid. The boy roused with a jerk, and an instinctual hunch of his shoulders, and Severus gnashed his teeth. "Time for bed, Potter," he said quietly.

Potter sat up all the way and wiped drool from his cheek with the edge of his robe. His posture was still tense as he said, "Sorry, sir."

"Don't be. I will walk you back to the dorms; it's after curfew already."

"Yes, sir." The boy straightened his robes, and didn't meet his eyes on the trip back.

At the portrait, he said, "Tomorrow, Potter. Seven o'clock sharp."

Potter sighed, but nodded with a, "Yes, sir. Good night."

Once more, Severus waited till the portrait door was closed before he responded. "Sleep well, Harry."

---

The next day, Severus made time to meet with Potter's relatives, at least in part because otherwise he would have to wait until the weekend, and he didn't want to wait that long. Unfortunately for them, no one was available to watch his . . . back. The Dursleys would just have to live - or not - with the consequences, if they antagonized him further.

Shortly after his last class, he walked down to Hogsmeade then Apparated to Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, where his reports had that Potter lived. The neighborhood was one of those with perfect lawns and perfectly matched window boxes and identical vehicles in every drive. The monotony gave him a headache. Number Four was the same boxy structure as all the others, this one painted off-yellow instead of off-blue or off-white or off-green; all the houses were one of these colors or another. The vehicle in their drive was a four door silver something or other.

After a swish of wand over his clothes rendered his appearance to that of a staid Muggle businessman, he made his way up the narrow walk to the Dursley's front door and knocked. Twice.

There was a longish pause, in which he made himself practice deep breathing exercises - which would have been good for his temper if not for the fumes of those blasted Muggle factories and cars fouling the air - so as to not begin on the wrong foot with this lot. Finally, he heard a sound like a herd of wild hippogriffs thundering toward the door, and he moved quickly to the side so as to avoid being trampled.

Something flung open the door at that moment, and he stared into the soft, pudgy face of a giant slug . . . with arms. It had slicked back hair and a scowl and its skin was alarmingly pink and perspiring, as if coming to open the door had required all its strength and fortitude.

"What do you want then?" it asked, sounding human, except for the inexcusable rudeness, and Severus finally recognized it from his delving, as the cousin Potter had mentioned as being one of his primary tormentors.

"Are your parents at home?" he asked the Slug . . . Dudley, he recalled. There was only a thin trace in his voice of the disgust he felt for having to ask this creature anything. "I would like to meet with them."

"Mum!" the Slug hollered without even turning around. The sound of his squawk filled the street behind Severus. "Someone at the door for you!"

Severus resisted the urge to stick fingers in his ears to stave off deafness, and was glad he had resisted when the Slug attempted to slam the door in his face without inviting him in. Using a foot, and a forearm, Severus kept the door from closing. When he opened it wide again, he saw that the Slug was gone. From the thundering sounds coming from what appeared to be a sitting room off to the side of the entryway, it had gone in there.

A long-necked horsey-faced woman, wiping her hands on a towel, emerged from the kitchen, which was straight down the hall past a set of stairs to the second level. Petunia. The years had not been kind to her. She scowled at him immediately. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was pitched low, and she glanced involuntarily at the sitting room. "We don't want your sort here."

"That is abundantly clear, Madam," Severus said. "Nevertheless, as I am the Head of House for your nephew, at his school, I have a certain-"

"Shhhh," she hissed with another glance at the sitting room, where Severus could hear a television blaring. "Don't say anything more about it. Just get out and leave us alone. If he's making a mess of things as usual, it's your problem now, not ours."

"I beg to differ. He will still return at the end of the spring term, and you will have his care each summer until September first."

Petunia pursed her lips and natural color bloomed on her heavily rouged cheeks. "What do you want then?"

Ah, the womb from whence the Slug's manners were born. "I have come to discuss Harry, as his Head of House. I visit the families of all my first year students." He paused, quirked an eyebrow. "Did you not receive the owls, requesting an appointment?"

"No," she lied, badly. "We're a normal family here, now that he's gone, and do not let owls deliver the post!"

Putting a damper on his simmering temper, Severus sneered. "Ah, yes, I heard about the debacle with regards to your nephew's Hogwarts letter. You should have just let him read it, and avoided all that unpleasantness."

"You," Petunia spat, "will not tell me what to do in my own house."

"I would not dream of it." He bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile. "Is your husband at home? I should not like to repeat myself."

Her eyes narrowed, even as she paled. "He's busy."

"As am I. And yet, I came all the way out here, just to speak with you."

"About the boy." The loathing in that one word set Severus' teeth on edge.

"Indeed. Please let him know I am here." It hurt his jaw to be polite with this creature, who he remembered not at all fondly from his youth, and who seemed intent on giving him insult. And yet, for Potter's sake, he made sure his tone was absolutely correct, so they could find no fault with their nephew because of him.

Her complexion worsened, turning a fine shade of paste, as if she actually feared to do as Severus requested. Did Dursley run his household with an iron fist? From the boy's memories, he was almost sure the man did. "You can say whatever you need to, to me. Vernon is not available."

But her protests fell down altogether, as a heavy tread from the sitting room announced the arrival of, not the Slug, but the Slug's father. Vernon Dursley was almost as wide as he was tall, which was taller than Severus himself, and his face was already heading toward the purple color Severus had viewed in Potter's memory. Looking at him, he could tell that this beast was quick to anger, and once riled, would require a Stupefy, at least, to get him to back down. Severus was looking forward to it. Almost.

He would have done so wholeheartedly, if he knew for certain that Potter would not need to return to this household. But since he had no idea, really, if that were going to be possible, he had to watch his step. . . . no matter how much he wanted not to. The boy would not be able to use magic in the summer, except if his actual life was in danger, and Severus did not want him to set up a situation in which the boy would be forced to choose safety over Ministry censure.

"Pet?" the man said, frowning. "What's all this then? Did I hear mention of that place?"

Oh, for the love of Merlin, could they not even stand the idea of saying Hogwarts, or magic or any of it? Severus moved one step forward and gave a small nod of his head. It appeared Petunia would not introduce him. "Good evening, Mr. Dursley. Severus Snape, Potions Master. I mentioned Hogwarts. The school your nephew, Harry Potter, attends." He was interested to see how long the two of them could go without using Potter's name.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say," Dursley growled. A dark glint lit his piggish eyes. "Is he giving you trouble then? I knew he would. Boy's as nasty as they come."

Severus gritted his teeth. They were still standing in the entry way, and no one had even given a hint that they might treat him as a guest by offering him a seat or tea. Philistines. "He is not, in fact, giving us any trouble. As I was explaining to your darling wife a moment ago, I visit the homes of all my first year students, to see what their individual needs might be when they arrive in the Wizarding World."

"Don't you say that word in my house!" Dursley all but shouted. Quick to anger, indeed.

"Which one?" Severus asked innocently. "World?"

"You bloody well know which one! I'll not have it! We put up with that boy's freakish ways for ten years. Ten years! Taking food out of our Dudley's mouth, and clothes off his back, and this is the thanks we get? No respect at all, and in my own home! We're well rid of that freak, and you can just shove him on someone else for a change!"

Severus glanced at Petunia who was paler still, if possible. "I do believe, Mr. Dursley, that there was an agreement reached when the Potter boy was taken into your home ten years ago."

"We were hoodwinked! The boy's been nothing but trouble since the day he darkened our door. Nothing but a nuisance and a danger to my whole family! We finally got rid of Dudders' tail," Dursley jabbed a sausage of a finger into Severus' chest, "which was all that freak's fault. And no one came to pay recompense, either, for our poor son's suffering! Freaks, drunkards, and bastards, the lot of you."

There was a limit to Severus' patience at the best of times, and this was not one of those times. He had spent years in abject servitude to one of the most feared and reviled of maniacs in the history of Wizardom, and he knew his way around the pompous and blustery. Half of the Death Eaters were just like this Vernon, so sure of themselves and their particular view of the world that they would pay no heed to a giant squid if it landed on their face. So ready to lay blame on others, and shout their way out of any situation which made them question the tenets they held so dear.

He loathed such creatures.

He loathed this man.

With his left hand, he grabbed the man's finger as it reared back to jab him again, and squeezed. Hard. Dursley tried to rescue his digit, but Severus had years of such near-constant muscle-toning activities as stirring and chopping on his side, as well as keeping himself fit through sparring when he could. He was willing to bet this man had not seen his own muscles in a decade. Bending the forefinger back, he snarled, "You will keep a civil tongue in your mouth, Dursley, or I will carve it out myself and feed it to worms."

Sweat broke out on Dursley's brow. His bushy mustache trembled. He wrenched at his hand, trying to get back his finger. A little more wriggling, and the man would break his own finger with no assistance from Severus.

Severus bent the offending finger a little more, until the man whined in pain. "Do I have your attention?" He glanced out of the corner of his eye to make sure Petunia was still where she'd stopped before. She was, and was gaping at the display with her mouth opened wider than any first year at their first Halloween Feast.

"Ungh," said Dursley, knees almost buckling.

"Good. Because I will not repeat myself again. Harry Potter is your nephew. I am his Professor. I will ask you several questions about him, and you will answer, completely and honestly, or we will have to repeat this particular lesson until you do. Am I clear?"

"Mmmph."

"Excellent." He glanced over he man's shoulder. "I believe the sitting room will be much more comfortable for our conversation than the entryway. Don't you agree?"

"Ugghn-huh."

"Then pray, lead on." Severus proceeded to let Dursley lead them into the sitting room by the simple expedient of shoving him backwards towards it, keeping a firm grip on the man's meaty finger. Once inside the small room - dominated by a television, a large couch, two recliners, a fireplace and a Slug - Severus pushed Dursley onto the couch and sneered as he released the man's digit. "Perhaps Petunia would be so kind as to bring tea?"

Petunia, hovering by the doorway, jumped at the sound of her name and looked more sour than ever, but she gave a curt nod and disappeared, towards the kitchen, one might hope.

Oddly, the Slug was curled up, wide eyed and petrified, on the other end of the couch from his father, and was clutching his bottom as if it might catch fire . . . oh, Dursley had said something about a tail. Severus suppressed a snicker and looked around the room, taking in the gaudy knickknacks and unmoving pictures of this horrific family, noting that there was not one of Lily or James or even Harry, who had supposedly lived here for ten years. Instead, the walls seemed almost entirely devoted to the Slug, with a few of his parents mixed in for variety. There was no sign at all, in fact, that the Potter boy lived here, or ever had.

"Now," he said, settling into one of the recliners - though not reclined - once Petunia had returned, "Pray tell me about Mr. Potter's primary schooling. In what subjects did he excel? Which ones were more troublesome?"

Dudley, apparently done with arse gripping, snorted an ugly laugh. "Freaky Potty? He's a dunce. Couldn't spell his own name right if you gave him twenty quid."

"That's right, Dudders," Dursley said, nodding. "The boy never could get grades like yours. Always making excuses for his homework not getting done or cutting classes. Stupid freak, just like his father. Always getting in trouble, too, with his freak displays and . . . ."

Severus tuned the man out as he prattled on. This was getting him nowhere. He knew for a fact that the boy wasn't stupid, having seen first hand a well-reasoned essay that spoke to the contrary, and he knew all the rest of his usual questions would be met with the same lies and scorn. He could not imagine this was what Lily had in mind for her son.

There were only a couple things he could do at this point, to try and salvage whatever he could of this abysmal visit, and he was far better versed at one than the other. Besides, while torturing this lot held a certain vicious appeal, there was always the tedious clean up afterwards, and the chance Aurors might be called to the scene. Thus, while Dursley built up a good head of steam on a topic close to his heart - that of the utter worthlessness of his nephew - Severus surreptitiously slid his wand into his hand from the sleeve of his business suit coat, and cast a non-verbal Legilimens.

---

More than an hour later, sick and tired and ready to collapse, having Legilimized all three Muggles, Severus then Obliviated them, replacing the memories of his visit with a pleasant evening in front of the telly, but adding in a particularly nasty nightmare curse for spite. Then he Apparated to Hogsmeade and made the long, exhausting trek back to the castle. He considered cancelling his detention with the boy tonight, but they really needed the translation of the Parseltongue, as it might give a clue as to who had been with the Dark Lord during the attack.

Perhaps, though, he should just have the Baron talk to Potter while the boy prepared more potion ingredients. The ghost seemed far better able to deal with the child - or was more consistent with him, at least - and Severus knew he was likely to be short and snappish this evening, even without Potter's temper thrown into the mix.

Yes, that would work. And it would have the added benefit of freeing Severus to visit the Headmaster and show him a few home truths.