The damn papers finally have gone through. However, June has past us by with July soon joining it. My son has lived with the wretched Dursleys for a month and a half. Granted, I've seen no signs of abuse on my son when he comes back from them, but the air of neglect certainly hangs around him. If only that son of a bitch Sirius Black not have murdered one of the damned Marauders days after the Dark Lord's downfall. If that had not happened, I would be fetching my son then from Grimmauld instead of that damned Privet Drive with those wretched Muggles.

Smoothing my black raincoat for the hundredth time, I walk towards the two-story complex in front of me after I apparate to the Muggle area. The weather is absolutely horrid and has been since the first. Seriously, it is almost as if we're encountering a monsoon these days. However, the rain is good for one thing. No one, if anyone is watching, can see who I am since the shadows are my friends. Glancing upstairs, I notice that all of the lights seem to be off. Perhaps the Dursleys and my son are having some sort of family night. I then scoff as I try to imagine Petunia entertaining anyone. The only thing she entertains people with is her likeness to a horse's ass.

Raising my hand, I rap my knuckle against the front door before taking a step back. When the door is thrown open a second later and a portly Muggle man in a pair of white boxers and a white tank top stands there glaring at me, I wonder for half a second if I have the wrong address. Tuney's annoying voice inside, however, informs me that I do in fact have the right house.

"Yeah, well, what do you want?" the Muggle snarls.

"I've come for Harry Potter." I watch the man instantly turn a violent shade of purple before one of his beefy hands grabs me and yanks me inside. Perhaps I have been mistaken all these years. Perhaps my son is being abused by these wretched Muggles. My eyes darken at this thought. If he has been, then it is my fault that he is.

"You're one of them freaks, aren't you?"

I cannot reign in my temper. The man is manhandling me and holding me against the wall. What else am I supposed to do? So brandishing my wand, I lean towards him, so we're nose to nose.

"I am the worst kind, Mr. Dursley," I hiss darkly. I nearly chuckle a second later when the man releases me and jumps back as if he's expect me to kill him right there. "Now, where is Potter?"

"Not in," Dursley responds stupidly.

I can see the falsehood in his face. I can't help it. This man is seriously starting to piss me off. I mean, this entire thing is only supposed to take a couple of minutes, if that. I take a step closer towards the portly Muggle, giving him my nastiest glare.

"You're lying, Dursley," I hiss in my deadliest voice.

"Finally come to collect your bastard son, have you, Snape?" a voice says behind me.

"Tuney, I thought I heard your obnoxiously nasal-sounding voice," I respond, glancing towards her. She still has that horse's ass face. She clearly hasn't changed much over the years. "You're still shrew as ever too, I see." I nearly chuckle at her brief look of outrage. She's still so easy to rile up.

"The boy's upstairs. Take him and then get the hell out of our house."

"And his things?" quietly I ask.

"They'll be down here for you take on your way out." She then whirls around, motioning with her head towards her husband that it is in his best interest to follow.

Once the Muggles are gone, I walk up the rickety stairs. Idly, I notice how my son is in none of the pictures on the walls. It is just Petunia, her fat-assed husband, and their son, who appears to be taking after his dad in becoming an elephant. I find the door that I guess is Harry's and knock softly. There is no response, which isn't all that surprising if one considers how the boy likely has lived here. Quietly opening the door, I walk into the darkened room, casting a minor Lumos.

I find my son huddled on his bed, all curled up into a ball as if he's in pain. I silently walk towards him and gently brush his hair back, an action that always helps soothe me. I feel the warmth from him immediately and swallow back a long list of curses I want to use on the Dursleys. The boy is clearly ill, and I see no signs of them even attempting to care for him.

"Shh, Harry, it's all right," I whisper, gently picking my child up to hold him against me. I expect him to wake and start to scream at me for doing this. But he doesn't. "It's time to go home."

Harry then whispers something, but I don't catch it. He is speaking too quietly for me to hear. He then inhales deeply, attempting to bury himself into my shoulder even more. "Dad," the boy repeats.

Even though I know the boy likely thinks that I am James Potter and not Severus Snape, my heart warms instantly at that one word. There is so much love spoken behind that declaration that I cannot help but close my eyes and press the boy tighter against me. This is my son, mine. I then have to remind myself that Harry is very sick as the boy moans in pain, and that it isn't because I've hurt him. I am terrified of hurting him. It is one of the many reasons why I have not collected him before now.

"Shh, Harry, everything will be all right now. You're safe."

"I know, Dad," the boy mumbles into my collarbone.

I cannot believe that I, Severus Snape the cold-hearted bastard of the dungeons, am coming apart because of the words of my twelve-year-old son who is likely suffering from fever-induced delusions. I mean, this is beyond absurd. Yes, I freely admit that I have dreamt about taking my son away for years. In fact, I have dreamt about this moment ever since I first gave him away that day in St. Mungo's after his birth. No matter what sort of father he is, jaded or otherwise, a father always has some amount of love in him for his child. As humans, we are just predisposed to this feeling of love. It goes away, yes, but it returns always. To be human is to love. I then snort. I sound like some idiot right now.

"Dad, can Snuffles come with us?" he mumbles, wrapping his arms tighter around my neck.

"Snuffles?" quietly I reply. "Who is Snuffles?" Can it be one of the boy's teddy bear? Glancing around the room, I do not see any such items, though. There are no toys. There is nothing.

"My dog," he answers weakly before coughing harshly.

I want to respond that he already has a dog, but I don't. I'm not going to separate my son from one of his few things that he can call his own. Waving my free arm to the room at large, I pack everything that is his. His drawings and Quidditch pennant hanging on the wall are carefully packed with his threadbare clothes in his backpack. I release his snowy owl Hedwig from her cage, banishing the window for her to fly out. With another flick of my wrist, the window reappears. I find it strange how none of his school things like textbooks, his trunk, or even his wand appear to be in his room. But I suppose the Dursleys believe that by locking those things up, they are then protecting themselves from him and his magic. I summon his bag, slipping my arm into the shoulder strap. Turning from the sight that greets me, I walk with Harry still in my arms out of the room. And those bastards call that a room. It is more like a prison cell to me.

Walking down the stairs, I wrap an arm to keep Harry from falling as I feel his grip slacken a bit. I cannot help but wonder about this dog Snuffles. Knowing Petunia as I do, I know that there is no way she knows about the dog. So Harry must have hid the dog somewhere, but where? Well, any good dog knows when its master is leaving. I have learned that over the years.

"Look at him," Petunia sneers, glaring at Harry's back. "Does he know, Snape? Does he know how you left him and my perfect sister? How when you found out she was pregnant you told her that you were done with her? Hmm, does your son know that?"

I just stare at her, knowing that my child is not hearing a word of this woman's spite-filled words that unfortunately contain a bit of harsh truth. What am I supposed to respond? Why, yes, Tuney, I have told my son about how I left his mother the exact second she informed me she was pregnant. I've even told him about how I called the woman I loved more than life itself a whore and that I've had better before I threw her out into the street.

"Are you listening, Potter? That man that you cling to so desperately slept with your mother just so he could ruin her life and marriage. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he drugged your mother with a series of those fertility potions just so she would end up having you. Oh, I know all about you, Snape."

I do not need to explain myself to anyone but my son. So I just continue to stare at her, not letting her nastiness affect me in the slightest. After all, in matters of these one has to consider the source. And if ever there is a bitch in the world, it surely is Petunia Evans-Dursley.

"Well? What do you think about that, Potter?" She then leans closer towards Harry, smirking nastily. "He likely even forced—"

Unable to control myself, my open hand smacks Petunia's face, causing the woman to release a shrill banshee-like cry. I grit my teeth instantly, scolding myself for hitting a woman. I am not Tobias.

"Get out! Get out of my house, you FREAK!" she roars. "And take your bastard son with you. We never asked for him or any of his kind. Take him and get out!"

"Gladly," I hiss, glaring at the woman.

"You never deserved her! You, the son of a drunk, never deserved my sister. She was better off with that damn Potter in my opinion. She was happier with him than she ever was with you."

"And since when did you give a damn about your sister, Tuney?"

"When she came crying to me in the middle of the night, saying you were done with her and that you never wanted to see her again. She was so distraught. She thought you loved her. Never in a million years did it cross her mind that you were just using her to create that boy for your master. You know, when I heard that my sister was dead, I knew. I knew you were the reason she was. The thing I still don't know, though, is why you left your bastard son to us. Isn't he what you wanted, Snape?"

I want to set her straight and explain my reasons to her, but I don't. I remain silent, holding my son against me and just staring at her. I can see that my non-reaction only manages to tick her off more.

"If you think that boy will love you, the man responsible for the deaths of his true parents, then you are dead wrong, Snape. He will hate you. He will wish you were dead. And when that occurs, I shall laugh my head off." She then pokes her finger into my free shoulder. "You cost my sister everything, Snape. It seems only fitting that you will lose everything in the end, too."

"Goodbye, Tuney," I hiss through clenched teeth. I then shrink and summon Harry's trunk, stuffing it into my trouser pocket. As I slam my free shoulder spitefully into Dursley on the way out, I feel the corners of my lips upturn slightly at the sounds of glass breaking. Dursley has bumped into a table, knocking over a vase and family photo that fall to the floor and shatter. Whistling as loudly as I can, I wait for half a moment, grimacing when a mangy old looking dog limps towards us. The dog growls towards me, baring his teeth, but instantly relaxes at the sound of Harry telling him to be good. "Come, Snuffles, unless you wish to remain here." The dog approaches, ever wary of me. I lean Harry over so he can run a small hand through the mangy mutt's coat. "Keep a good hold of him." I then close my eyes and apparate my sick son and his mangy mutt that desperately needs a bath home, our home.