Severus Snape is a patient man, above all things. He may appear abrasive to many, snapping at all whom he might deem inferior, bothersome or just a plain waste of his time, but above all the preconceptions, he is patient. So he waits now. He sits in this detestable muggle abode and observes. He didn't bother transfiguring his robes into something that would ease the nerves of muggles, he felt no need to accommodate them, especially not after what he had learned.

This visit was both dreaded and anticipated, for all parties considered.

Not for the first, nor the last time, Severus cursed the oblivious fools at Hogwarts.

He cursed the man or woman who had come up with the system by which letters were sent out to children on their eleventh birthday.

Something had possessed him a few days back, his suspicions from the past year plagued his mind, and he found serenity was out of his reach, there was a need, a drive, to find out what had shaped one Hadrian Potter into the serpent that he was.

The brat was trouble, just not the kind he had been expecting.

So unlike his father. So unlike his mother. He only had their looks and nothing more, the rest was completely independent of whatever heritage in terms of physical appearance he had inherited from the two.

Again he cursed the idiot who made the Hogwarts Acceptance Letter System.

It had taken him a day to be brought out of his brooding before he ventured into that part of the castle. Even now, the quill glided in the air, spraying its inky residue across the parchment, informing the children, some pureblood, some muggleborn, and some in between, of their acceptance into Hogwarts.

The room served more than just that as its purpose, it was an archive as well, spacious enough to provide the needed room for the duplicates of every letter sent, and suffocating enough with the amount of letters one could find in it, so much that you could hardly believe a person could stand in it.

It didn't take long to find the letter he had come seeking, a basic summoning charm and in the Potions Masters hands rested the letter for Hadrian Potter. His first letter.

There were others, Severus noted, but the first one was the one that troubled him the most, that brought an unease to his being, and a light headache to his mind.

Little Whinging, Privet Drive 4, The Cupboard under the Stairs

Hadrian Potter

The words rested upon the parchment, silent in their accusation of the man that read them, as if he was the one that placed the child there. Had his stomach been weaker, he might have felt bile rising. Had his self-control lapsed, he might have done something unforgivable. So there he stood, inanimate, silent as the statues that littered the roof of the school, and no less threatening in his presence.

The rest of the day was spent in his private offices, hidden behind a portrait with the keyword known only to him and no other. Glass after glass, he poured the wretched liquid down his throat, not enjoying it, but only seeking to numb his mind. To numb it from going down the path that would bring forth more remorse and self-guilt, bubbling up towards the surface.

A path which would show him how Hadrian Potter had become one of his students.

The glass shattered on the stone wall of his room, his eyes wandering about it, as if it was an entirely unknown place to him. Distraction. He needed it, but none was provided. Locked in his office, and only eating some light meals that Hogwarts provided, he brooded, mused and pondered about what to do.

Already had the Headmaster approached him, the students having barely left the school, concern, false or true, he couldn't say, etched on his wrinkled face, the blue eyes subdued and lacking their distinctive twinkle, for he had come to talk to Severus about one of his students.

He received a scowl in reply before anything further was said, as Snape had been sure the old man had come to complain again about his House and how some of his students were less than amicable towards the other Houses, most likely Gryffindor. But then an eyebrow was arched up, as the Headmaster inquired about Hadrian Potter. He asked all that Severus knew, learned, about the boy, to be shared with him.

And then told him that he would be sent to check up on the brat.

A sneer was an appropriate reply as any other, for Severus didn't wish to reveal his suspicions about the brat to the Headmaster, who often tended not to see the trees for the forest.

"I worry, Severus, that he may do something drastic, something which he would regret later in life," Albus spoke with a solemn voice, walking by the Potions Master's side in the dungeon hallways, now completely bereft of students. "He had come to me, asking that he be allowed to stay at school during the summer. I naturally had to refuse the boy, but he would not relent."

"He seems to harbor... some negative feelings towards Lily's sister and her family. I was not told what the root of his problem with them are, but I suspect it's isolation. He has just come into our world, and he doesn't wish to go back to a place where he cannot do magic. It's a troubling situation, to say the least, especially with what I've learned from Rubeus last year."

"The boy had absconded on him in Gringotts, quite suddenly and quickly, I suspect the Goblins involved themselves a bit too much in the affair, and provided him with the means. I digress, however, from my purpose here. I worry, Severus, that the boy might try and leave the safety of the home that's provided for him, simply because it is not a magical home. I need you, as you are his Head of House, to check up on the boy, to see that he understands the need to learn to coexist with his family in peace."

Only reason why Severus Snape had not belittled the brat, then and there, in the Headmaster's presence, was because of his previous suspicions and preexisting intentions on seeing how the brat lived. And now, that letter confirmed the suspicions. It brought to mind the words that the rest of the Slytherins whispered in the common room, loud enough so that the portraits overheard, about the scars on the brat's body.

The recollection of the conversation faded away and he dragged himself off to his private potions cupboard, reaching into its insides for a potion. A modified cure for hangover, one of his own making, it needed to be imbibed before hangover had a chance to settle in, thus preventing the pesky morning-after effects of overindulging oneself with alcohol. Downing the vial's contents sent a chill throughout his body, before, finally, he retired for the night. Tomorrow was going to be a most peculiar day.

A near-silent pop signified the arrival of the Potions Master. Looking around the empty park, he made his way, slowly, and under several Notice-Me-Not charms of varying complexity, towards the house where he would find his student. The trouble was, he did not know in what state he would find him in. The words, those damnable words from that first letter, floated in the forefront of his mind. The emotions which they brought out were quickly shunted back beneath the surface, caging them so as to not make him slip when confronting the family.

Severus ran one hand over his robes, straightening them out before knocking on the door of the house that looked identical with every other house that he could see. Uniformity, monotony, content, that's what the whole neighbourhood was trying to convey to any who passed near it. Nothing unusual, nothing freakish, nothing but the normality of suburban family life.

The woman that opened the door after a minute of waiting could be none other than Petunia Dursley. The passing of years did not favor her, she was very much the opposite of wine, growing bitter as she aged more and more, her horse-like face abhorrent as ever. There was a look of recognition in her eyes once she took in the sight of the man standing in front of her, now open, door.

Severus took in her looks, her body posture, the way her pupils had dilated at the sight of him. Her chest puffed up for a moment, as if she wanted to scream at him, but then thought it over again, instantly deflating, but the look of... hate, fear? It was still there in her eyes.

Mentally rolling his eyes, Severus decided to put a stop to the woman's silence, "Hello, Petunia," he sneered at her, his voice heavy with inflection of disgust at having to pronounce her name. "It's been years. The term 'you haven't changed' might be appropriate for the moment, but some might mistake it for a compliment, so I'll refrain from doing so. Now, are you going to invite me in or shall I drop the spells," the word incurred a flinch on her face, "and allow your neighbors to see me standing in front of your house? Just imagine what they would say."

"Come in, Snape," she replied, tension in her voice.

When he did enter the house, he was struck by the oddest scent in the air. No doubt some kind of muggle way of keeping the air inside the house... fresh. Perhaps that was the intended result, but Snape's nose merely wrinkled at the lemony taint that permeated the air.

Going down the hallway, towards where he presumed the living room would be, he passed the stairs and glimpsed a small door, no doubt leading to the same cupboard that the letter was addressed to. His fingers, just barely, twitched as he asserted restraint on his thoughts.

He didn't bother with the pleasantries and simply told the woman that he was here to check up on Potter. She didn't bother with pleasantries either, merely told him that he was outside for the moment, but should be arriving any minute now. Thus he waited. And contemplated what might have happened in the household once Potter had returned from school, a mere week before. There was something going on, of that he was sure of. But what?

The stray thoughts were collected and placed in a corner of his mind, once he heard the front door opening and focused his gaze at the approaching figure. Who turned out to be Potter. The brat looked... different, in a manner of speaking. Nothing had changed physically about the boy since the last time he saw him at school, but there was caution in his step, while the blank mask he was so familiar with slipped over the face.

For the next half an hour, they talked. Not once did Severus ask the brat about his treatment by the Dursleys, not once did Potter bring it up himself. Instead, they talked about schoolwork, about school supplies for the next year, about summer homework, dancing about the truth of the Potions Master's presence here.

Neither was going to be direct about it. Severus inquired about whether he needed more nutrient potions, the boy simply replied 'No' and moved on from the topic. After that half an hour had passed, Severus was offered some mild refreshments, a drink or some treats, the latter declined, but the former accepted.

There was a puzzle here and Severus was missing some crucial pieces. During his talk with Potter, he had sensed Petunia's presence, just out of eye's reach. The problem wasn't that he sensed her, but what he sensed from her. Fear. Yes, her mind had fear present when she opened the door and saw him, but not like this. Whereas the fear had only been second to hate in his presence, the hate was almost diminutive in comparison to the fear that radiated off of her now.

Sometimes, it pained Severus to be a Master of the Mind Arts. When he was surrounded by those who knew very little of them, or very little of magic in this case, their thoughts tended to betray them. He didn't need to look them in the eyes to sense the emotions that swirled on the surface of their minds, for they had no self-control and their thoughts often contaminated the area. There was no question in his mind of what she was afraid of. His only concern was how had the brat done it.

Had he used magic, the Ministry would have detected it and they would have known about it. If he were honest with himself, he did not care how it was done, what mattered was that one of his students had adapted and survived. What mattered was that Albus Dumbledore will know nothing of the matter. He would be spun a tale, one he would instantly believe in, and he would leave the brat alone. For now.

'Something drastic indeed, Albus.'