Severus Snape stopped abruptly at the door to Number 4 Privet Drive—not that he would have known which house it was were there their no numbers on it. They all looked so mundane. Snape would have burst into tears were he that sort of a man.
He and the Headmaster were charged with retrieving the Potter brat, as Snape called him fondly. Er…hatefully…yes. Bringing a hand to knock on Potter's door, he waited, a scowl planted firmly on his face.
The door opened, and a horse-faced woman peered suspiciously out. She glanced at him for a mere second, completely ignoring the glare on his face. Snape nearly gaped. Instead, her gaze was immediately attracted by the Headmaster's vibrantly purple clothing with yellow moons and stars. She gasped.
"You…you—you are part of them!" she screeched, her high pitched voice tempting Snape to cover his ears. He barely held off a wince.
"Pet—"Dumbledore was rather rudely interrupted as the door slammed shut in his face. He sighed mournfully, popping a lemon drop into his mouth as he turned his eyes to Severus, the twinkle completely absent.
Snape would have glared—it was Dumbledore trying to do his twisted version of—what did they call it?—ah, yes, the dreaded "puppy eyes".
"Oh, alright, Albus, one moment," he rummaged around his pocket for his wand, brought it out, put a horribly menacing glare on his face reserved for only the most weak and infuriating of Hufflepuff first years, and muttered the incantation, "Alohamora."
As soon as the lock clicked, Snape moved to open it. However, he was astonished to find that the door was still locked. Muttering the incantation again, he was even more astounded to find that it remained locked. Sharing a glance with the Headmaster, Snape prepared to try again.
Behind the door, Petunia Dursley could hardly wipe the smug grin off her face as she turned the lock again after that infernal man attempted his freakish powers. Everytime he would do so, she merely locked the door again before he had a chance to open it.
Snape heard the small, barely audible click, and the faint feminine snicker behind the door and he growled, enraged. He tried again, intent on besting her in her—her display of childish wit had to be put to an end!
Albus Dumbledore stood back, completely bemused as his potions professor tried, in vain, to open the door before Petunia Dursley locked it again. He had to admit, while amusing at first, the fifty-fourth time this had been repeated was becoming rather boring. Popping another lemon drop in his mouth, he waited until Severus' uncharacteristic bout of patience came to an end.
Meanwhile, Harry, who was working in the garden at a leisurely pace after he had finally taken out that one weed which seemed to live only to torment him—and remind him uncannily of Voldemort—was broken out of his musings by an enraged yell. He would have otherwise ignored it, as his uncle tended to have anger management problems, but Harry swore that the shout sounded just like Snape.
His curiosity peaked, Harry got up, wiped his hands on his already dirty pants, and moved to the source of the sound—the front door. He stared, utterly baffled as he saw his feared potions master, repeatedly cast Alohamora at the door, failing to unlock it, then growl and try again. Dumbledore saw him, beckoned him over, and whispered to him, "They're at their sixty-seventh time now."
Harry pinched his arm rather painfully, and Dumbledore popped yet another lemon drop in his mouth, wishing wistfully that he had a camera on hand right now.