Chapter 1 : Of Questions Best Left Unasked
If it hadn't been raining that afternoon, he would never have asked himself the question. And his life would have continued along it's weary path to a lonely & bitter old age. But it was raining, in fact it had been raining now for 5 days straight, so why was the child outside in this weather, hunched up beside the flower bed, digging up weeds, and where the blazes was his coat? Such a simple, logical question, but one whose answer would turn out to have such far-reaching consequences for so many people, not least the dark-visaged man sheltering under the oak tree on the corner of Privet Drive that wet August Bank Holiday Monday.
It had taken that devious old man's most persuasive smile, accompanied by the longest silence in history, to convince him to make the journey to Surrey that day. He had at least 1000 other things to do before term began, and wasting an entire afternoon (or even half an hour) checking up on the Brat Who Lived was positively the last thing he wished to do. This was all Mundungus Fletcher's fault! If he hadn't chosen today of all days to get arrested for accidentally blowing up the Minister's mother-in-law.....well, that was a story for another day and, as his mother was fond of saying "If ifs and ands were pots and pans, there'd be no need of tinkers".
So, despite his own personal feelings about the unnecessary nature of this task, here he was, in Little Whinging, checking to ensure that Little Prince Potter was being loved, cherished and no doubt spoiled beyond all bearing by his angular Aunt Petunia and her corpulent husband, Vernon Dursley.
However, the child he had been watching for the past half hour, as the rain slowly soaked through his long black robe, bore an uncanny resemblance not to the pampered prince he has expecting, but to a long-forgotten child whose family had provided more kicks than kisses. In short, this child reminded him painfully of himself at the same age, cold and tired, and no doubt hungry too, but afraid to go inside and leave his allotted task uncompleted.
But how could this be? What possible resemblance could there be between Harry James Potter, boy hero of the wizarding world and vanquisher of the Dark Lord, and Severus Tobias Snape, Hogwarts' hated & despised Potions Master, one-time follower of the Dark Lord & betrayer of all he had once held sacred. A betrayal brought about at such personal cost, to save the life of this very child, who now crouched shivering in the mud, trying vainly to wipe away a combination of rain, mucus & silent tears from his pale, thin little face. A face marred by the famous lightening-shaped scar which led from just above his left eye across the left side of his forehead. Had it not been for that tell-tale scar, and the mess of black hair that spoke so strongly of his paternal heritage, Snape might have been forgiven for refusing to believe that this mud-spattered boy was indeed the famous Harry Potter. And yet it really was the child he sought, and one glance had been enough to tell Snape that something was horribly wrong here in suburban Surrey.
So why did he not make a move? Why not approach the child and ask his question? Was it because he knew what the answer would be? That the truth, once finally confirmed, would forever shatter the cold comfort he had so desperately clung to in the guilt-ridden months and years since that terrible night in Godric's Hollow. Since his own weakness in the face of unendurable agony, his own failure to stand against the power of the Dark One, had cost the lives of this innocent child's parents, delivering him into the hands of his "loving" aunt & uncle.
Finally, with a heavy sense of foreboding, Snape took the short walk that led him from the relative comfort of his oak tree and his as yet half-formed suspicions, to stand at the child's side, squarely facing the crushing reality of his pitiful existence, and ask the fateful question ......
"Are you alright, child?"........
END OF CHAPTER ONE
