Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.
A/N: Thank you for the great response! Here's the second section, and please, tell me what you think and what you'd like to see happen or think should happen next.
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Second Glance
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Ever since Severus's…enlightening…talk with the muggle grocer, he had caught himself watching Mr. Potter more often than usual. Certainly, he didn't go out of way to keep an eye on the teen, but, when he was forced to, he would catch himself thinking about Potter's home life and conjecturing on the possibilities. 'Knock' was a rather vague term, open to a variety of translations, he told himself.
Still, during his turns at 'guard duty,' he no longer spent so much time going over potions in his head or thinking up new and painful detentions for Gryffindors to serve once the school year began.
Instead, he tended to catch himself watching the boy as he worked outside, knelt over flowerbeds or reaching up to trim trees. At first, whenever he caught himself staring, he shook his head to clear it and went back to thinking of potions and surveying the surrounding area.
Gradually, though, he gave up trying to think about other things while on guard duty, and instead turned to the mystery at hand. He'd never seen anything in Potter's mind about his uncle hitting him. It just didn't…fit.
At least, that's what he told himself, he thought in a moment of sarcastic irony. He'd seen the brat's home life to some extent, and abuse was not much past what he had witnessed.
He'd seen multiple instances where Dudley Dursley had tormented his much smaller though not younger cousin, and never had he seen that any action had been taken against the boy.
In fact, he'd gotten the impression that Potter's relatives egged their son on, encouraging him to do what they could not.
Or perhaps they'd encouraged their son in order to have an excuse for any marks that they left on the boy. That possibility had not occurred to him until recently. He'd thought perhaps Potter was insolent or snobbish with his relatives, and they were happy to have someone that didn't stand for his arrogance. Or maybe it was some strange muggle form of humor. He hadn't known, hadn't cared, and hadn't thought much about it.
But now…now, he wondered. He did not like to be wrong about a situation, even if it was about someone he despised.
It just didn't make any sense, he told himself again. It just didn't mesh with what he knew of Potter's personality after five years, and it left him very unsure of the entire situation.
Of course, Potter showed no signs of physical abuse in any of the times that Severus observed him. The teen worked with a sheer determination that Severus had never seen applied to schoolwork. He weeded as if his life depended on it, planted new flowers with diligence and a great deal of attention to details, and did all of his other outdoor chores with the same painstaking care. Never once did Potter stop in his work during the day, except for perhaps ten minutes mid-morning in order to take a sip of water from the garden hose and wipe sweat from his face.
The boy was always back in the house at lunch, Severus assumed in order to do schoolwork and relax. He could not get within the house, obviously, so he did not have the chance to observe Potter's life after Mr. Dursley arrived home every evening.
Three weeks into the summer, he'd all but forgotten the grocer's comment, having chalked it up to another rumor about Potter that circulated about the small town of Little Whinging.
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That is, until late in July, perhaps a day or two before Potter's sixteenth birthday. Snape had, unluckily, drawn a late evening shift. It meant that he had been unable to really start any potions during the day, and it meant that he would have a late, late night. His replacement wasn't scheduled to arrive until one in the morning.
Irritated by the late hours and seeming waste of his time, he settled down into the brush that had apparently been reserved for 'Potter-watching' and pulled out some light reading material. He still kept his senses trained on the surroundings, just in case, but he very much doubted anything was going to happen.
At first, he didn't notice the shouts. He was busily flicking through a potions journal, perusing the topics idly while continually flicking his eyes over the surrounding area. He, unlike Fletcher, could never be called derelict in his duty.
But he was usually listening for footsteps or the swish of robes coming from somewhere on the property, somewhere outside of the home. So, the shatter of china from inside the Dursley residence took him by surprise. He was on his feet in an instant, hand on his wand.
The crash was followed almost immediately by muffled shouting, which he instantly realized had, in fact, been going on for some time. He had just managed to tune it out rather well.
The exact words were muffled well by the home's walls, but Snape caught a few. "Useless…freak…worthless…murderer…"
Severus had to assume that it was Mr. Dursley speaking in reference to Potter, though he could not be certain. That is, not until there was another shatter of china, a shout, and then the slamming of the back door.
He had just enough time to duck behind the brush better before Potter was suddenly and forcefully propelled through the now-open back door, followed rather quickly by his large uncle.
He watched Potter stumble over somewhat longer legs—thanks to a growth spurt the boy seemed to have finally gained some height. Somehow, Potter managed to keep his balance and then turn to face his uncle, fists clenched. His face, illuminated better by the porch light, was set in angry lines as he stared up at his uncle.
Obviously, Snape thought snidely, the teen had not grown enough.
Severus eyed the uncle critically. The man clearly had a rather large amount of weight on his nephew, along with several inches in height. "I'll not have your sullenness in my home, boy," the uncle snarled. The words were quieter—obviously, he didn't want to draw a crowd—but Severus could hear them quite clearly.
"I didn't ask to be put back here," Potter snapped back. "You're loving care is much too good for me," Potter spat angrily.
Severus was actually surprised at how fast the muggle man moved, and blinked just as Potter blinked, looking up from his new position on the ground. Severus hesitated to go forward, though, and instead watched as Potter stood up unsteadily, his glare returning. "You'll mind your mouth when speaking to me, boy!" Dursley snarled, left hand still raised.
Potter didn't back down. Stupid, Severus thought. He's going to get himself hit again.
He was shocked at his thoughts, actually. It reminded him very clearly of his own teen years—he had backed down numerous times from his rather violent father in order to avoid blows.
He watched Potter take a breath, and for a moment felt sure the teen was going to back away, admit defeat.
But then Potter looked up again, eyes glinting in the back porch's light. When he spoke, his voice was bursting with anger and resentment held barely in check.
"I do the chores I'm assigned," Potter said, obviously trying to keep his voice level and indifferent. "I work close to twelve hours a day doing everything you demand I do, and you know that I don't shirk. I haven't mentioned it to the Order, and I won't. But that doesn't mean that—"
The teen's words were cut off as another meaty fist slammed into his face, this time knocking him onto his side. Severus watched, more unsure by the minute, as Potter took longer to get to his feet, only to be knocked down once more by a hefty right hook.
But Potter just got up again, obviously bracing for another blow. "This is ridiculous," Potter hissed vehemently. "I have to stay here, and I'm sorry if—"
A fist sent him crashing to the ground once more.
For all his Quidditch reflexes, Snape thought, the teen didn't even try to duck the blows. He took each standing solidly on his two feet, even if he couldn't stay upright afterward. He could see it—every time Dursley swung, Potter's muscles tensed.
Why? Why was the teen taking the blows when he could dodge them?
Because it just makes them madder when you dodge, a voice in his head told him. A voice that had helped him live through his own childhood.
Potter got to his feet again, slightly unsteady after so many blows to his head, and Snape expected to see Dursley beat Potter back to the ground once more.
But Dursley looked around suddenly, as if realizing that they were outside where anyone could see, and then grabbed the boy by the collar of his large, worn-out shirt and dragged him bodily back through the door.
"You're going to learn the meaning of sorry, boy!"
The words made it to his ears bare moments before the door slammed shut.
Snape was left standing there in the brush, a surprised expression on his face.
He quickly came to a stunning realization.
He had no idea what to do. None at all. Should he call another member of the Order to deal with this? Should he go straight to Dumbledore? Or should he just wait and catch Potter at the Order's headquarters, when he came in early August?
A nasty little voice in the back of his mind piped up. Did he even care? This was Potter he was thinking about, the teen whose arrogance and sheer stupidity had irritated him constantly for years. If the boy had a problem, he should have told someone like Lupin or Dumbledore, who would give a damn.
Of course, perhaps the boy's trying to hide this from everyone, he countered in his mind. He certainly hadn't wanted anyone to know his father was borderline abusive.
But this was Potter…
The teen did not come back out of the house anytime before Severus's shift ended, and in the end he did nothing. Kingsley appeared out of the shadows at ten to one, and after verifying each other's identities, Snape walked away from the house on Privet Drive.
He would corner Potter at school, he told himself curtly, before disapparating away.
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A/N: Ah, Snape, so blinded by his hate of Harry. Just give him time, he'll come around. Maybe.
