Snivellus was standing in the middle of what looked to be a very poorly-decorated bedroom, glaring at something on the wall. At once curious, James crept forward and peered through the crack between the door and the wall. He watched as the other boy began to tidy up, throwing books and tatty bits of parchment and clothing onto the bed and stuffing them into the drawer of a small bedside table. How anyone could possibly survive in such an environment was beyond James. As far back as he could remember, his mother had always been obsessed with keeping a spotless house.

"Well, Eli does quite a bit of independent contracting with the ministry..." Her voice carried from upstairs, nervous and shrill. She was clearly as uncomfortable in this place as he was. Good old Mum. As predictable as the morning paper, she was, and haughty to boot when it came to it.

James returned his attention to the door, a cool smile playing at the corners of his mouth."Let's see what Snivelly's up to," he murmured to himself as he burst into the tiny room. Snape jumped back in surprise, his black eyes glittering with malice.

"You're not supposed to be up here," he snarled. "Get out right now! Get out of here!" He charged forward, attempting to force the smirking boy in front of him into the dimly-lit hallway. Snape's slender frame, however, was no match for James' wiry Chaser's build. He was repelled backwards and onto the bed, his back colliding painfully with the corner of a book on deadly poisons.

"Nice place," James sneered, glancing round arrogantly. The once white paint was peeling from the ceiling and walls. The bed was old and rickety, its painted white metal frame chipped, and one of the knobs from the footboard was missing. A solitary screw stood in its place. He took some time to notice a spell-o-taped crack in the single window, the rickety bedside table and neatly stacked clothes beneath it, the cauldron bubbling along merrily in the far corner. "Homey."

Snape all but threw himself from the narrow bed in the centre, his crooked nose flaring at the nostrils. "Get out," he snarled. He couldn't stand the thought of that person - that thing - standing in the middle of his postage stamp room, taunting him. It was no palace, nothing to what James-Bloody-Potter was used to, but Snape had lived there all of his life. He didn't enjoy life on Spinner's End, and he most certainly wasn't fond of his room, but he felt obligated to defend it. He had to defend it. It was the only thing he had left. That, and his books. "This is what you want, is it? I can see it in your eyes. You can't wait until holidays are over, until you can get back to that bleeding school and tell everyone about Snivelly's dump of a house. It'll be one more joke you can add to, right? The Half-Blooded arse with the trashy muggle father and the run-down house and the chipping, peeling room that couldn't even compare to the rubbish bin in Potter's kitchen." His near-skeletal frame seemed to expand as he took a step towards James, who had shrunk back despite himself, and expelled, "I'll tell you one last time to get out of my room!"

More out of shock than anything else, James stayed where he was. How could he respond to that? It was true. He was going to make jokes. He had been planning on telling Sirius and Remus and Peter and having a lovely laugh about it all, trashy Muggle father and chipping paint included. He had banked entirely on whinging to Lily about surviving in the disgusting house, but he wouldn't have pushed it beyond that. He had promised Lily not to publicly humiliate Snivellus when it was unnecessary, and she would most likely have seen this as unnecessary.

But, there was no way he was going to admit to any of that in front of Snivellus Snape. Pulling a retort at random from the top of his head, James shot back coolly, "I'm not the one with the prejudice against muggle-borns." He rather enjoyed the rosy colour Snape's pallid skin took on in reaction.

"GET OUT!" The first book came flying. It was an small, colourful muggle book, something Severus had stolen from the local library as a child. "GET OUT OF MY ROOM!" The next book, a herbology encyclopaedia, smashed into Potter's stomach. Severus watched with satisfaction as he scrambled for the door, but not enough to stop him hurling the next book—a romance novel some girl had slipped into his bag as a joke. He'd been meaning to burn that one anyway. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" The book narrowly missed Potter's head. Severus glanced round, disappointed to find nothing else that he could risk throwing. Pity. "TAKE YOUR BLOODY PARENTS AND LEAVE THIS INSTANT! WE DON'T WANT YOU HERE, AND WE CERTAINLY DON'T NEED YOU HERE!"

He followed Potter down the stairs, accentuating each step with a screamed insult or an order to leave. "Blimey, take the starch out of your robes, will you?" James cried, launching himself into the hallway. "Calm down, calm down. I'm going! See?" They had stumbled upon the shabby parlour. All three adults shot to attention eagerly, relieved, as it were, for the welcome interruption.

"James! James, sit down! Apologise to the boy!. Remember why we're here," Mrs Potter threatened, pointing to a panting Severus. The boy was all-but collapsed against the wall, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"Mum..." James protested weakly, but he knew it was no use. His mum would never understand the hate/hate relationship between James and "Snivellus". "Sorry, Sniv—mate. Got a bit carried away, you know?" That was the best his mum would get. Snape glared. Tobias stared longingly at the blank screen of the television.

"He really is sorry, dear," Mrs Potter tried, but quieted herself at the filthy look she received for her effort.

"It's fine," Snape snapped. There was no way in hell he would apologise for throwing his books. It was Potter that was wrong, Potter that was always wrong. He moved to sit beside his father, ignoring the Potters as a whole. The sooner they left, the better in Severus's mind. He didn't want them there, no matter what the headmaster said it would accomplish. The headmaster was on Potter's side anyway. He always had been, always would be, as far as Severus was concerned. Gryffindors stood up for other Gryffindors, and he could have accepted that, if they'd have let him alone.

"So," Mr Potter cut in boldly, "what does your wife do?"

"She's dead," answered Snape, his tone clipped. "Eileen passed three months ago. Some blasted wizard-thing. Chemisty and whatnot. Sev would know all about that, wouldn't you, boy?"

Severus shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the sudden attention. "My mother had a penchant for potions." He raised his chin proudly. Just as father has a penchant for his liquor. "She was working with highly volatile substances. Annihilated half an acre of land not far from here." He sniffed, as though somehow blaming his mother for blowing herself up. Everyone else called it an accident, but Severus was clever enough not to believe such foolishness. His mother was an exceptionally talented witch, something she had passed on to Severus; he knew there was no way she could have possibly created that much accidental damage while making a simple sleeping draught. His father, however, knew nothing of 'that chemistry business' and was quite convinced by 'Eileen's accident'.

"I'm very sorry," Mrs Potter said softly, her eyes shining with pity. She was swooning for this boy, James sensed, and stomped his foot to break the silence that had settled round Snape's confession.

Severus sneered and buried himself deeper into the worn armchair. He didn't need her motherly compassion, her pathetic pity. The word 'pity' did not exist in Severus Snape's rather broad vocabulary. Indeed, he found it an insult to have someone like Potter's mother flashing him comforting smiles, no doubt thinking she was doing something right by this poor, misguided little half-blood boy. That was what it was really about, wasn't it? Superiority. Theirs over him. He sneered at the idea of it.

This was James Potter's way of showing of his perfect, pampered life. He had nice, respectable pure-blood parents, a decent amount of money, popular friends, good looks, considerable Quidditch abilities, and, judging by the way his nose wrinkled as he judged the décor, a fairly decent home to go back to; Severus could only hope that he went back soon.

"Thirsty, are you?" Tobias Snape wrinkled his nose, rubbing a grease-stained hand on his already oily t-shirt. He was not looking at the Potters, but rather at the vacant television."Fetch 'em sommink to drink, Sev. We've got a beer or two, still."

Mrs Potter started, her face turning a lovely shade of lilac. "Oh, no, really..." she began as Severus rose to his feet.

"That'll be quite all right, thank you," Mr Potter continued, glancing nervously at his wife.

"I'll have one." For the first time, James was interested, eager even. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair, shooting Severus a plastered-on grin that the other boy knew only too well.

"Of course you will," Severus snapped, more to himself than anyone. He was sick of this meeting. How much longer could they make this last, and why the hell did he have to serve the two people he absolutely loathed? Why couldn't his bloody father get up off his fat ass for a change and get something for himself?

"Oi!" Tobias reached out lazily, smacking his son across the head, hard. Mrs Potter flinched, clutching her husband's hand and using her free one to stroke James's hair until he pushed her away.

"You want that bloody headmaster of yours sending more people here, do you?" snarled Tobias, giving the boy a hard glare. Oddly enough, James thought, Snape's own Death Glare was by far worse than his father's, and at least two times as frightening.

"No, sir," the boy replied dully, staring at the floor. Mrs Potter took the opportunity to shoot him another dewy-eyed glance, which, fortunately, he missed.

"Then you'll keep your bleeding mouth shut, and do as your told! Off you trot, and bring out another two 'case they change their minds, see?"Gesturing the Potters vaguely, Tobias continued with gusto, "Wot you waiting for, then? Get on wiv it, you nasty little slime-ball."

Slime-ball.

Wasn't that was Padfoot had just called Snivellus not a week ago? James shook his head, not quite sure how to react to the scene that was playing out before him. On the one hand, his head was telling him to take it lightly and share with his friends what had happened so they could have a good laugh, which was what he had promised he would do. On the other hand, something inside him said that none of this was funny. His jokes at school were relatively harmless, but laughing at this? Especially when his mum looked like she was about to adopt the greasy git on the spot? It felt surprisingly wrong.

"We really didn't need drinks, you know..." Mrs Potter smiled pleasantly, patting her styled brown hair. Mr Potter was silently drumming his fingers on his pressed slacks, apparently having decided it was best to let his wife do all of the talking.

"I did," James spoke up.

Tobias had taken a disliking to the spoilt nature of the Potter boy the minute he met him, but he had been watching the lad, and he was starting to feel the burn of jealousy rearing its angry, green head. How the hell did two stiffs like the Potters find themselves blessed with a well-built, good-looking kid, while he was stuck with scrawny, bookish Severus, the boy who's only purpose seemed to be giving him grey hairs? If only Sev hadn't taken after Eileen so much. Some people got lucky, he decided glumly, his shoulders falling slightly; meanwhile, he was landed with a sullen freak who spent far too much time reading his damn magic books (no doubt trying to find a way to do his own father in).

"Hurry up, Sev! We're half dying of thirst out here, you great skulking skeleton!"

Severus appeared as if out of midair, half a dozen bottled of beer floating in front of him while he held his wand out, much like a conductor leading an orchestra. A vein in his temple was working furiously. He dropped the bottles unceremoniously onto the coffee table, throwing one contemptuously to Potter who caught it out of the air without even looking up. Severus could feel his father's eyes on the other boy and couldn't help but feel a surge of anger pulsing through his veins. Did sodding Potter have to take everything? First it was his mum's potion vials, then the Transfiguration textbook, which cost quite a sum as it was, but then it was his bag, then his dignity (and Lily, he thought with a nauseous little flop in his stomach), and now he was stealing Tobias.

"Toss me one, Sev," Tobias grunted, eyeing his son disdainfully. "And mind you don't spill. I've only just had the floors mopped up."

And only because I had to mop them, Severus thought furiously, taking a deep gulp from his bottle. He couldn't wait until he got out of this house.

Severus Snape had his life all planned out. He'd worked it out on a rainy day when he was seven. His parents were going through the motions of one of their more vicious rows, so Severus had stayed up in his room, reading a book on wizarding genealogy that he had 'borrowed' from mum. She would be angry if she caught him with another one of her books again, but he couldn't help it. When his mum's family disowned her for marrying a muggle, the only things she had left were her potions equipment and her books. Severus found them fascinating. There were books full of complex magic, set books he would need if he got into Hogwarts, dusty old tomes full of advanced Dark magic, and histories of all the magical people history had ever known. They were his only friends, besides Lily, and he valued them more than his own life.

When he was five, Severus was going to become a bookseller. That notion, however, had been knocked out of his head, quite literally, by Mum. When he was six, he decided to be an inventor. He was going to create complex new potions and make loads of money. It was Dad who had knocked the idea for this notion. He wasn't going to stand two chemistry-masters (for that was what he called them) in his house. At seven, Severus was certain that he'd made the right choice of career. He watched his mum and dad carefully, looking for the sort of traits his future job would have that they'd be pleased with.

His conclusion was to become a Dark Wizard.

It was the ideal job in Severus's mind. He had watched his father keenly over the course of his short life, and noticed quickly that bullying people brought results instantaneously; it also made them fear the bully, which could also be helpful in getting his way, something that rarely happened during his childhood years. From watching Mum, Severus noted that he would need intelligence. He would also need to be extremely self-sufficient, and he already was. It was a career in the making—Severus Snape, the most-feared Dark Wizard of all time.

"It's half past," James announced loudly, interrupting the silence that had come over the room. He hated silence. Especially awkward silences such as these.

"Thank you, James, dear," Mrs Potter replied dully, sounding weary. She was giving up on these people. It was impossible to maintain a positive attitude, what with the father and his horrible behaviour, and the skulking boy sitting next to him, sipping his beer quietly. And yet, what would she give for a few quiet moments like that? James was never silent. He couldn't just sit and think. He constantly had to be moving, to be doing something. The poor dear. Still, that didn't excuse his actions with the young man sitting across from her. And while she was certain (by the looks of him alone) that Severus Snape had contributed to the feud quite a bit, she knew James was the one fueling it. He had a nasty tendency to get a bit full of himself, although she had to admit he was improving.

Slightly.

James sipped his stale beer, only just resisting from turning up his nose at the horrid taste. Ugh. How did people live like this? No wonder Snivellus was such a conniving little bastard. Just look at the life he had to come back to every summer. If James had had to grow up in this house, he was sure he would have been a conniving little bastard as well.

"Mmm." Tobias smacked his lips, burping loudly. Discreetly, Severus covered his eyes and rubbed furiously at his throbbing temple. Why did his father have to be such an embarrassment? Even Potter's parents were polite, if more than a little annoying, but that was to be expected. They did, after all, share the same genes as the arrogant prat sat across from him. "Oi, Sev, giv us another, will ya? That's it, lad. Give the boy a tour of the damn house, why don't you? I'm sure he's not half bored just sitting round like this!"

Severus jumped, setting down his unfinished bottle and glowering at Potter. Great. Another opportunity in which he could embarrass himself. It sounded like such fun.

"This way," he muttered, leading Potter through to the kitchen.

Shit.

He'd forgotten what a pigsty the place was. Father wasn't the best of housekeepers while Severus was away at school, and even when he returned.... Moving quickly, he stuffed some newspapers into the bare pantry, flicked his wand at the table full of beer bottles so that they binned themselves, and replaced the milk, which had by then gone sour, into the refrigerator. He worked quickly, but not quickly enough so that James didn't notice the only things left to eat were beer and a jar of mustard.

"Forgotten what a proper kitchen looks like, have you?" he sneered, before he could really think about it. Taunting Snape came instinctually.

Severus chose not to respond, and instead busied himself with scratching a hole into the dirty rug by the sink, which had piled up with dishes.

"There's no food," he observed loudly, watching for Snape's reaction.

To his surprise, the other boy said softly, almost to himself, "No money for food after Mum died. Spent all the money on her funeral, didn't we? And even that was shitty." He moved on in disgust, leading James through a dingy toilet, past his father's bedroom, and back by the door that led to the stairs. He stopped here, not wanting to go any further.

"What's upstairs, then, besides your room?" James asked curiously, opening the door. He peered at his parents; they seemed to be staring in deep fascination as Tobias started to doze off.

"Don't—" Severus started, but James was already halfway up the stairs, cackling as he watched the sallow boy struggling to catch up.

"Come on, you. I'm not hanging round all day, you know." He shot down the hall, locking himself in Snape's bedroom with a sideways grin that, Severus knew from experience, could only mean much pain and humiliation on his part.

"Potter, open the door! Open it now, dammit!" Severus pounded on his door, forcibly reminded of another incident, quite similar to this.

Summer holidays had barely begun, and already he found himself in front of her house. Nervously, he dragged himself to the front door, pawed at it a bit, gave it a real knock, and waited.

And waited.

He knocked again.

And waited.

Once more.

"Who's there?" The voice at the other end was not Lily's, he knew, but that of her horrid sister, Petunia. "You, is it?" Petunia's screech was one of pure glee as she cracked the door ajar just enough so that she could leer out at him unpleasantly, her thin, blonde hair swinging from side to side like a bit of limp noodle. "She doesn't want to see you, boy. I suggest you leave."

The door was slammed in his face before he had the time to remember the incantation to a proper Bat-Bogey Hex.

"Hey, Snivelly, what's this?" Potter had opened the door and was holding something in his hands.

Snape could only stare on in horror.