It was a good couple of weeks until Harry noticed anything, which would have been surprising had he been anyone else, but Aunt Petunia would barely give him a minute to use the bathroom, leave alone stare in a mirror. No, it was the lack of his aunt raging about his hair that led Harry to suspect something. So, during his general clean of his Uncle's bedroom, a spare minute was used to glance at the small pink nightstand that Petunia loved so dearly. At first, nothing seemed off. Then, Harry realised that his hair was far straighter than usual, with just a gentle wave. Continuing his short self-examination, it was found that his fingers seemed a little longer, and that his face was less rotund.
Confused, Harry dismissed this as the general changes one found when growing older. Naturally, on Dudley's diet weight would be lost, explaining his face. And growing would change his fingers, wouldn't it? Of course, hormones may alter hair. Shrugging, he continued to scrub the nightstand and then made the bed absentmindedly.
Meanwhile, Severus was also allowing his mind to wander. He was reminiscing on his childhood with the help of a large glass of Scotch, and sulking (although he preferred the term "brooding") by the fire. "Damn Potter and his stupid hair and his stupid face and his stupid smirk and" His slightly drunken rant was cut short by his ward buzzing incessantly. "ALRIGHT, I'm coming, I'm coming…" grumbling, he strode to the door and swung it open to find the irritatingly cheerful face of Remus Lupin staring back at him. "Sev! How are you!" "What in the seven hells are you doing in Hogwarts, wolf? Moreover, why are you in my quarters?" Severus hissed the last question causing Lupin to wince a little at the close proximity. "Well, I just so happen to have a teaching position. Due to the so-called curse, they couldn't find anyone. So I've been brought in. You know, to avoid the ministry dumping someone on the school?" Grumbling, Severus invited the damnable creature in and allowed him to sit down.
"So, how've you been? I know I only missed a year, but still, lots happened. How did the tournament go? I meant to watch it, but they wouldn't let me, said it was overcrowded." Severus took the brief opportunity to cut in as the overenthusiastic defence teacher took a breath. "I've been fine, the tournament was stressful, and yes it was very crowded." He took a swig of his drink in preparation for the barrage of questions he was sure to face. "So, have there been any more staff changovers? I mean, the whole Moody thing aside, I got that tale as soon as Alastor reached Grimmauld. Speaking of Alastor, are you coming when we take Harry? Tonks caught dragonpox, sad really, but she'll recover. Also, d'you" "Oh for the love of Merlin Remus, one question at a time!" Severus was in for a tiring night.
"BOY! GET YOUR SORRY SELF DOWN THESE STAIRS! NOW!" The boy in question flinched at the eldest Dursley's yell, and walked swiftly and quietly with a practiced efficiency to the hallway to meet the formidable form of his enraged uncle. Vein in his forehead throbbing, Vernon's meaty fist swung and made contact with his nephew's nose, producing a sickening crack. Knowing better than to speak, Harry hung his head submissively and attempted to mask the intense pain he was feeling. "Why are my shirts not hung on the left side of my wardrobe, idiot whelp?" Uncle Vernon demanded. "Sorry sir. I thought you said the right side, sir, I didn't mean to be impertinent, sir," Was the meek and harried reply. "Well listen better, thicko! Bloody spawn of a drunk, I shouldn't have expected any more from you. You'll get nowhere in life with parents like yours boy! Twenty will suffice today." Harry accepted the proffered belt and trailed to his room, the heavy breaths of his uncle following him. He knew it was more likely to be thirty once Vernon got into his stride.
Eventually, the saviour of the wizarding world was left in peace, to treat his stinging back. He had borrowed- well, stolen- some of the pain relieving potions from Madam Pomfrey, and had learnt the recipes to several pastes to treat cuts and bruises; ones that didn't need a flame or cauldron in particular. He did his best to clean the welts, and breathed a sigh of relief as the paste worked its magic. They weren't too bad this time. Dragging himself off the floor, he went to rectify the cause of his punishment. Again.
Severus Snape also breathed a sigh of relief, as Lupin left his room. It was about time really, as conversation had turned to more unpleasant topics, such as his deep seated hatred for James Potter. Contrary to the wolf's naïve belief, it was no schoolboy grudge. He had no idea the lengths that Potter reached to torment him, or the true pain he had felt with every jinx. No, that particular hatred ran deep and wide. It was irrevocable. Or so Snape attempted to convince himself.
It had been years since his thoughts on the Potters had been called into question, 12 to be exact. Not even Dumbledore had dared attempt to convince Severus that James may have had his good points. No, the old fool had some semblance of self-preservation. So how dare that blasted creature have the arrogance to suggest that Severus Snape, youngest potions master since records began, and spy on behalf of the order, be wrong?! It was simply inexcusable. Full of self-gratuitous rage, said potions master paced the length of his room. Maybe Potter did have his good points… he had funded the order for several years almost single handed… what was he doing! He simply couldn't think such things. It was plain wrong. And with that thought, he trawled to his room to find peace at the bottom of a bottle of Ogden's Finest.