Author: SoExasperating (a.k.a. Hannya who can't remember her password to post this under her old author code)
Rating: PG-13 for now thanks to language and a lack so far of sexuality of any kind. Don't worry, I'm getting there
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all his friends, teachers, and enemies do not and have never belonged to me. Which sucks but with counciling and large intakes of Black Rasberry Avalance icecream and Pepsi (which also don't belong to me-dammit) I'm slowly learning to accept this.
Summary: The Dursleys are the scum of the earth, Harry follows the rules instead of doing the right thing, and Snape wishes to Merlin that he started drinking earlier in the day. (A/N: Okay, I'm sorry about the wait -You reviewers are absolutely wonderful! If polygamy and same sex marriages were legal I'd propose to all of you!- but I was working on this chapter at work and then I moved it to a portable USB port to take to my home computer and, of course, the chapter gets deleted...Entirely...I spent three hours trying to find it on the work computer.)
Chapter Two: Bartending and and contrast
Severus Snape was having a Bad Day. Of course, the first day of classes was never something he looked forward to (a/n: chokes on understatement) but as he looked out over the Great Hall filled with yowling whining students but short one particular Boy-Who-Lived he could tell it was about to get a whole lot worse.
The look on his face was enough to drop a Hufflepuff at 20 paces.
In fact, it did drop a Hufflepuff at 20 paces and half the table stared at the unconcious Susan Bones.
Because somehow, someway, he just knew that before the day was up Albus would have conned-er, persuaded him into hunting down the errant gryf-cub. At that thought, the Potions Master gave up and left the Hall to check about the school's policies on alcoholism and teaching. Surely it would be allowed. Afterall, just the thought of the next mornings classes made him want to challenge Hagrid to a drinking contest.
It was an unlucky chance that such actions gave the Headmaster the opportunity to corner him in the Reference Section.
"Severus, " the sneaky old coot began; pretending not to notice the iBartender's Handbook/i clutched in the professor's arms. "You're our only hope."
"What?!" He did not just hear Dumbledore say that.
"I'm sorry but I need you to go retrieve Mr. Potter; I fear something unfortunate has delayed him. And, of course, you are the only one free that I can trust with such an assignment."
The younger man paused to translate the words through the Crazy Old Coot Filter. As far as he could make out, what the Headmaster really meant was, 'Of course I could send someone else but, well, they're busy and have lives where as you're about as social as an agrophobic hermit and I have this insane compulsion for you to suddenly discover human emotions again and see Mr. Potter as the son your purposefully never had. Besides, you know you're going to go anyway so why don't we skip the artful chessmatch of an arguement and get you on your way, Hm?'
He scowled and the older wizard merely smiled and let his trademark eye twinkle mock him silently.
"Sometimes I really really dislike you."
The smile grew wider, "There's a good chap. Off you go!"
Severus Snape wisely did not respond.
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Ten minutes later (because you can only stall so long when you're using an almost instantaneous method of travel) and he stood on a lawn so meticulously tended it made the Queen's Garden look neglected. Potter's house, Number Four Privet Drive, looked like a duplicate of every other house on the street and yet he still got the feeling they were trying too hard.
He stalked to the pristine front door and rapped smartly.
No answer.
He knocked again before deciding that the Dursleys' ignored him at their own risk and spelled the bloody thing open. The inside seemed devoid of life, magic or muggle, and he honestly could not decide whether or not is was a negative thing.
Reminding himself that he was (/is/used to be, whatever) a Deatheater and therefore was not unnerved by a dark abandoned muggle house-
The Potions' Master paused as the faint sound of giggling drifted through the grave like silence.
And, since his last psyche exam with Madam Pomphrey hadn't shown any indication of dementia-induced audio hallucinations (Paranoia, anger management, and control issues not withstanding), he had to assume that the hysterical sound was coming from someone else.
The sound, it turned out (after half an hour of very undignified searching and looking under tacky muggle furniture), was coming from what appeared to be a heavily fortified locked door to...a broom closet? Sitting innocently under the stairs with enough chains and guards to make even Hagrid's class safe. In fact, if it hadn't been for the muffled noise that grew stronger as he neared the cabinet, he'd swear Potter's muggle relatives were hiding the crown jewels. Yet, if it was Potter behind that little door than he sincerely doubted he was there for any kind of security.
Oh yes, something was very very wrong.
"Potter," He ventured, not tentatively because Severus Snape was NEVER tentative. The giggles abruptly cut off and he could now make out the harsh uneven breathing of the closets occupant. "Potter, if that is you I suggest you answer because otherwise I may have to just Avada you on principle."
The harsh breathing broke into a puzzled gasp. "Professor?"
Only one person could be that clueless. Snape breathed out an 'Alohomora' and flung the door to the little cupboard open. Crouched inside, apparently also not having a good day, was one scrawny Gryffindor. The two stared at each other for a moment before the Potions Master heard himself say quite possibly the stupidest thing he'd said to date-
TBC
I'm a bastard, I know.
Okay, this part is a little longer and hopefully is getting closer to the good stuff. The reviews, however, are what makes it aaaaaall worth it.