Chapter One

"Snape Rescues Harry From The Dursleys. Harry Doesn't Need To Be Rescued. A Conundrum."

It was another one of Albus' impossible requests: retrieve the Boy-Who-Lived from his Muggle relatives. Severus Snape sighed wearily and tugged down the odd Muggle garment called a 't-shirt'. He'd thought to be free of the brat for a blissful summer only to have his fondest wish dashed with the Headmaster's earnestly blue eyes and his pleading order.

And why? For what reason was it necessary to take the 'saviour of wizarding kind' from what was conceivably the safest location for him?

"Because he's unhappy, Severus, and hasn't he been dealt a harsh enough hand already?"

Snape snorted. Potter had been given shelter, food, friends, and enough gold to last him through the entirety of his life – not to mention the love and protection of the greatest wizard of the time, Albus Dumbledore. It was the foolish child's own fault that he'd gotten his equally foolish dog-father killed. Maybe now he'dknow not to jump blindly into situations he had no control over – maybe now he'd sit still and learn something other than willful disobedience – maybe now he'd stop being a BLOODY THORN IN SNAPE'S SIDE. But no, Snape could well remember being an adolescent.

Right now Potter wasn't considering the brashness of his actions. He wasn't studying to improve himself so that when the chance came, he could finally rid the world of the Bastard-Who-Wouldn't-Stay-Dead. He probably wasn't even doing his homework. What he was doing was contemplating the many ways all the things that had gone wrong in his life were Snape's fault. And possibly Voldemort's, but Snape had better money on himself being the object of Potter's ire – he knew full well what the furious glance Potter had cast him before leaving Hogwarts had meant.

Which made making him retrieve the boy especially pointless. Never mind the fact that Snape couldn't be seen helping Potter for fear of word getting back to Voldemort – that he was risking his position as a spy, and therefore his life and the lives of all the countless others he might have been able to save – that he hated the little bugger with a passion that rivaled his devotion to Potions – never mind all that, because Potter was "unhappy".

Snape muttered unpleasant things under his breath. It was better not to have heard what they were, as they'd made all green things in the vicinity wilt and turn brown. He raised his hand to rap at the door before him, pausing as he heard multiple voices within all screeching and screaming somewhat hysterically. He frowned. While he knew Potter's family life was not harmonious from various Occlumency lessons, this sounded like something entirely different. This sounded like fear and panic, not anger. He raised his hand again, and then paused again; this time not because of raised voices, but because of an awful pressure that was building in the air.

All his instincts were screaming at Snape, saying, "Oh shit, run run run RUN YOU BLOODY FOOL!" He managed a few stumbling steps backwards. Then the house in front of him… exploded.

Well, to be fair, it was only the roof.

Thrown to his arse by the shock, Snape managed to gape up at the plume of fire and smoke rising from the top of the intact-as-of-five-seconds-ago house. The door opened from the inside and the subject of Snape's earlier consternation stomped outside.

Harry Potter was still annoyingly scrawny. His smallness had irritated Snape since their first meeting, when Snape felt a wash of despair. This – this puling runt of a boy was the hope of the wizard world? This insignificant Gryffindor with too much bravery to pack into such a tiny frame was supposed to save him - save all of them?

Besides being scrawny, Harry Potter was also injured, with blood dripping down his cheek. And grinning. And carrying a sack over his shoulder that appeared to be empty.

He looked down at Snape with amused green eyes… green eyes that glinted strangely behind thick glasses… green eyes that were eerie and slightly off in an indefinable way… and then he said: "Hullo Professor. Wasn't expecting you."

"Potter." Thank all the deities, Snape's voice hadn't shaken. "What was that." He couldn't, however, work up enough expression to make simple statements into questions.

"'That', Professor? To which 'that' are you referring?"

Snape pointed with one long, slightly yellow finger to a spot behind Harry's head. "'That' that. Your domicile. It appears to be missing a top."

"Oh," Harry grinned boyishly. It was a remarkably frightening sight. "I suppose 'that' is the end result of getting me angry. Sir. I suppose it's something you'll want to be avoiding. Sir. Although I do wonder what Hogwarts would look like without a roof. Sir."

Snape grit his teeth. He knew it when he heard blatant threats. He also knew it when they were valid. "Point. Made."

"Point?" Harry said guilelessly. "I wasn't aware of any point. Sir. I thought we were just making casual conversation. Sir."

Snape grit his teeth harder. He had the feeling that by the end of this regrettable conversation, they'd be reduced to nubs; he pictured the rest of his life having to cut his food to tiny, manageable pieces, like a doddering old man. He shuddered and resolved to gain better self-control… as usually happened, the resolve lasted only as long as it took for Potter to open his mouth once again.

"Well, if we're done speaking, I really must be going. Sir."

Slowly, slightly painfully (for he was no longer young, except for his right hand, which was rather a long story in and of itself), Snape got to his feet. "Potter," he said. If it didn't have the overtone of malice and sheer dislike, it would have been easier to hear that it was spoken with a hopeless sort of voice, the kind that doesn't know what it's supposed to do next. "The Headmaster sent me to take you back to Hogwarts."

"Oh? Well, thank you all the same, but I'd rather somewhere else. Sir."

Behind Harry's insolently grinning face, in the open doorway of the still-burning house, a portly man stepped through. He was beaming somewhat fanatically in Snape's direction, jovial, robust. Muggle. Snape's lip curled instinctively in disgust.

"Eh, what's this, boy?" the man called out. He strode forward and came to rest behind and to the right of Harry. He shoved a meaty palm in Snape's general direction; Snape disdainfully shook it. "A… a friend of yours, boy? A… a…."

Harry sighed long-sufferingly. Snape looked sharply at the boy as this sound was issued, but found he couldn't read him. How irritating. "Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied. "He's a wizard. You know. Magic." He made an 'ooooh' sound. "Scary."

"Oh, oh, surely not," the man blustered. "Not frightful in the least." His red face was extremely blotchy, perhaps from the heat. Heat would also explain away the beads of sweat that were quickly traveling down his face. "Er. So, you'll be going then, boy?"

"Yes, yes, I'll be going, Uncle Vernon. Until next summer. Or maybe Christmas. I might come back for Christmas."

Snape was watching both of them quite closely, which was why he caught the malicious smirk that briefly appeared and then disappeared on Harry's lips; why he caught the frightened shudder that shook the Muggle, and the absolutely terrified expression on his face that quickly turned to a painful, fake smile. "Of course, of course – it'd be a real delight to have you home for the winter holidays, boy." Vernon Dursley was not a good liar.

"I have a name, Uncle Vernon," Harry pointed out. "I don't suppose you've ever learned it in all the years I've stayed with you. Ah well." He took a few steps away from his uncle. "Tell Aunt Petunia and Dudley I said 'bye'. Oh, and I suppose you could throw in, 'see you soon' as well." He looked over his shoulder at the smoking house, at his uncle's red, red face. "You might want to phone for firefighters soon."

With that he went to Snape's side, walked past it, called, "Hurry up. Sir. We've got a ways to go. Sir."

Snape threw a glare as if it were a physical weapon at the Muggle and was pleased to see the profusely sweating man flinch, then twitch. It was nice to see that not everyone was now immune to him. Then he swiftly whirled around and overtook Harry, not allowing the boy to have the lead. He was Severus Snape. No one led him.

"I have a port-key," he said tersely.

He saw Potter give him a thoughtful look from the corner of his eye. "But it's to Hogwarts, and I'm not going to Hogwarts. Sir."

"Yes, you are."

"Well. Sir. I suppose I could go to Hogwarts. Sir."

"Your graciousness astounds me."

Harry continued speaking as if Snape never had. "I'm sure that Professor Dumbledore would appreciate the many new skylights I could give the castle. Sir. It would really… brighten… the place up. Sir."

Snape grit his teeth. "All right, Mr. Potter. Where would you like to go, then?"

"I think…" Harry tilted his head contemplatively to the side, looking like nothing so much as a demented bird. "…Headquarters. Sir. If you would. Sir."

Nubs. His teeth would be nubs.