Disclaimer: Everything you recognise is J.K.Rowling's property. I do not own Harry Potter, nor Severus Snape, nor Albus Dumbledore, which are the principal characters in this fic.

Chapter two: waking up as Gryffindor's Golden Boy

Severus Snape was awoken at dawn by the light coming from the room's window. Wait a minute: since when does my dungeon have any window? It's underground! Light couldn't pass even if it had!

Immediately aware that something was wrong, he stayed still, millions of unlikely scenarios running through his mind, the most likely being that he had been discovered a spy by Voldemort and captured.

His immediate feelings certainly lead to reassure this path. The mattress he was in had seen better days and was very uncomfortable. The air was filled with black magic, as if precedent prisoners had been ruminating on their anger at being locked in.

Fortunately, nobody seemed to be there at the moment to begin torture sessions. But why didn't they have already? If The Dark Lord had found out he was a spy, the torture would have begun immediately. But he didn't feel any Cruciatus' after-effects. In fact, he didn't feel too bad, apart from his sore back (due to the old mattress) and muscle aches and pains as if he had ran all day long yesterday.

Yesterday… what happened yesterday? It could surely explain why I'm here, wherever 'here' is. He thought and thought again about what might have happen the day before, but nothing out of the ordinary came to mind. He had had a meeting with Albus, the old Headmaster being his usual self and defending his Golden Boy again. Then he had made some potions supplies for Poppy. After a light meal (containing nothing he hadn't made sure of) he went to bed early. In his bed, in his rooms. Not here. Definitely not here.

And that didn't even explain his aching muscles. Well, he wouldn't get answers asleep anyway, so he decided to get up. He opened his eyes, blinked … and blinked again. Everything was blurry. He had heard of long-sightedness, of course, but he didn't think it happened to thirty-four year old men, and certainly not overnight.

Perhaps he was dreaming? Let's hope so. He was confused, and that was a feeling he really didn't like.

Deciding to get up anyway, he tried to ignore the pain in his muscles as he stood. Something wasn't right. He hadn't felt so small since he was a child. He began to walk towards the door (or where he thought the door was, since he really couldn't see that much) and hissed in pain, quickly retiring his left foot from where it landed. He knelt to see what he had stepped on. There, laying on the floor, were glasses. Worse, they were apparently his glasses, because when he tried to put them on, he could suddenly see again.

Well, not so well as before, but better nonetheless.

Perhaps he was suffering from a memory charm, he thought. Perhaps he was now an old man needing glasses and he had just forgotten about them.

That didn't explain why he was apparently in a muggle house, in an ill-looking bedroom. Really, now that he could take a better look at it, it was pitiful.

As he looked around, though, he noticed a twinkling peace of paper on the desk, seemingly trying to get his attention. Relieved at finding something magical in this unwelcoming room, and curious as to whether it would answer some of his questions or imply more, he cautiously began to read. It said:

"Severus!

How are you my boy! Do you remember yesterday when you told me there simply wasn't a way for you and Mr Potter to try to understand each other? Well, great news! I've found one.

Really, you're the Potion Master here, so I needn't remind you of the effects of the Insight Potion, need I?

Of course not. Well, enjoy your holidays with Mr Potter's relatives! I know you've always thought they were kind and caring, so I do hope you were right, for your own sake.

I'm sure you're aware that from now on you have to act exactly like Mr Potter. Dare I say it shouldn't be too difficult to fool some muggles when you've convinced Voldemort of your loyalty for seventeen years?

I'm sure I don't have to remind you of the little disagreement that comes from being an underage student… I'm afraid I can't allow you to use magic outside of school. No favouritism, if you excuse me for borrowing your motto.

Best wishes.

Albus Dumbledore."

That fool. That disgusting interfering old fool! A million thoughts passed in the man's mind, but the most present were variations of: Damn you Dumbledore!

Never mind. Yes, he would play the old man's game. He would act Pottish, which shouldn't be too difficult. He just had to act like if he owned the Whole Wild World. And this was finally his chance. This was the only way he could convince Albus that Potter was indeed a spoiled brat.

He smirked. In fact, he was going to have a very nice holiday…

His smirk didn't last long, as suddenly someone violently opened the door and began to yell:

"BOY! What are you still doing in your room! You will get your lazy ass down there and make our breakfasts, and it's better be good! I've got to go in half an hour!"

Severus, for the life of him, couldn't think of an answer to that by himself. He was way too stunned that anyone, let alone a muggle, would dare to yell at him, and even more when he remembered that he looked like Potter. And the man yelling at him and ordering him around was supposedly the boy's relative… interesting.

Fortunately, the Insight Potion took care of it. It was known to give strong hints as to how the other persona would respond to a situation, and at the moment Severus felt a very strong hint to answer as he did, as stunning as it felt.

"Yes Uncle Vernon" he replied, and was rewarded by a disgusted look from his "uncle", who left reminding him of the fact that he had better come down quickly to make his breakfast.

Which left Snape with one problem: he had absolutely no idea how to use a muggle kitchen, let alone to make something that "had better be good".