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 three: adaptation

Harry had washed the git's hair twice, shaved, and finally dressed in black jeans, black shirt and black robe (all the while thinking that he really ought to purchase new things, now that he could go out to Hogsmade without too much risk).

Then, he had spent the morning trying to become accustomed to his new body. His sight was truly impressive now that he thought about it. It hadn't anything to do with his previous one, even while wearing glasses… he figured they didn't really matched anymore, since he hadn't changed them since he was nine.

Now, he was staring at the mirror. He had avoided it ever since finding out what he looked like, but now he figured it was necessary.

Staring back at him was a perfect stranger. Well, a stranger which certainly held a strong resemblance of Professor Snape, but not that much.

It was the hair, he decided. Instead of the greasy, disgusting wild locks that felt all over his professor's face, his was clean, soft and tidy, carefully tied back like Bill's.

The face changed too. Instead of the perpetual sneer harboured by Snape, his somewhat innocent expression was softening the angular face.

In fact, he looked so much different that he was beginning to worry. Wouldn't Voldemort notice that he wasn't his usual self?

As soon as he thought of the evil bastard, though, his soft expression vanished, as did his doubts. He just had to think about Voldemort to hold a sneer worthy of Snape himself. Everything would be alright…

Severus Snape was experiencing the most peculiar feeling as he left himself be guided by Potter's body's instincts. He had absolutely no clue of how to use a muggle kitchen, but apparently Potter was so accustomed to make those muggle breakfasts that it was recorded on the potion's side effects.

So he just had to watch as his hands were breaking eggs, rotting bacon and serving it all in good proportions to his uncle and cousin, a little less for the aunt and much less for himself.

Then, as he made to eat his little part, the aunt pulled it away, telling him that he would eat when he would have finished his chores, while giving him a list. And with a sadistic glare, she shared his meal between her husband and child.

Apparently, he wasn't meant to eat this morning.

Glancing at the list she gave him, he reviewed his earlier statement. Apparently, he wasn't meant to eat until he was fifty… no way could he finish all that before lunch! And he didn't even know what half the chores meant. He sighed. How he hated Muggles!

Nonetheless, he moved to comply, and began by washing the plates, thanks to Potter's apparently inherent ability to make those folks' every wishes.

He really didn't want to think of the implications. This could still all be a plot from Albus, and those muggles could be working on the Headmaster's order to make it seem as if the Potter brat was indeed badly treated.

Yes! That must be it! It was all Albus' plot. The Headmaster really had quite a Slytherin side per times, and this had to be one of them.

So, if the muggles were part of it, he didn't have to pretend anymore.

He dropped the plate he was about to clean up and said:

"No more. You'll do your chores yourselves, Muggles." He sneered.

His "aunt and uncle" appeared quite shocked, 'weren't expecting me to find out the truth so soon, were they?' and then the uncle became red with rage.

"HOW DARE YOU! We took you in! We took care of you, when we could just have sent you to an orphanage, and all you have to do to repay us is just a little work! Is that really too much to ask? We coped with you freakishness! Even let you go to that awful school where they're teaching you to hex us!

"We let you out of your cupboard and gave you our DUDLEY's second bedroom!

"How can you be so ungrateful!

"I swear, you're gonna work very hard if you want to eat anything at all this week, boy, and no more complaining, or you'll wish you never step foot in my respectful house!"

"As if I didn't already" he mumbled under his breath.

Really, this was getting out of hand. It had to end. Albus was going too far this time. He had to admit to himself, however, that the uncle was a damn good actor. But an actor nonetheless. There was no way in hell it was for real.

And there was no way in hell he would go through this for several days for Albus' amusement. No bloody way.

"Shut up, filthy muggle. I know what you're trying to do. Can't you see it doesn't work? I don't know nor care how much Albus gave you for this, but I assure you, you're gonna regret the day we met if you don't stop this nonsense. I … "

But he never finished his sentence, as Vernon Dursley finally decided he didn't care the threats he had received at King's Cross anymore. He couldn't suppress the urge to hit the boy for what he was saying. He was actually insulting him, calling him a muggle (not that he knew or care what it was, but it sounded like something really bad from the boy's mouth).

So he hit. Hard. Repeatedly. Recognising that she had better be somewhere else when her husband lost it like that, Petunia silently left the room, while her husband and son corrected her nephew. He had earned it.

The first strike took Snape by surprise. So did the second, and the third. He looked up, bemused, as Potter's angry uncle beat him, and began to slowly take in that it wasn't at all Albus' joke. His eyes widened at the implication.

Albus' idea of a joke could never include… this. No way in hell. This was real. It hurt. It wasn't just for the act. It wasn't an act. Vernon Dursley was beating Harry Potter quite hard, and judging from the reaction of the aunt, it wasn't a single occurrence. She hadn't seem surprised at all. Oh God.

Suddenly everything came in mind, as Vernon and Dudley took their turns, each time trying to be more vicious than the other.

Everything. Occlumency lessons, where he had seen all those painful memories… first and last meals of the year, when Potter ate so much his housemates complained, laughing, that he didn't leave anything for them…

His odd reluctance to go to the infirmary, while every other schoolboys and girls were more than happy to be there missing a class…

And more than anything, he saw himself, continuously mocking the boy for having no parents, for being a spoiled brat.

A spoiled brat. I couldn't have been further from the truth, he thought, while fighting to stay conscious. Eventually he lost, and drifted to a dreamless sleep.