Harry Potter of number four Privet Drive was a rather subdued child for a boy of only eight. While his peers spent their recess time either playing tag of trading cards in the shade of the large elm tree, Harry sat rocking back and forth on the otherwise empty swing set on the deserted edge of the schoolyard. Nobody ever seemed to want to play with the awkward boy with the messy black hair and massively baggy clothes, so this swing set was typically where Harry spent his free time at school.

It was a hot day at the beginning of June, and the very last school day of the year. Harry's feelings were rather mixed about this fact because while he would be able to escape the curious stares of his classmates for a full three months, it would be even more difficult to avoid his cousin Dudley.

Dudley, a portly boy with thick blonde hair and a reddish complexion, never passed by a chance to hassle Harry with his gang of cronies. This day on the schoolyard was no exception. Harry saw from across the lawn that Dudley had spotted him sitting alone. He thought about running (he was very quick after all), but he didn't feel like risking getting into trouble like he had when he had run from Dudley last week.

It was actually a rather strange tale. Dudley and his gang had been pursuing Harry around the back of the school kitchens last Monday at recess as usual when the most unusual thing happened. Harry had just leapt up into the air in order to clear a row of rubbish bins when he felt a rather strange sensation like he was being squeezed through a tube. He blacked out for a second, and when he could see again, Harry found himself not by the rubbish bins, but rather on the school roof.

The teachers had been livid with him for climbing buildings, but their anger was nothing compared to Uncle Vernon's

"Hey, Potty," yelled Dudley as he strutted up to Harry, flanked by Piers Polkiss, Stanley, Shruder, and Micheal Porlock. "What 'choo cryin' about today? Nobody want to talk to the underfed rat?"

"Better the underfed rat than the overstuffed pig, I suppose, " Harry retorted.

"What was that? What did you say?" Dudley shouted at him, completely aware of what Harry had said.

"Sorry, I meant overstuffed, deaf, pig"

Harry felt his glasses smash before he had time to put up his arms to defend himself. The punch to his left eye had taken him by such surprise that he fell backwards off the swing and landed with a crunch on the gravel below.

"Come on," Harry heard Dudley say, "Let's go before the teachers see us." He heard them crunching back through the gravel but kept his eyes shut because of the pain.

Dudley had hit him so hard that he was sure the indentation was still visible. His face was burning hot, half from his injury, half because of the humiliation of being caught so off guard.

Harry sat up and blinked. Small beads of blood were clinging to the tips of his eyelashes. He took off the cracked remnants of his black rimmed glasses and wiped the blood off with the back of his hand. He set his spectacles back on his nose, but the spidery lines criss crossing the left eyes and the way they dangled from one ear told Harry they were next to useless.

He pulled himself up from the ground just as the bell to return to class rang out from the school-building. Harry sighted resignedly and made his way quickly across the grass to he wouldn't get in even more trouble fro being late.

That night back at the Dursley household was just as Harry had expected it to be. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were chatting animatedly about Uncle Vernon's work, the goings on of Mrs. Next Door, and Dudley's perfect day at school. Neither his aunt nor uncle had bothered to ask Harry how he had received his massive black eye, or why his glasses were being held together with liberal amounts of scotch tape, and neither Harry nor Dudley seemed eager to tell them.

Harry had just finished up his own meager meal and was about to excuse himself from the table when Uncle Vernon wiped his mouth clean with an enormous hankercheif and spocke from beneath his giant moustache.

"Boy," he grunted in Harry's direction, "Have you talked to Mrs. Figg yet about doing her gardening? I won't have you running around the neighborhood all summer like some delinquent."

Uncle Vernon hadn't said one cruel thing to him all day, and Harry wanted to keep it that way. "Yes, sir. I talked to her uesterday. She says I can come every day from noon to four."

"Perfect, we don't even have to feed you lunch, then. Are you going to start tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good, you can go now."

Harry picked up his plate and placed it in the sink before exiting the kitchen into the hallway. He was just pulling the latch on his cupboard when he heard a knock on the front door.

He didn't know they were expectiong company, and neither, apparently, was Uncle Vernon. Harry heard his uncle's muffled "Who the bloody hell is that?" issue from the kitchen.

Thinking it rude to leave the visitor on the front porch until Uncle Vernon made it all the way to the door (which would surely be a long time due to the man's girth), Harry went to open the door himself.

At first, Harry couldn't see anyone standing on the porch, as all the street lamps had gone out, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he made out the figure of an old, bearded, silver haired man dressed in the most peculiar purple robes. Harry had never seen the man before, and was wondering why such an odd stranger had come to their house at such an odd hour when he asked, "Excuse me sir, who are you?"

The old man had just opened his mouth to respond when he was preempted by a shout that issued from pehind Harry.

"NO!" Uncle Vernon screamed, his face purple with rage. "You will leave our premises immediately!"

"Excuse me," said the old man politely, betraying only the smallest hint of a smile. "I do not believe I've introduced myself. My name is..."

But he was cut off by Uncle Vernon. "I know ruddy well who you are, and I want to gone! Now!" He waddled forward as fast as he could and meant to slam the door, but for some reason it wouldn't budge. He kept pushing it with all his might, but it seemed as though the door had been cemented to the ground.

The old man smiled calmly, his pale blue eyes twinkling from behind his half-moon spectacles. "I expect you got my letter then," he said simply to Uncle Vernon. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, yes, I got your letter, "Uncle Vernon spat, still panting from the effort of exerting himself. "That awful bird woke me up! But he's not going! I won't let him! He's going to be working his summer at Mrs. Figg's and that's the end of it!" He tried once more to budge the door, but again, no luck.

"I'm sorry, but that decision really isn't in your hands. It was his mother's last wish before she died that Harry spend his summers in our world as he got older, and I'm certainly not about to break my word to her." He turned to Harry, who was gaping at him in disbelief; "Harry, go and pack a trunk, You're going away for the summer, be back just before your school starts up again."

This news schockd Harry, his dreams were coming true. He wouldn't see the Dursley's for a full three months! However, he wasn't schocked enough to not run for his cupboard and gather up his belongings, all of which fit easily into his well worn pillowcase. His uncle was still yelling at the old man when Harry returned to the front door, but fell silent when he saw the boy.

Uncle Vernon turned to Harry, beads of sweat were forming around his brow and his voice was almost pleading now. "you don't want to go with him, do you Harry? I mean, don't you want to stay here with your friends all summer?"

Harry glared at him, "What friends? You always made sure I didn't have any of those." He turned his back on Uncle Vernon and strode out of the open door to stand next to the old man. He had no idea who the man was, but Harry had an odd feeling like he could trust him that he couldn't explain.

"Very well then,: said the stranger cheerfully. "That's settled. Harry will return to you on the last day in August. Good evening to you!" The door shut immediately as if slammed by an invisible hand into the shocked faces of Harry's aunt and uncle. Suddenly, all was quiet.

The street lamps were still dark as Harry made his way down to the street at the side of the old man. There was no car parked on the curb, and Harry couldn't understand how they were going to get wherever they were going.

"Sir?" he inquired. "Excuse me, but who are you and how are we getting…"

"Hold on one minute, Harry and I'll explain everything…or at least as much as I can." He stuck his hand into the pocket of his plum robes and pulled out a very long, gnarled stick that looked centuries old. He held it out in front of him like a sword, and Harry was just going to ask him what he was doing when there a loud 'bang!' and a violently purple bus appeared as if out of thin air. Harry reasoned that he simply hadn't see it turn the corner.

A young man stepped from the door and started to speak; "Welcome to the Knight Bus…hey!" He seemed to recognize Harry's companion. "Mr. Dumbledore, sir! I didn't see you at first! What a surprise! Come aboard, come aboard!" He grabbed Harry's pillowcase and disappeared back onto the bus.

"Follow me, Harry," said Dumbledore, and followed Harry up the steps to the Knight Bus. When he could see properly into the bus' interior, Harry stopped and gasped. Nearly a dozen beds stood where the seats should have been, each adorned with silver bed curtains.

"Come along, Harry, we must get going." Harry regained his senses ad moved to the bed nearest the driver's seat where the young man had placed his pillowcase.

"Where are we off to today, sir?" the conductor asked Dumbledore.

"Spinner's End, in Hertfordshire. And it would be wonderful if we could be there as fast as possible. We're already a bit late." Indicating Harry.

"You're our only customers tonight, so we'll be there as fast as possible." He turned to the driver. "You heard 'em, Ern! Let's go!" With another loud band the bus jumped and Harry was flung across the bed, just managing to catch himself before he fell to the floor. Dumbledore had somehow managed to stay on his feet, and was looking as though he hadn't even felt the bus fly forward.

When Harry regained his balance on the end of the bed, he turned to the old man and asked, "Dumbledore?"

He peered at Harry over the tops of his glasses. "Sorry I didn't get to make a proper introduction earlier, but we really had to be off. WE're expected any moment now. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I'm the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where you will be studying in about three year's time."

"Witchcraft and Wizardry? What are you talking about?" Harry was very confused now, but his mind was racing, hoping desperately that this was no hoax.

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently, bending close to him. "You are the youngest in a long line of men and women with magical powers. I'm sure you've experienced pieces of this power when you were scared or angry." He raised an eyebrow and Harry connected the dots. The odd behavior of his hair when Aunt Petunia cut it into that humiliating stule, his mysterious reappearance on the roof of the school building when Dudley and his gang were chasing him last week; it all made sense if what Dumbledore said was true.

Dumbledore continued, "Both your mother and father were students at Hogwarts, and both were extremely talented. I can't say much more, since our journey is nearly at an end, but the man you'll be staying with will explain everything….eventually. You'll just have to ask." The bus came to an abrupt stop with another 'bang!' and the conductor announced that they had indeed already arrived at Spinner's End. "Ah! We're here! Come along, Harry! No time to waste!"

He stepped off the bus with the bounce of a much younger man. Harry followed him cautiously after throwing his pillowcase over his shoulder. As he stepped off the last stair another 'bang!' issued from right behind him and the Knight Bus was gone.

Harry looked around, trying to get a sense of where he was, although it was somewhat difficult in the darkness. The houses here were shabby and crooked. The lawns would have thrown Aunt Petunia into a panic attack as they were wildly overgrown and untended. There was almost a tangible sense of poverty about the place. Harry felt slightly war, and wondered where Dumbledore was taking him.

On up ahead, Dumbledore was passing through a grimy, formerly white picket gate leading up to a house that Harry would have taken for vacant except for a single shining light in a downstairs window. Harry could see a shadow moving within, but couldn't quite make out a definite figure. He hurried to catch up with Dumbledore, and stood slightly behind him and just out of sight as the older man rapped once on the door. They had stood there in the darkness for only a few seconds when the faded painted door cracked and a band of light streamed out.

"It's me, Severus. I've got the boy."

"Come in, then," said the man called Severus in what Harry though was a rather low, intimidating voice as he opened up the door so that Harry could see his face properly now. He had a rather thing face with sallow, chiseled features and a fairly large, menacing looking hooked nose. His hair feel in lank curtains around his face His eyes, which were fixed on Dumbledore, were cold and black, although Harry could detect a certain sensitivity to them he could not name nor explain.

"Sorry, Severus, but I have business to attend to with the minister. I'll just leave Harry here with you." He quickly turned around, bent his head down to Harry's level, and said in a quiet voice, "If you need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to send me an owl." He straightened up and said in normal tones, "Goodnight, and goodbye. I'll see you both soon I suppose." He turned on his heel and vanished with a small pop.

Harry stared at the spot where Dumbledore had just been, still nowhere near used to the wonders of magic. He spun on the spot to see if the old man had reappeared somewhere else on the street, but saw nothing but the other houses in the murky darkness. It was only then that Harry became aware of the fact that the man named Severus was staring at him with his dark, penetrating gaze. He turned abruptly, and for a moment, when Harry's green eyes met the black, he detected a start of surprise. But as soon as he blinked, the man's stare had reconstructed itself so quickly that Harry thought he might have imagined it.

"Well, well, well, Mr. Harry Potter. You look just like your father." Not even inviting Harry in, he turned his back on the boy and strode back into his house, leaving the door open behind him. Harry figure this to be invitation enough and stepped over the threshold into a house the like of which he had never seen before.

The first room he came to was a sitting room with an old sofa and chair set in the middle. Almost every square inch of the walls was covered in books, and at first Harry couldn't see where the man had gone. However, as soon as he thought this, a secret door opened in the bookshelf across from him and the man strode out holding a stick in his hand similar to the one Dumbledore had carried, though this one was obviously much newer.

"My name is Severus Snape, and I also teach at Hogwarts with Professor Dumbledore. You may simply call me Snape for the time being, but when you come to school I will expect you to address me as 'professor'. It's getting quite late and I'm not in the mood to be answering you're undoubtedly never-ending pool of questions tonight, so I need you to go straight to bed. It's straight up the stairs through that bookcase there," he pointed to Harry's right. "Just pull on the right edge of the bookcase and it'll open."

He was turning to go back through the first hidden door when he stopped short, as though just remembering something and said, "Just keep in mind that I'm only doing this on Dumbledore's orders. If you expect me to embrace you like a son, you're as vain as you're father was." He shut the door with a smack behind him.

Harry stood there, rather dumbstruck in the middle of Snape's living room. As far as he could tell, he hadn't done anything to offend the man, but it was obvious that he was already disliked. As soon as he broke his reverie, Harry headed towards the section of the bookcase Snape had indicated and found that it swung open easily to reveal a narrow set of steep stone steps lit by a set of torches with bright green flames.

When Harry reached the landing he found a small, shabby, but relatively comfortable room to what he had been expecting. The walls where covered with wallpaper that was peeling in places and looked as though it had been there for at least a century. A small closet was stuck in the far corner, and a decent sized window gave Harry a good view of the street. Another door showed Harry a cramped, stone bathroom next to the wardrobe. There were a few spare trunks strewn across the room with all sorts of funny instruments falling out of them. Some were stained and deformed in such gruesome ways that Harry was scared to think about what must have been spilled on them.

There was a heavy wooden chest of drawers sitting next to the bed, and Harry emptied the feeble contents of his pillowcase into it before falling onto the bed. Considering he had always lived in the cupboard under the stairs back at the Dursley's, Harry had never enjoyed to much room to himself.

However, for the first time since leaving the Dursley's, disappointment was nagging his brain. Dumbledore had raised his hopes that he was going to be living at some wonderful, magical manor. But as far as he could tell, he had somehow ended up at what seemed like an extremely odd, but thoroughly non-magical house on a rather ordinary street with a man who seemed to despise him even more than the Dursleys. The worst part was that he had no idea why Snape disliked him so much, or, more importantly, what he could do to reverse this.

What Harry could never have imagined, however, was at that very moment a floor below him, Severus Snape was even more conflicted than he was.

From the moment Dumbledore had told him about Lily's last wishes nearly seven years ago, Snape had dreaded this day. Of course he would never have thought of crossing Lily's desires, and wished to do all he could to protect her only child, but he couldn't bear the idea of letting a boy by the name of Potter into his house.

The boy, he figured, would be just like his father, especially growing up knowing that he was famous in some world he had never entered. A strutter, no doubt. Someone whose head would have to be deflated greatly. Snape had been prepared to hate the boy the moment he saw him.

However, something was wrong. No matter what Snape had told himself, the boy was far from being vain. In fact, it seemed as though those muggle relatives of his hadn't even bothered to tell him he was a wizard, much less that an entire society of people knew his name. Despite himself, Snape had felt a twinge of pity for the Potter boy when he saw him. Harry reminded him of himself with the poorly fitting clothes, his malnourished look, and his overall air of being neglected and uncared for.

And the boy's eye! Blacked and cut with his glasses still broken in several places and held together by scotch tape! Those glasses that his father had sported with style and pretension looked sad and pitiful on the son. He would have to repair them and the boy's injuries in the morning. He didn't want any excuse to feel pity for the boy he had vowed to loathe.

But as Snape cleared up the potions he had been experimenting with and began to brew a mix to clear up minor cuts and bruises, he couldn't get rid of the growing understanding he felt for the boy's situation. However, it only made him hate Harry more for being able to evoke all the raw feelings Snape had been able to hold at bay for so long.

As he turned in to bed that night, Snape's dreams were filled with those almond shaped green eyes that had been sprung upon him again so unexpectedly.