Better Be Slytherin!

was the same boxy structure as all the others, this one painted off-yellow instead of off-blue or off-white or off- green; all the houses were one of these colors or another. The vehicle in their drive was a four door silver something or other.

After a swish of wand over his clothes rendered his appearance to that of a staid Muggle businessman, he made his way up the narrow walk to the Dursley's front door and knocked. Twice.

There was a longish pause, in which he made himself practice deep breathing exercises – which would have been good for his temper if not for the fumes of those blasted Muggle factories and cars fouling the air – so as to not begin on the wrong foot with this lot. Finally, he heard a sound like a herd of wild hippogriffs thundering toward the door, and he moved quickly to the side so as to avoid being trampled.

Something flung open the door at that moment, and he stared into the soft, pudgy face of a giant slug . . . with arms. It had slicked back hair and a scowl and its skin was alarmingly pink and perspiring, as if coming to open the door had required all its strength and fortitude.

'What do you want then?' it asked, sounding human, except for the inexcusable rudeness, and Severus finally recognized it from his delving, as the cousin Potter had mentioned as being one of his primary tormentors.

'Are your parents at home?' he asked the Slug . . . Dudley, he recalled. There was only a thin trace in his voice of the disgust he felt for having to ask this creature anything. 'I would like to meet with them.'

'Mum!' the Slug hollered without even turning around. The sound of his squawk filled the street behind Severus. 'Someone at the door for you!'

Severus resisted the urge to stick fingers in his ears to stave off deafness, and was glad he had resisted when the Slug attempted to slam the door in his face without inviting him in. Using a foot, and a forearm, Severus kept the door from closing. When he opened it wide again, he saw that the Slug was gone. From the thundering sounds coming from what appeared to be a sitting room off to the side of the entryway, it had gone in there.

A long–necked horsey-faced woman, wiping her hands on a towel, emerged from the kitchen, which was straight down the hall past a set of stairs to the second level. Petunia. The years had not been kind to her. She scowled at him immediately. 'What are you doing here?' Her voice was pitched low, and she glanced involuntarily at the sitting room. 'We don't want your sort here.'

'That is abundantly clear, Madam,' Severus said. 'Nevertheless, as I am the Head of House for your nephew, at his school, I have a certain—'

'Shhhh,' she hissed with another glance at the sitting room, where Severus could hear a television blaring. 'Don't say anything more about it. Just get out and leave us alone. If he's making a mess of things as usual, it's your problem now, not ours.'

'I beg to differ. He will still return at the end of the spring term, and you will have his care each summer until September first.'

Petunia pursed her lips and natural color bloomed on her heavily rouged cheeks. 'What do you want then?'

Ah, the womb from whence the Slug's manners were born. 'I have come to discuss Harry, as his Head of House. I visit the families of all my first year students.' He paused, quirked an eyebrow. 'Did you not receive the owls, requesting an appointment?'

'No,' she lied, badly. 'We're a normal family here, now that he's gone, and do not let owls deliver the post!'

Putting a damper on his simmering temper, Severus sneered. 'Ah, yes, I heard about the debacle with regards to your nephew's Hogwarts letter. You should have just let him read it, and avoided all that unpleasantness.'

'You,' Petunia spat, 'will not tell me what to do in my own house.'

'I would not dream of it.' He bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile. 'Is your husband at home? I should not like to repeat myself.'

Her eyes narrowed, even as she paled. 'He's busy.'

'As am I. And yet, I came all the way out here, just to speak with you.'

'About the boy.' The loathing in that one word set Severus' teeth on edge.

'Indeed. Please let him know I am here.' It hurt his jaw to be polite with this creature, who he remembered not at all fondly from his youth, and who seemed intent on giving him insult. And yet, for Potter's sake, he made sure his tone was absolutely correct, so they could find no fault with their nephew because of him.

Her complexion worsened, turning a fine shade of paste, as if she actually feared to do as Severus requested. Did Dursley run his household with an iron fist? From the boy's memories, he was almost sure the man did. 'You can say whatever you need to, to me. Vernon is not available.'

But her protests fell down altogether, as a heavy tread from the sitting room announced the arrival of, not the Slug, but the Slug's father. Vernon Dursley was almost as wide as he was tall, which was taller than Severus himself, and his face was already heading toward the purple color Severus had viewed in Potter's memory. Looking at him, he could tell that this beast was quick to anger, and once riled, would require a Stupefy, at least, to get him to back down. Severus was looking forward to it. Almost.

He would have done so wholeheartedly, if he knew for certain that Potter would not need to return to this household. But since he had no idea, really, if that were going to be possible, he had to watch his step. . . . no matter how much he wanted not to. The boy would not be able to use magic in the summer, except if his actual life was in danger, and Severus did not want him to set up a situation in which the boy would be forced to choose safety over Ministry censure.

'Pet?' the man said, frowning. 'What's all this then? Did I hear mention of that place?'

Oh, for the love of Merlin, could they not even stand the idea of saying Hogwarts, or magic or any of it? Severus moved one step forward and gave a small nod of his head. It appeared Petunia would not introduce him. 'Good evening, Mr. Dursley. Severus Snape, Potions Master. I mentioned Hogwarts. The school your nephew, Harry Potter, attends.' He was interested to see how long the two of them could go without using Potter's name.

'Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say,' Dursley growled. A dark glint lit his piggish eyes. 'Is he giving you