Whelp

Foremost on his list of distasteful items on this assignment, however, was the boy himself. Even if his aunt's stifling posture had prevented her from pampering the brat for six years and making a spoilt pimple out of him, he was still James Potter's son, and thus worthy of a bit of reviling all on his own.

Severus sighed and took up a walking stick to hide his wand-- Primped like Lucius bloody Malfoy, now! -- and made his way out of Hogwarts far enough that he could Apparate directly to the Muggle neighborhood where Potter lived.

The late afternoon sun was low in the sky when he arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive and rapped smartly on the front door. While he waited to be admitted, he took in the rest of the development, the identical hedges and drives, and even window dressings, for Merlin's sake. The automobiles, too, seemed to exist in only one or two models.

Few people were about in the still rather oppressive heat. On the other side of the road, however, three children peddled identical bicycles down the sidewalk. He wondered briefly if any of them were Potter. But no, two were blond and larger than seven years warranted, at least to his unpracticed eye. The third was a red head.

The boys closed in on him, having pedaled across the narrow street, and bellowed at him when he rapped on the door again. 'Not home!' the biggest of the three boys shouted as he pulled to a stop on the front lawn, dragging the tops of his shoes rather than applying brakes. His fat face was sweaty and bright red with exertion. 'They've gone to the shops.'

Severus drew himself up, the better to look down his nose at this sorry excuse for a boy. Rolls of pale pink skin fell over the top of the boy's short-pants, which clung tightly to huge, flabby thighs. He couldn't make out knuckles on the meaty hands that clutched at the handlebars of the bicycle. 'Indeed? You seem to know so much about them. Perhaps you might advise me on when they will return.'

The whale of a boy scrunched his face up. Obviously, the process of thinking caused him pain. 'They're meant to bring home ice cream, aren't they?' he said, and his two hulking compatriots nodded eagerly. 'And that new cartridge for my Gameboy.'

Severus sighed. 'Are they your parents then?'

The boy nodded. 'I'm Dudley,' he said, importantly. 'Dudley Dursley.'

'And what of your cousin? Is he out with them as well?'

One of the other boys sniggered. 'You mean the dog?' Dudley punched him on the arm, and the boy subsided.

'I beg your pardon?' Severus was tired and had not wanted to be here in the first place. The sooner he got his answers, the sooner he could leave.

The redhead, a rat faced boy, was smirking. 'Dudders, you hear him? He said--'

'Shut it, Piers,' Dudley growled. 'He's not my cousin.'

'Be quiet!' Severus snapped. All three heads swiveled toward him, mouths moving like fish. 'Dudley, is it? Is Harry Potter at your home right now?'

Dudley's face twisted into something sly and ugly. 'No. My Dad says he's not allowed.'

Not allowed? What in the nine circles of hells did that mean? The boy was seven years old. Gathering all of his admittedly short supply of patience, Severus lowered his voice to its softest, silkiest tones, the one he reserved for those upon whom he wanted to perform the most excruciating of curses. 'Tell me where the boy is.'

Though he was obviously taken aback, Dudley glared his friends into silence when one of them appeared about to answer, and the two of them shrugged and looked at their shoes. Dudley looked at the sky.

Severus' knuckles grew white from gripping his walking stick; he dearly wanted to clout this child. He settled for stepping closer, and using his best loom-over look. 'Well?'

The boy jumped, eyes wide. 'Not s'posed to say.'

'I suggest you rethink that position.' The threat was clear in his voice, and in case it was not, Severus slapped the head of the cane into the palm of his hand loudly. Twice. The boy in front of him quivered. 'Now! Where is he?'

With a trembling hand, the Dursley boy pointed toward the fence that cut off the front yard from the back.

'Outside? In the back?'

The boy jerked a nod, and Severus strode for the fence and the small gate nestled in its center. If Potter wasn't there, after all this, he would not be responsible for his actions.

--HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP--

The boy had been outside, chained to the shed, for four days now. Maybe five. Maybe more. He'd lost count, really. After the first two days, his ankle was so bad he couldn't stand on it anymore, so he lay against the shed, trying to stay out of the worst of the sun during the day, and the worst of the wind at night.

Every morning, his aunt hosed him down, and filled his water bowl, and every evening after work, Uncle Vernon came to check if he'd eaten the blob of dog food in the other bowl. He hadn't, and he wouldn't. Not ever. No matter how hungry he got. But Uncle Vernon just sneered, every time, and said, 'Perfectly good food going to waste, whelp. Perfectly good food.'

Every day, Dudley brought his friends by to taunt him, and they seemed to take the greatest pleasure in waiting until the boy had to relieve himself -- which he did at the back side of the shed, at the farthest the leash would allow -- before jumping out at him and laughing, or pelting him with stones or handfuls of mud. After the second day, when his ankle was bad, he scooted on his bottom as far as he could get from the shed before he peed, timing his needs as close as he could to when Aunt Petunia used the hose.

Late one afternoon, just after the first red blush of sunset appeared over the roof of the house, and the air started to cool, the boy was lying on his side, facing the back fence, when he caught movement under the azaleas. A green snake about a foot long slithered closer, tongue flicking in and out. They boy watched it with tired eyes,