"Harry Hunting. It's a game my cousin Dudley and his friends invented. They'd count to ten to give me a head start. And then they'd run after me. And if they caught me, they'd knock me to the ground and kick me until they got bored. They started playing it when I was six."
Snape said nothing, so Harry continued.
"In the summers, they had a special variation. Dudley's Aunt Marge would come to stay with us. She raised dogs and always came with a pit bull named Ripper. Instead of chasing me themselves, they'd just sic the dog on me. I have a bite mark I can show you from when I was seven and it got me before I was tall enough and fast enough to climb trees. From the age of about four, I cooked for the Dursley's, cleaned for them, did yard work for them. Sometimes, the Dursleys deliberately spilled things on the floor because I was done with my chores and they didn't want me to have any free time. At nights, I slept in a boot cupboard. My medical records include one broken arm, a fractured clavicle, and at least four cracked ribs. Until I started primary school at the age of six, I literally thought my name was 'freak' because that's what everyone called me. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had to sit me down the night before primary school started and explain that other people would call me 'Harry Potter' so I shouldn't act surprised by it, but in their house, I shouldn't expect to called anything but 'freak' or 'boy.' And as near as I can tell, all of that happened to me simply because James Potter and Lily Potter and Albus Dumbledore thought keeping me around was inconvenient and would complicate the more important task of raising the Boy-Who-Lived into the wonderful specimen of humanity he is today."
Harry stood and picked up his book bag. "I haven't told you any of this because I expect pity. And certainly not because I expect you to do anything about it. I've never met a grown-up who did anything to help me in any way. But I want you to understand one thing: You. Have. No. Idea. About what it means to hate James Potter." Then, he walked to the door and opened it. "Until next class, sir."
"Potter!" The boy turned back. Snape hesitated ... and then sneered at him. "Your hair looks ridiculous. Like some lazy Gryffindor who just rolled out of bed. Get it taken care of before you embarrass your house any more with it."
Harry nodded curtly, and then he was gone. Snape stared at the door for a long time. "Oh, Lily," he whispered, "what have you done?"
Later, while Harry was at lunch, Hedwig flew in bearing a thick, legal-sized envelope. Eagerly, Harry tore into it and pulled out several parchments over which he started poring, absently eating a sandwich as he read.
"What's that, Potter?" asked Draco.
"Some documents from my solicitor. Speaking of which, please remind me to send your parents a thank-you note. They were quite helpful."
"My pleasure." Draco turned then as the Gryffindors came into lunch late. Some were chatting amiably while others looked upset, and the youngest Weasel looked absolutely murderous. On the other hand, the eldest (and most boring) Weasel looked just as angry but it was focused on his youngest sibling. Then, Draco noticed that Jim wasn't with the rest of his House. Turning to the Head Table, he noticed Snape entering late but with a satisfied look on his face. Neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall nor Lily Potter were there.
Draco pointed out their absence to Harry who just crooked an eyebrow and said "Interesting."
"That's not the only interesting thing, Potter," said a Third Year. "I heard that your dad apparated in just before lunch. All the Potters together ... except you of course." The boy laughed rudely as Harry frowned at the reference to his "dad." Then, he straightened up with an excited look in his eye.
"James Potter is here? Where is he?" said Harry excitedly.
"After that spectacle his son – the other one – made in Potions class, I imagine he's in the Headmaster's office with McGonagall, Professor Potter and Junior," said Draco. "Why do you care? I didn't think you'd want to see any of the Potters, and after Monday, I wouldn't think he'd want to see you."
Harry began sifting through the documents from his solicitor until he found a rolled-up grey parchment which he pocketed. Then, he stuffed everything else into his book bag.
"What he wants is irrelevant, Mr. Malfoy. All that matters is what he deserves. Total war, remember?"
With that, Harry practically ran out of the Great Hall and to the gargoyle that stood at the entrance to the Headmaster's Office. Once there, he sat down, collected himself, and waited. About fifteen minutes later, the gargoyle slid aside, and the Potters came through the doorway. As soon as he saw Harry, James' face darkened, as did Jim's.
"What do you want?" hissed Jim.
"Nothing from you, Little Brother." Harry whipped out the scroll with a flourish and handed it to his father, who snatched it up and unrolled it. Then, his eyes widened.
"You've filed ... an injunction! Against either Lily or myself interfering with your schooling or your inheritance? Or even speaking to you without your head of house present? You mean Snivellus?! Why you little bastard!"
"James!" said Lily angrily.
"You should listen to her, Father. After all, you just slandered her and your other son as well as me with that remark. You know, I'd planned on giving that to mother and owling you a copy, but seeing your face in person makes it a thousand times better."
"Do you really think you're going to accomplish anything with this little stunt?" said James. "In case you've forgotten, Dumbledore is the Chief Warlock! He'll never let this stand."
"Oh, I haven't forgotten. Since you broke the seal and read the title, that alerted my solicitor that process has been served. As we speak, he's filing a motion to force Dumbledore to recuse himself from any legal actions involving our family because of his conflict of interest. After all, Father, you yourself told me that it was his idea to have me shipped off to the Dursleys for ten years." "Harry," Lily interrupted, "I know you're upset about that, and I don't blame you. But isn't this a little extreme?"
"Oh, hello, Mother. It's so nice to hear you actually speak to me for a change instead of ignoring me from across the Great Hall. And, no, this isn't extreme. Threatening me in front of several hundred witnesses to snap my wand is extreme. Promising to have me shipped off to be beaten and abused by your filthy relatives and to illegallydisinherit me is extreme. And doing all that just because I was sorted into a house my father dislikes? The same one that his boss, Rufus Scrimgeour, was once in? That's definitely extreme. This? This is just rational self-interest." He turned and walked away, calling back as he went. "Enjoy your weekend, Potters. I know I will."
And once again he smiled.