Magnolia Road in Little Whinging, Surrey, was separated from the neighboring Privet Drive by little more than a wall.
It was midsummer; though the worst of the heat had faded, the air remained heavy and restless.
As dusk gradually settled, more people began to appear on the streets.
Among them was a somewhat unfamiliar foreign face.
He was a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, with soft curls, a pale complexion, and delicate, refined features.
He walked to the intersection of Magnolia Road and Crescent Street, stopping when he spotted an ice cream shop there.
The boy bought a chocolate sundae, then found a seat at the stand. As he ate, he curiously observed his surroundings.
...
The crowd grew thicker, and the ice cream stand became livelier by the minute.
The boy continued to watch quietly, scanning the people around him. After a few minutes, his gaze seemed to settle on his target.
A middle-aged woman in a pink robe.
Short and plump, she had a wide, loose face with sagging flesh and almost no neck, her large mouth drooping downward.
Her eyes were large, round, and bulged slightly from her face. Even the tiny black velvet bow perched atop her curls made her look like a giant pink toad about to catch a fly, as if she were about to extend a sticky tongue to catch it.
There was no mistaking it—she looked exactly like a large pink toad.
Her face bore an expression of smug self-importance, tinged with disdain, especially as she glanced over the passing crowd.
The boy's face remained expressionless as he lowered his head.
Although Dolores Umbridge had probably not seen or noticed him that day at the Ministry of Magic, it was better to err on the side of caution.
Still, the pink toad seemed in no mood to study every muggle that walked by.
She kept glancing around… and after a few minutes, appeared to spot something, slipping quickly into a nearby bush.
Catching this from the corner of his eye, the boy stood up, bought another ice cream, and moved to a seat with his back to the bushes.
He then placed a small mirror discreetly on the table in front of him.
While eating his ice cream, he filled the empty cup with a deep red liquid and sipped it casually, as if it were ordinary juice, as though he were just another customer.
...
A group of boys around sixteen or seventeen came striding down the street, laughing and shouting.
"Nice right hook, D-man!"
"Same time tomorrow?"
"Outside my house. My parents'll be out."
They bantered noisily as they walked, dispersing one by one until only a heavyset boy remained—broad-shouldered and thick around the middle.
There was no doubt about it—it was Dudley Dursley.
Moments later, another boy appeared, cutting across the street to block Dudley's way.
Harry Potter looked more disheveled than he had a month ago. His face, gloomy at first, brightened with something close to grim satisfaction when he saw his cousin.
The two collided head-on, trading barbed insults.
Harry mocked Dudley for bullying ten-year-olds, vividly comparing him to a pig that walked on two legs.
Dudley didn't flinch. "You're not so brave at night," he sneered. "I hear you talking in your sleep every night… 'Don't kill Jon! Don't kill Jon!' Who's Jon—your boyfriend?"
At the ice cream stand, the boy nearly choked on his dessert—but luckily, no one noticed.
Harry looked furious. He drew his wand, anger blazing, on the verge of hexing Dudley right then and there.
But as the weather suddenly turned dark and heavy, his expression shifted instantly.
He said a few quick words to his cousin, then grabbed him by the arm. Together they disappeared down Crescent Street, heading back toward Privet Drive.
...
Through the mirror on the table, the boy calmly looked up at the sky.
Two towering, hooded figures had appeared—Dementors, gliding silently downward through the air.
From the bushes, the pink toad-like witch leapt out and waved her hand at them.
The Dementors turned and began pursuing the two boys.
A cruel, excited grin spread across the toad-like woman's face as she followed after them.
The other people at the ice cream stand noticed nothing—after all, muggles couldn't see Dementors. They only felt that the evening had grown strangely cold and heavy.
As soon as the witch was gone, the boy rose from his seat and began following at a distance.
Once he was out of sight of the others, he extended his right hand and slipped off an iron ring.
Almost instantly, his form shifted into that of a middle-aged wizard.
...
The two boys had run into a tunnel, with the Dementors gliding after them.
Screams echoed faintly from within—
From afar, Dolores Umbridge watched the tunnel, her face alight with excitement.
Someone had to act—to silence Harry Potter, or to destroy his reputation. Only then would no one dare defy Cornelius's orders again...
But suddenly, a hand landed on her shoulder, making her jump.
"Who's there?" Umbridge shrieked, her usual syrupy tone forgotten.
"If I'm not mistaken, you're the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, Madam Umbridge?" The man's voice was cold as ice, his sallow skin and hooked nose immediately recognizable.
"You… you… you…" Umbridge stammered, clearly recognizing the face before her.
"I must say, Madam Umbridge, that anti-werewolf legislation you drafted two years ago—I quite approved of it," the hook-nosed wizard said with a faint, chilling smile. "Allow me to introduce myself. Severus Snape."
"Professor Snape…" The pink toad's eyes darted nervously between Snape, the surroundings, and the tunnel ahead.
For a brief moment, she seemed to consider drawing her wand and stunning him—but remembering what she knew of his abilities, she thought better of it.
"What… what are you doing here?" she stammered.
"A home visit," Snape replied coldly. "For a student whose performance in Potions has been exceptionally poor."
"Is that so?" Umbridge forced a stiff smile.
"And you, Madam Umbridge?" Snape pressed, his black eyes gleaming. "What brings you here?"