At the fireplace, Snape delivered one more order before he disappeared. ‘And you still have that essay to finish.' Then in a flash of green, he was gone.

Harry had forced the meal down with a great deal of difficulty. As he had been so angry, he had found it nearly impossible to swallow. Flintoff had stood and watched him with an unblinking solemnity that made him fume even more. This elf was no Dobby. Just like Kreacher, he gave Harry the utter creeps.

When he had finished, he stormed back to the bedroom without a word to the elf. He slammed the door in his wake but he distinctly heard the loud crack of Flintoff's Disapparation through the sturdy timber.

Harry flopped backwards onto the bed and threw a forearm over his eyes. Well, that little scene had certainly put an end to the unspoken truce that seemed to have sprung up between himself and Snape. Hell, the man had been positively polite (for him) over the last couple of days. He had even taken to calling Harry "Mr Potter". Harry couldn't remember if that had happened at all during his time at Hogwarts. He seriously doubted it. True, there was no frivolous chit chat going on and Snape rarely initiated conversation unless it was to tell Harry to do something, but if Harry asked him something, he answered in a civil enough tone.

Snape had set up a small desk in the bedroom for Harry to do his homework. He had said he did not need to be distracted from his own work by the scratching of another quill, nor the random turning of pages of text books. Nor indeed, the rustling of rolls of parchment. Harry couldn't hide his surprise when Snape was able to supply him with the sixth year, Transfiguration textbook, but Snape had raised that overactive eyebrow and told him that as a teacher who might be asked to fill in for another teacher at any time, it was prudent to have all the text books for reference.

Tall, deep bookcases made of some sort of dark timber took up a great deal of wall space in the sitting room and bedroom. There were hundreds of books and Snape had told Harry that he could help himself to any of those he was able to remove from the shelves without magic. That edict had certainly limited his selection. Snape must have spent hours (but when) making his own restricted sections. Only about a third of the books were able to be removed. Still, there were some interesting references amongst them and when not doing homework, or eating, or sleeping, he had found himself reading-quite a bit.

Harry was distressed to find that he still kept dozing off at odd hours. Usually, he lay down on the sofa or on the bed, but once, he knew he had fallen asleep at his desk and he had woken up in the bed several hours later. He had not asked Snape about that, he did not want to dwell on the fact that Snape must not only have levitated him into the bed, but had also removed his shoes and socks and pulled the covers up over him...all without Harry waking.

He wanted to sleep again now, escape this hell for another couple of hours but he was not going to let Snape get on his case again because he hadn't finished the essay. He had no idea when the man would return but he was going to be ready. And so, with a groan, Harry hauled himself upright and dragged himself to the desk.

Snape stayed away for the rest of the day.

To Harry's credit, he did work hard on the re-write. As a starting point, he read Snape's snarky comments, and as well as his fifth year text, he used the NEWT reference he had taken from Snape's shelves. This time around, Harry felt that his writing was much more structured and he had been able to include details he would have missed if he had not read the extra references. He had found several more books that delved more deeply into the thing that Hermione always said was vitally important to learn: The theory behind a spell.

Harry had smiled when he thought of Hermione and how she would rhapsodise over Snape's private library.

Finally, at nine PM, Harry set his quill aside and leaned back, arching his back and hearing joints pop alarmingly. He was very happy with the four foot long composition. Professor McGonagall would be happy too, Harry was sure; probably very surprised as well. Harry had never spent so much time on a single piece of work before. But even more amazingly, he had retained the information and it all made sense. And he knew he would be able to do the spells. He just knew it. So, practice combined with theory equalled success. Just as Hermione had always advocated. Harry had never felt so confident that he would be able to get a spell right on his first try.

Harry's only respite from study and writing after Snape had stormed off through the floo had been toilet breaks and when the house elf, Flintoff had Apparated back to the rooms to supervise Harry's food intake. This had happened two more times after that first appearance and Harry's dislike of the elf had only increased.

During each small meal, Harry had eaten doggedly and the silence between himself and the elf had been fraught with ill feeling. But Harry had been unable to ignore his presence because those spooky amber eyes had never left him for an instant. Harry had not even seen him blink. Not once.

Harry yawned and rubbed his scar. He didn't even realise he was doing it. The lightning bolt was red and angry looking, as was the skin surrounding it. All the time he had been working, he had sat with his elbow on the desk and his hand rubbing and kneading the irritating mark. Now, barely able to keep his eyes open, Harry rolled his parchment into a tight scroll and tied it with a thin length of red ribbon. After placing it carefully in the desk drawer, he staggered across the room and collapsed on top of the covers, asleep before he was fully horizontal.

8888

Severus waved his wand in a gentle arc and the flame beneath the medium sized iron cauldron became the merest flicker. He gave the contents of the cauldron seven slow anticlockwise stirs before drawing the long handled wooden spoon rapidly through the turbid greyish brew and then performing seven clockwise stirs. He then placed a tight fitting lid on the cauldron. The Wolfsbane Potion within would now be kept barely warm for the next forty hours, and would need stirring every eight hours in the same manner as he had just done it.

Severus had been making Wolfsbane Potion every month for three odd years now. Remus Lupin's life had become immeasurably easier since Albus Dumbledore had asked him to teach at Hogwarts in the August of 1993. That August had been the first month that Remus' painful monthly transformations had become, if not exactly pain free, then at least easily bearable.

His recovery period afterwards had been reduced from nearly five days of healing wounds, muscle tremors and exhaustion, to twenty-four to thirty hours. These days, there was little in the way of open wounds to heal, as Remus now kept his senses and no longer had the desire to attack. Being deprived of victims because he had always been confined in strongly warded rooms during the full moon, he had instead, savaged himself. Now Remus slept after transforming, curled up in his wolf form, only waking to the agony of his body changing back to its human form.

Severus was proud of this potion. The brew was his own invention, one he had started working on whilst still a student at Hogwarts and it had taken him several years to perfect. Wolfsbane was very difficult to brew and only the most talented potioneers even attempted it; most thought it was too much trouble. Severus had benefited quite handsomely from the royalties he received as the result of releasing the formula for publication in the most prestigious potions journals.

His discovery that Lupin was a werewolf and his own near death as a result of that discovery during their sixth year at Hogwarts had been the catalyst that had seen Severus begin, in minute detail, the study of werewolves and their habits. His progress had been delayed for long periods of time, especially during the period when he was studying for his Mastery and then his Healer's qualifications. But he had found himself going over his old notes during periods of frustration or boredom with his other studies. The subject was never too far away from the periphery of his thoughts.

Severus had always denied strenuously that the long years of research had anything at all to do with Remus Lupin. If asked, he would always reply in tones dripping with icicles that he would never do anything that would actually benefit the werewolf, as he hated him with every fibre of his being. His own near-death experience at the slathering jaws of a werewolf (Severus told himself that it was not significant that the werewolf that was responsible for his near-Death experience was Remus Lupin) had-after he had finally recovered from the shock-piqued his interest and his desire to save some other poor unfortunate from a fate similar to the one he could well have suffered that night.

As Severus cleaned utensils and scrubbed down the marble work bench, his thoughts dwelled on Remus Lupin. He had been shocked and absolutely incensed when that infuriating old fool he occasionally called friend, had informed him three years previously that Remus would be joining the staff as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Severus remembered with a grimace that he had practically been frothing at the mouth as he had screeched like a fishwife, but Dumbledore had a counter for every argument he had raised. The infuriating old coot had a habit of making Severus feel like a small child throwing a tantrum. But the final straw that had him closer than he had ever been to resigning, had been when the senile old man had told him that he, Severus would be supplying Lupin with the Wolfsbane Potion. He had laughed in the old man's face, but Dumbledore had sat stony faced until Severus' fit of hysterics had subsided.

Of course, all his arguments had been for naught. Dumbledore had prevailed, as Severus had known he would. Severus had found himself eating alongside his old school nemesis, sitting next to him in staff meetings, running into him in the hallways and the castle grounds, and, the thing that stuck in his craw the most, making the Wolfsbane every month.

Severus, who had not seen Lupin since the end of their school days, had discovered that it was practically impossible to rile the gentle, even tempered man, who, amazingly looked upon Severus as an old school acquaintance rather than a bitter enemy. The man was infuriating.

Severus worked at a steady rhythm, now melting wax and sealing the dozens of phials of "mild sleeping draught" he had prepared for the Infirmary stocks. This potion had a long shelf life and was the one Severus always prepared first when it came to restocking. This particular potion, while mild, was most efficacious for the first year students who may be suffering from insomnia due to home sickness.

It was easy and quick to brew and Severus had had no trouble supervising its brewing whilst he had started on the much more finicky and time consuming Wolfsbane.

In the beginning he had grudgingly made the Wolfsbane Potion at Dumbledore's request (read order) but since the end of that disastrous year when Lupin had been part of the Hogwarts faculty, and possibly because of an infinitesimal amount of guilt due to his part in losing Lupin his first decent job, Severus had continued to make the potion for the werewolf. His self justification for an act that could possibly be seen as an act of kindness (Merlin forbid) was because Lupin was a member of the Order, and frequently put himself in danger and that it was in his, Severus's best interests to keep the man as fit and healthy as he could.

And of course, there was now the added complication that the boy whom he had just discovered to be his son, looked upon Lupin as something akin to an uncle.

The boy.

Severus scowled as he scraped the excess wax away from the necks of the phials with a fine blade. He had left Potter...no, he had left Harry alone in his quarters over ten hours ago. He had not dared go back earlier as his foul mood had not abated enough for him to trust himself around other human company, let alone Harry Bloody Potter.

Ten hours seemed to have done the trick though and as he cleaned up after his day of brewing and made a final check on the wolfsbane, Severus could finally admit to himself that he had been totally unreasonable towards the boy. Harry had not had a clue as to what had sparked the vicious outburst, and though he could not condone the temper tantrum that had set spark to tinder, it alone had most certainly not been enough to warrant his own explosion of rage.

Seeing the birthmark which had been the beginning of his descent into this quagmire of unpleasant discoveries, had not prepared Severus for seeing the truth of Albus' assertion: That the boy got his flash point temper from him.

And Severus had seen more than the outward display of temper in the boy earlier that day. He had, for the first time, opened his eyes to see that, though Harry had the overall look of James; the shape of his face, the neat, straight nose and the hair that would not lie flat at the crown, he also had his, Severus' high cheek bones and finely arched eyebrows. The round glasses hid both to a certain extent, but Severus had seen the flush upon those cheekbones and the way those brows had straightened when drawn together in a fierce line when the boy had been in a roaring temper. He was James in repose and when happy, and Severus when in a filthy mood.

Wonderful! It would appear that the worst of the Boy Who Lived was Severus Snape. He snorted in self mockery as he locked and warded the door to the large laboratory attached to his office and classroom. It struck him that no one would be surprised at this discovery if the truth of Harry's parentage ever got out. Of the two cousins, James had been the happy, upbeat one and he, Severus had been the miserable, quick tempered one. Most had never known, nor guessed, that he and James Potter were related. And neither boy had advertised the fact, each keeping the festering, family feud going with their inherent dislike of each other.

In hindsight, of course it was easy for Severus to see that his Potter grandparents had had good reason to object to their daughter marrying Tobias Snape. It was not the fact of the man having been a Muggle as it was the fact of his having been a vicious bastard. Obviously, his grandparents had seen what his mother had been unable to see in the beginning and what she had been unable to admit later on because of pride. And though she never admitted it to him, Severus knew that she deeply regretted the fact that she had defied her parents and left them and her twin brother to be with a man who little deserved her and who had made her life a living hell.

Lily had once told him that Adam Potter, her father-in-law and Severus' uncle, deeply regretted the fact that he and his sister were estranged and that she had died before they could reconcile. Pride and stubbornness ran strongly in the veins of Potter descendents. His mother had had both-and so did he. So too had Adam and James.

Pride and stubbornness had indeed been passed on to Harry, the later in spades.

8888

When Severus stepped gracefully from the fireplace, he found his sitting room in complete darkness. He spelled a wall lamp on and found that the room was exactly as he had left it.

He was not surprised to see it thus because, as ordered, Flintoff had appeared in the lab each time the boy had consumed a meal. The elf had informed him that Harry Potter had grudgingly eaten the food prepared for him and that each time, he had left the table without a word and retired to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Severus could see, under the door that the bedroom was in complete darkness. Convincing himself that he only wanted to use the bathroom before he went to bed himself, and not that he wanted to check on the "Bloody Pest who Lived", Severus entered the room silently.

The wall lamp in the sitting room cast enough light for Severus to see the boneless heap on top of the covers. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. The idiot child had not even removed his glasses, let alone his shoes and socks. Severus did both, noting as he levitated the boy and pulled the covers back, that he slept like the dead.

Severus grimaced. That was not an analogy that he cared for, considering how close the boy had come to death. Then he reminded himself that Harry was still healing and that his body had been through a tremendous upheaval and was still trying to right itself.

Severus stared down and felt something strange and heavy take up residence in his chest. This irritating Gryffindor had been through more than any other student who had ever passed through this school. The fact that he had survived was more good luck than good management. Of course, there was no getting away from the fact that the young fool had knowingly put himself in the path of danger practically too many times to count. But there was also no getting away from the fact that his actions had always been an attempt to protect others. Severus did not think he had ever met such an altruistic person in the whole of his life. The boy would never have been sorted into Slytherin with that mile-wide streak of unselfishness running through him.

Then, of course, there had been that one time that Potter had not been responsible for the danger he had found himself in. The Triwizard Tournament and its unspeakably horrifying outcome; the death of a student, the torture and near death of Harry himself, and the resurrection of the nemesis of the wizarding world. Even when Severus had been at his sneering best, accusing the boy of cheating to get his name into the goblet, he had not really believed it. Severus doubted that even Filius or Minerva, or himself would have been able to break Dumbledore's age charm, let alone a fourteen year old wizard in training. He had just wanted to get at the boy, as usual, and he had been delighted with Karkaroff and Maxime's denouncement of the trumped up little upstart.

It was not until several hours after Potter had returned to Hogwarts with the body of Cedric Diggory that Severus had learned the whole of the sickening details of Potter's ordeal; after he had grovelled his way back into the inner circle and suffered horribly for that honour. Lucius had condescendingly allowed Severus to view his memory of the affair after Severus had, with superb ease, convinced his old friend that he was devastated to have missed the whole.

Not the escape of course, but the torture and ridicule that a practically defenceless, fourteen year old boy had endured at the hands of over twenty powerful, evil, fully grown wizards who would never be finished plumbing the depths of their own depravity. Yes, that was something (or so he had convinced Lucius) that he would have given much to have witnessed.

Lucius had obliged, and sickened though he had been, Severus had stored the memory away in his own memory banks for Dumbledore to peruse. As Dumbledore had expected, Harry had played down his suffering. And the memory did not include Diggory's death, nor the return of the Dark Lord. That had all happened before the Death Eaters were summoned.

Now, even in the muted light, Severus could see Potter's famous scar standing out in stark relief against the redness of the irritated skin around it. It had obviously been bothering the boy. He had lost count of the number of times that he had seen Pott...no... he had seen Harry absently scrubbing at the mark, as if he was trying to erase it.

Even in repose, that young, innocent face was not completely relaxed. There was the odd twitch, and the rapid eye movement was extreme. Sometimes, Severus had even seen the boy rubbing the scar whilst asleep.

Just as he was preparing to leave Harry to his dreams (or nightmares), Harry reached up and scrubbed at the scar viciously. A moan escaped his lips but he remained asleep, as if caught in a vision from which he could not escape. What fresh horrors was he experiencing?

Severus' eyes fixed on the back of the boy's hand. The words, "I must not tell lies", showed up bone white against Harry's normal skin tone. Severus had, of course, seen the scars before, many times. He had never commented on them specifically. He knew how they had gotten there and he was reminded forcefully that you did not have to be a disciple of the Dark Lords to have evil intent.

Severus knew, that if made to talk about his experiences at the hands of the Umbridge troll, Harry would only play down the issue. Dolores Umbridge was a person that Severus knew he would have absolutely no scruples about casting the Cruciatus Curse upon, until she no longer functioned as a human being. Much like Frank and Alice Longbottom. Umbridge did not have quite as far to sink to get to the state of the unfortunate Longbottoms, however; she barely deserved the title "human" in her normal incarnation.

As Severus left Harry to his now, restless sleep, his thoughts turned to the new potions that he needed for the boy-Dreamless Sleep and a salve to ease the discomfort in that scar, if such a thing was possible.

8888

Severus was enjoying his breakfast and perusing the drivel in the Daily Prophet that passed as news. Never let it be said that truth got in the way of a good story. These days, that saying was even more relevant. There was not one journalist at the Prophet who had the integrity or the intestinal fortitude to stand up to their new, political editors. Not one who actually had the balls to get out in the real world and do a bit of digging. The truth was definitely conspicuous by its absence in the wizarding worlds number one newspaper.

Severus slapped the paper down in disgust just as Harry stumbled out of the bedroom in his usual early morning, funk. He gave Harry a pointed stare when he dropped into his chair, banged his elbows on the table and lowered his head into his hands.

Rolling his eyes, Severus said, ‘You have the most appalling table manners, Mr Potter.

There was silence for a moment and then a muffled, ‘Yeah, well...I didn't have the best examples in the world,' issued from behind the bent forearms that hid Harry's face.

Harry cried out and nearly jumped out of his skin when Severus banged a hand down on the table top. The impact was so hard, the dishes rattled alarmingly. Harry stared, wide eyed at the man on the other side of the table.

‘You have an infinitely more accomplished exponent of table etiquette before you now, Mr Potter,' said Severus in a voice that was deadly in its intent. ‘And I tell you now, as long as you eat at my table, there will be no more slovenliness.

‘You will sit up straight without benefit of elbows on the table. You will cut your food into appropriately sized portions to fit into your mouth so that your lips can close, thus preventing you sharing minute particles of semi-masticated food with anyone unfortunate enough to be within range. You will not speak with a full mouth. You will place your knife and fork together when you have eaten your fill. And lastly, you will use your napkin rather than your sleeve to wipe your mouth.'

Harry's eyes had gotten rounder and rounder as this diatribe went on. He wanted to offer up a rebuttal, but knew that he had no grounds. He could hardly object to the strictures Snape had imposed because he knew that his conduct at the table left a lot to be desired.

He had not lied when he had said that he never had any kind of example in his uncle or cousin, both of whom always attempted to shovel as much food into their bulging maws in as short a time as possible. Aunt Petunia had conducted herself with more finesse, but the fact that she would pop sparrow sized portions into her mouth and chew with prune-mouthed precision turned Harry's stomach almost as much as Vernon and Dudley.

Harry didn't think that his manners were quite as bad as the professor implied, but if there was the slightest possibility that he had begun to emulate his uncle and cousin, then he had to stop.

Harry had never really eaten in such an intimate setting as he did down in these rooms with Snape. There was no one to monitor manners at the long house tables here at Hogwarts. Harry supposed that his barometer for what was acceptable there, and what was not, was Hermione. She told Ron off on a regular basis for his lack of manners, but she had never intimated to Harry that his conduct at the table upset her in any way.

And though meal times at the Burrow were not the nauseating spectacles the Dursleys presented, they were usually noisy, boisterous affairs that had as much to do with the sharing of information as they did with eating.

Harry loved eating at the Burrow. The food was always superb and the company equally acceptable. And though good table manners were not the highest priority, Mrs Weasley did try to maintain some semblance of order when her noisy sons became too boisterous or their conduct at the table deteriorated past what was acceptable.

And Harry did know what was acceptable. So what had he been trying to prove? Had he just wanted to goad Snape? After everything the man had done for him, why did he feel the need to assert himself, even to the point of making a total pillock of himself. Snape's opinion of him couldn't be lower if he was at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. Or could it?

Harry had been sitting with his head bowed, too ashamed to maintain eye contact. He could feel Snape's eyes boring into the top of his head. Time to bite the bullet. He took a deep breath and looked up, his hands now in his lap.

‘I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again.'

Severus was surprised. He had expected the boy to at least sulk and he had certainly not expected an apology without some prompting. And the words had not been said in an attempt to wheedle his way out of hearing further admonishments. Severus could tell that the look on his face was sincere. The boy looked totally ashamed of himself, as though the appalling manners had been a skilled performance put on for his benefit.

Severus stood. ‘I do not see a need to belabour the point any more, Mr Potter. I can see that you know what is acceptable and what is not.'

He left the table in a flourish of his robes. Harry was a little shocked by the abrupt departure as Snape usually stuck around to at least watch him drink the three phials of potion that he was still taking three times a day. He usually had a second cup of tea or coffee as well, while Harry ate his meagre breakfast.

Harry sighed and reached for the first phial but an impatient, ‘Potter, if you would kindly favour me with your presence,' from the bedroom saw him scrambling quickly to obey.

He stopped just inside the door. Snape was standing beside the bed and was removing the clear crystal he used as an aid to diagnosing from the wooden box it resided in.

‘I wish to check you over.' Snape pointed to the bed and Harry sighed resignedly and made to lie down. Snape put a restraining hand on his arm. ‘Take your T-shirt off, boy. Do I have to spell everything out?'

Harry's lips set mutinously. He fingered the bottom of the thin shirt but made no effort to lift it over his head. ‘Can't you do it through my shirt?'

Severus stared at the boy and fought down his natural inclination to snap. He thought he knew what was going on. Harry stood there, his face flushed and his stance defensive. The boy did not want to display his bare torso to his discerning eyes again.

Severus seriously doubted that the boy remembered the happenings of that fateful day when he had regained consciousness, only to blast him across the room because he did not want himself, nor Minerva, nor Albus to see his bare chest. And Severus knew why.

Potter had been either deeply asleep or unconscious all the other times that he had performed full examinations. Even in the hospital wing the other day, Potter had not awoken until his pyjama shirt was back on. He was embarrassed to display the numerous scars that criss-crossed his torso. Sensibly, the boy could not really think that Severus had not seen his bare body before now. But of course, this time, he was aware of it.

Severus took a deep breath and when he thought he had mastered his urge to sneer, he spoke in as understanding a voice as he could muster. ‘Mr Potter, you have been in my care now for ten odd days. I am a healer. Do you really think that I have not seen your body in various stages of undress during the whole of that time?'

Harry's face reddened even further and he clutched his shirt more tightly. His eyes darted to the door as though he was about to make a break for it. Severus took another deep breath. He felt as if he was trying to quiet a fractious hippogriff. He did not have a great frame of reference for "patient" or "gentle". He did neither well. But he had to try. They would never advance past this state of open warfare if he could not reel in his natural inclination to jump down the boy's throat every time he did not do exactly as he had been told, immediately he was told.

Harry Potter, was his son. His son! Those two words were not ones he had ever thought he would say. He was convinced he had never wanted to say them. And as much as he had never sought fatherhood, now that it had been thrust upon him, he found himself strangely reluctant to step back and ignore it. The reasons why were varied.

Though he had little idea of how a father should act, he was fairly certain that the negative interactions between a father and his child had to be modulated with at least that many-and almost certainly more-positive interactions.

And after many restless nights and much soul searching, he had convinced himself that if Lily had died rather than see her precious son killed, there was now no doubt in his mind that she would be thrilled to know that her orphaned son-unwanted and mistreated as he was by his aunt and uncle-had a living parent.

Severus had also convinced himself that Lily may have had an inkling of what would happen when he donated his blood to James. He had found himself wondering what would have happened if she and James had survived that Halloween night along with Harry. Would she have investigated? Would she have discovered that Harry had two fathers? And would she have told? He liked to think, yes. Lily had been as honest as the day was long. He was convinced that Lily would want him to acknowledge their son.

And though he had never known James intimately, he did know that he had been a loyal friend and a loving husband who had had an enormously strong sense of honour. He had also heard from Albus, just how ecstatic James had been when his son had been born...and what a devoted and loving father he had been.

Now that Severus knew about his own role in Harry's conception, he found he had another reason to be jealous of James. James had experienced all the joy of discovering that the woman he loved was pregnant with his child, and all the joy of holding a new born son. A brand new being who could be moulded into the person his loving parents wanted him to be.

But Severus did not have that raw clay to work with. The moulding had already been done, but not by the loving parents.

And suddenly, Severus could see just how remarkable the young man before him really was. Since viewing Harry's memories in the pensieve and discovering what his Muggle relatives had done to him over the years, Severus had only recently begun to think of all the boy had had to overcome. After all the contempt and abuse this child had suffered at the hands of his guardians, he had not become embittered. He was not vengeful or vicious.

Unlike what he himself had become as the result of his own deprived childhood. And he had had an advantage that Harry had not. He had had one parent who had loved him and had tried to protect him.

Harry had risen above his circumstances and become a person his dead parents would have been proud of. It was a source of everlasting shame to Severus that his own mother would have been greatly distressed by the terrible choices he had made in his earlier life. But he also knew she would have wept with joy when he had finally converted to the side of the light. It had taken too long, but eventually the lessons his mother had taught him, so long overshadowed by the anger and vengefulness that had taken hold of his soul because of his father's systematic abuse, had finally forced their way to the fore.

After all, he, Severus was part Potter. And he knew that his Potter part was better than his Snape part...because his mother had been a better human being than his father. And not just because she had been a witch.

It was obvious that Harry had a surfeit of the Potter honour and goodness with both James and himself being responsible for his paternity. That, combined with the contribution of the wonderful, kind, nurturing person who had been Lily Evans, made up the boy who was Harry Potter. Harry Potter...his son. His. And Lily's. And James'.

Oh, there was no getting away from the fact that the boy was not a saint. He was an irritating Gryffindor. He was defiant and cheeky, and far too angry, far to often. The adults (Albus, Minerva, Hagrid, Lupin and Molly and Arthur Weasley) who did care for him, indulged him far too much. He had not one iota of common sense when it came to self preservation, but he would die to protect his friends. He had enemies, but unlike James, he was not a bully. Severus had always known that the numerous confrontations over the years between Potter and Draco had always been instigated by Draco with his belief in his own pure blood superiority.

And if Harry had retaliated, it had more often than not been in an attempt to defend or protect his friends.

Harry Potter, had a streak of bravado a mile wide, but he was also vulnerable. He needed protecting...from himself as much as from his enemies. And he needed boundaries. He needed to realise that he was a sixteen year old wizard-in-training before he was the Famous Harry Potter or the Boy Who Lived.

In short, he needed someone who would provide all of those things. And without blowing his own trumpet, Severus knew he was the man for the job. He had always known that, he supposed. And he had always tried to protect Lily's boy, even when he couldn't stop himself hating James' son.

The boy he had come to know since he had been ill had been most of the things he had always known him to be...but he was also much more. Yes, he had been angry, but he had quelled that anger and expressed gratitude for Severus' efforts in saving him and trying to keep him well. He had been genuinely happy to see his friends but had been distressed to think they had been worried about him. Harry himself had been worried when Hagrid was upset after the fool of a half giant had injured him and he was in severe pain...then he had become frantic when he thought Hagrid would be punished.

And Severus now knew that Harry did not court his prodigious fame. He tried to deny it with his every word and action. He was not the arrogant little snot Severus had always proclaimed him to be. In fact, the boy was self deprecating to the point of being ridiculous.

Yes, Harry needed help, he needed guidance, but most of all, he needed protection. Perhaps, he even needed a father.

8888

‘Sir?'

Severus blinked. Merlin, how long had he been standing here, staring at the boy? Fifteen seconds? A minute? Two?

He needed to get this examination over with because the boy...Harry had still not eaten, nor taken his potions. So, he really needed to get the b...Harry to take off his shirt. Oh, he could spell it off, but that action would hardly gain him his ultimate objective.

He sighed again. ‘Mr Potter, I know you have scars on your body. Many more scars than a child of your age-nor indeed any age-should have. I also know how you got those scars.'

‘How could you poss...?'

‘I have seen many of your memories, Mr Potter. Remember?'

‘You didn't see...you only saw Ripper chasing me up the tree. You didn't...' Harry's voice had become a squeak. He did not want it to be true. And yet, he knew it was true; Snape must have seen the scaring. God knew, there was enough of it. But the memories...how could Snape have seen memories that he could not remember shifting through his brain when Snape had used Legilamency on him?

Severus broke in as Harry glared at him. ‘Mr Potter...Harry, please let's just get this over with. You need to eat and you need your potions. We can talk later.'

Harry was goggling at Severus. Had the man who always called him "Potter" with such contempt, just called him Harry? And said, "please"? "Harry" and "please" in the same sentence coming from Snapes mouth was hardly within the realms of possibility. Was it?

"Mr Potter", he had become used to because the "Mister" always sounded so forced, as though Snape used the title unwillingly. Harry assumed Dumbledore had encouraged Snape to try and put things on a friendlier footing between the two of them, as they had to spend so much time in each others company. But "Harry"...that was just too weird.

Shaking his head in bewilderment and resignation, and taking a deep breath, Harry pulled his T-shirt over his head, and then, without meeting Severus' eyes, he lay down and glared at the ceiling, his jaw set.

Stepping up to the bed, Severus worked quickly and efficiently. First of all, he pointed his wand at Harry and removed the two cushioning charms, Harry gasped as the pressure in his abdomen seemed to be drawn outwards...slowly, and then, he imagined he heard a slight pop, and he felt as if he could take a deep breath for what felt like the first time in forever. Forgetting to glare at the ceiling, his wide, green eyes snapped to Severus.

‘What just happened?'

‘I just removed the cushioning charms. As you can feel, the difference is quite significant.' Severus did not meet those green eyes, instead, he concentrated on positioning the crystal over Harry's liver.

‘Now, if you can lie still and quiet, this will be over and done with quickly.'

Instead of returning his gaze to the ceiling, Harry watched Severus as he concentrated on his task. He lay quietly, as ordered, and watched various expressions flit across the sallow face. The man's concentration was absolute and as Harry watched, he thought he could use those black eyes and eyebrows as a barometer for what the man was thinking.

There was the drawing together of the eyebrows; Harry assumed that to be confusion. Then the eyebrows lifted to form perfect arcs above the black eyes that were not, at this moment, empty and cold, nor blazing with fury; they were thoughtful and-though Harry found it hard to believe-concerned. After a couple of minutes of having the crystal moved around his upper abdomen, the eyebrows returned to their normal, straight line and the black eyes seemed to gleam slightly.

Harry took this to be satisfaction as Snape sighed deeply and removed the crystal. Harry noticed that the beautiful piece of faceted glass, which had been clear when placed upon his skin, now seemed to be pulsing from within, with the faintest red glow.

Snape straightened and with an almost indistinct mutter, said, "lumos", and directed the lighted tip of his wand through the crystal. Harry propped himself up on his elbows and watched as the healer moved the lighted tip back and forth and turned the crystal this way and that.

After about thirty seconds, Snape grunted and nodded his head. He then placed the crystal on the white crushed velvet lining of the wooden box from which he had taken it earlier. The red glow had become even fainter.

With his eyes still on the stone, Harry asked, ‘What does the red mean?'

With a movement of his finger, Snape indicated that Harry should lay down again. Harry tensed when Snape started to gently poke and prod him with strangely, warm fingers. His skin seemed to tingle wherever the healer touched him. Was this the result of Snape holding the crystal, or was it his imagination? He did not ask, he just focused on the ceiling again.

‘The red indicates that the blood is flowing unimpeded through your liver and spleen, the two organs I was checking.' He was silent for a moment as he slid one hand under Harry and pressed downwards on his stomach over that hand. Seemingly satisfied, he repeated the procedure on the other side.

Finally, Snape straightened again. Harry's eyes flew to his face. ‘Is everything OK,' he asked in a rush.

Snape gave one definitive nod. ‘It would appear so. I cannot find anything wrong. Your liver has mended nicely and is now functioning to its full capacity. As is your spleen.'

Harry grinned. ‘Great!'

Severus rolled his eyes but was quietly amused when Harry practically launched himself off the bed and wriggled into the T-shirt that had not totally been relinquished earlier. His left arm had still been through the sleeve. Harry may have reluctantly exposed himself to Severus, but he was not going to hang about even semi-naked any longer than he had to.

‘If everything's OK, do I still have to take the potions.'

Severus nodded once, very decisively. ‘You do. You are still slightly anaemic and you could still use the nutritive potion.'

Harry opened his mouth to protest that one, but Severus raised an eyebrow to quell any verbal onslaught. ‘Just until you have gained a little more weight. The nutritive potion, along with a more substantial food intake will see to that quickly, now. But I think we can stop the Pepper-up potion.' Severus smirked slightly. ‘I would rather not have you bouncing off the walls.'

Severus strode from the room following that declaration and a slightly disgruntled Harry followed. With a wave of his wand, Severus banished the contents of the table, except for two phials of potion, then called, ‘Flintoff!'

The creepy house elf appeared and Severus ordered a fresh breakfast for Harry and a fresh pot of tea. Without a word, or a look in Harry's direction, the elf bowed low and disappeared with a crack.

As Severus indicated that Harry seat himself, a modest plate of scrambled eggs and mushrooms appeared, a goblet of pumpkin juice, and a rack of toast, with butter, marmalade and blackberry jam. The beaten silver teapot had also appeared accompanied by two cups and saucers.

‘Take your potions first.'

Harry complied willingly, his focus already on the delicious meal. His eyes shone as he gazed at the bounty in front of him. It had been so long since he had eaten anything other than mush. He looked up at Snape who was pouring a cup of tea.

‘I can eat this, Sir?'

Keeping his eyes focused on his task, Severus said, carefully, ‘Yes, you may eat it...Harry.'

Harry, who had lowered his eyes and was in the process of picking up his knife and fork, paused and jerked his eyes upwards. There it was again! Harry. What the hell was happening. Was this new intimacy something that Dumbledore had ordered Snape to do? Or was it Snape feeling guilty about the way he had roared at Harry and then stormed out for hours on end the day before.

While Snape concentrated on pouring his tea, Harry reluctantly picked up his cutlery and returned his attention to his meal. He began eating, but now the delicious food was not the only thing on his mind. Where was this coming from, and what was he going to do about it? He could hardly turn around and say to the man that he would prefer Snape not use his first name. That would make him sound like a pompous twat. That was something Malfoy would say to someone he would consider a lesser being-someone like Hermione.

There was silence for several minutes as Harry ate and Severus perused a parchment that he had summoned from his desk. Harry kept glancing at Snape as he ate. The man seemed totally relaxed but Harry could not help wondering at the bizarre behaviour that had manifested itself since they had retired to the bedroom for the examination.

Things had started off normally enough that morning, what with the lecture on table manners delivered in the usual, snide, impatient tones. That Snape, he was used to. But this Snape...this Snape was just too unnerving. Harry found himself waiting for the axe to fall.

As Harry put a final forkful of egg into his mouth and placed his knife and fork together on his plate, he eyed Snape again through his overlong fringe. Not concentrating as he reached for the teapot, Harry's fingers made contact with the hot metal pot instead of the handle.

‘Oww!' Harry pulled his hand back so quickly, he knocked the milk jug over. Snape's wand was in his hand and the jug was righted before any liquid was spilled...almost as if the man had been waiting for the accident to happen.

Those obsidian eyes pinned Harry as he sucked on his burnt fingers, horrified that he had managed to nearly spill the milk again. Maintaining eye contact, Snape pointed his wand at the parchment he had been reading so that it re-furled and was banished back to his desk.

‘If you have something to say to me, Mr Potter, perhaps you should just go ahead and say it. Before something major transpires and I find myself having to heal you again.

‘What makes you think...'

Snape raised his eyebrows. ‘Subtlety is hardly your strong point, Potter.'

OK. That was it! Harry felt like he was on a roller-coaster ride. Potter! Mr Potter! Harry! Which one was it?

‘All right. I've got something to say,' he said angrily. ‘I'm a bit confused, Professor Snape. In the bedroom, you called me Harry. And for the last couple of days, except when you've been in a raging temper, you've called me Mr Potter. I've been at Hogwarts for five years now and in all that time all you've ever called me, is "Potter", and that was always delivered with as much contempt as you could muster at any given time. There's something going on, isn't there?'

So, this is it, thought Severus. Time for confession. He couldn't believe it. He was nervous...nervous about how the boy would take it. But how much should he tell him? Tell him the lot, or take Albus' advice and tell it in stages.

Looking at the anger simmering in those amazing green eyes reminded Severus that slow and steady usually won the race. Too much information too soon could have disastrous consequences.

And then there was the thinking that if the boy could not accept that they were cousins, then he did not have to go ahead and tell him of their closer relationship. Yes, it would be best if they could at least be civil to each other on a regular basis before he informed the boy that, along with James, he Severus, was his father.

Severus sighed. He stood and straightened his robes, smoothing crisp black fabric that did not need smoothing. ‘If you have finished your breakfast, I would like you to join me in the sitting room.' When Harry looked wary, Severus added. ‘You're right...Harry. I have something to tell you.'

Severus led the way. He indicated that Harry sit in one of the chairs. He eyed the other chair but then decided that he would rather stand. When he just stared at Harry, unable to decide where to start, the boy jumped to his feet again, clearly agitated.

‘What's going on, Professor? There's something wrong, isn't there? Something you can't fix.' Harry's hands were clenched at his side and his face had gone white. ‘Am I going to die?'

Severus was appalled. Trust the foolish child's mind to head off along the worst possible route.

‘Sit down Po...Harry. I promise you this has nothing to do with your health.' Harry looked unconvinced but he sat, albeit on the edge of the chair.

Severus found that he couldn't look at that worried face. He was not at all sure that he wanted to see the changing expressions. So, he began to pace as he launched into the story.

‘As you are aware, when we were forced together during the year in an effort for me to teach and for you to learn Occlumency, I put certain of my memories in Dumbledore's pensieve.' A very quick glance showed him what he expected to see...a very red-faced boy.

‘You might think I wanted to hide that memory from you because of what transpired between your father and myself. And indeed, you would be right to a certain extent.' Harry squirmed and looked down at his feet.

‘That episode, however, was not much different to many other such episodes that I suffered at the hands of James Potter and Sirius Black. Those two Gryffindors seemed to take especial delight in torturing me...'

‘I didn't tell anyone,' broke in Harry agitatedly, and then, ‘well, I did tell Sirius and Lupin what I had seen, but only because I wanted Sirius to tell me why they did it.'

Despite himself, Severus asked, ‘What did Black say?'

‘He said that they were fifteen years old and that they were idiots. He said he wasn't proud of it.'

Severus snorted. He was pretty sure that Black had only said that to appease his godson. He would have liked to ask when Harry had spoken to Black and the werewolf, and why he had bothered. But they were questions for later. He needed to get on before he lost his nerve.

‘Yes, well, I agree. They were idiots. And in point of fact, your father and his friends were sixteen when that incident happened. Their birthdays were at the beginning of the year...as is mine. But I digress. The treatment meted out to me that day, whilst unpleasant, is not the reason I placed the memory in the pensieve. My subsequent actions were the reason I hid the memory.'

‘Sir?' Harry was definitely confused. ‘But you only tried to retaliate.'

‘Yes, I tried. And that day, I didn't succeed. It was my treatment of your mother that I was ashamed of. I called Lily a "Mudblood", and I was absolutely appalled with myself.'

Harry's mouth had fallen open but Severus hurried on. He did not need another interruption.

‘Your mother and I were friends, Harry. As she had been sorted into Gryffindor, and I into Slytherin, I was determined that we would be enemies. But your mother had different ideas. We had a similar intellectual bent and our Potions professor in particular had a penchant for dividing his glass up so that a Slytherin would work with a Gryffindor. Lily attached herself to me and I found that I could not shake her off.

If I was studying in the library, she would come and sit with me. And all the other classes where Gryffindor and Slytherin were combined, Lily would be at my side. Why she continued to try and befriend me, I have no idea, but she eventually succeeded. We were friends long before she decided that James was perhaps worth her notice.

‘But I nearly lost her friendship that day after the Defence O.W.L. I had lashed out in anger and humiliation when all she tried to do was help me. But to be in such an ignominious position and then to have a girl come to my aid was too much for my pride.' Severus was quiet for a few moments as the memory of that day washed over him in waves of humiliation and regret.

Harry was too shocked to comment. He couldn't believe that Snape and his mum had been friends. That she had actually instigated the friendship. Beautiful, bright Lily Evans and the greasy haired, pallid faced, skinny Slytherin, Severus Snape.

‘Anyway,' continued Severus, doggedly. ‘I had a lot of ground to make up, but after the worst week of my life when I thought I had lost her friendship for ever, Lily finally forgave me that terrible day's transgression.' He met Harry's wide eyes. ‘And just for the record, I have never used that foul, derogatory term since that day.'

‘It's a pity you don't ensure that your snakes follow your example then,' cried Harry, his shock bursting from him in a wave of anger. ‘It's Malfoy's favourite word.'

‘I am aware of Mr Malfoy's penchant for that particular sobriquet, but you must know that in my role as a spy for the Order, I have to favour the Slytherins, particularly the children of Death Eaters.' But when Harry would have launched into another tirade, Severus held up his hand. He was getting angry. The boy was making this more difficult than it should be.

‘Mr Malfoy and his inappropriate language are a discussion for another time, Mr Potter. I wish to finish this story before midnight.' Harry slouched back in the roomy chair and crossed his arms. His face was set, but he was silent.

Severus sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘As I was saying, your mother forgave me that day's transgression. She could not, however, reconcile herself to my future choices.' He unconsciously put his right hand in his left sleeve and rubbed the spot where Harry knew the Dark Mark was burned.

‘At the age of sixteen, nearly the age you are now, I made the worst mistake of my life. And one of the worst outcomes of that decision was that I had let Lily down. She was disappointed in me, to say the least.

‘By this time, she was becoming more aware of James and even after they started to go out together, she refused to stop being friends with me, even though he asked her to. I believe I was the biggest bone of contention between James and your mother.

‘Of course, once we left school, we saw little of each other. As both James and Lily were members of the Order of the Phoenix and I was a Death Eater, even without James's other objections to me, and even though I had already come to regret my choices, it was best that we did not see each other as Lily would have had to compromise her convictions if she did not make an attempt to capture me.

‘We did correspond though, after a fashion, and through an intermediary. She never stopped trying to convince me to come under Dumbledore's wing.'

Harry had to wonder where all of this was going. As interesting as it was to hear about his Mum, it was also more than a little disturbing that Snape had been such an important part of her life.

Severus continued his tale and Harry hung on his every word. He told how James and Lily had become engaged, how Lily had come looking for him after James had been mortally wounded and how Lily had begged Severus to give James some of blood.

Severus explained why it was thought that blood could not and should not be transfused form one wizard to another. He explained about James moribund state and that he had lost so much blood, that blood replenishing potion would never have worked as there were not enough blood cells left for it to latch onto.

‘But if that's the case, why did my mum ask you to give my dad blood?' asked Harry, becoming more and more confused. Why not Sirius, or Remus. Or anybody in the Order. Did you have the same blood group?'

‘Magical folk do not have different blood groups, Harry. It is the magical component of our blood that makes us different from one another. No one had ever really studied magical blood to any great extent before, other than to discover that if one wizard gave his blood to another, then the two different magical signatures would battle against each other. The outcome would either be death for the wizard receiving the blood as the new magic overcame his, or at the least, both magical signatures would wipe each other out and the wizard would be left a squib.

‘You mother worked in the Department of Mysteries. She made a study of wizard's blood. She went into it much more deeply than anyone else had ever bothered to do.

‘Your mother deduced that if there was a close enough family connection, then the magical signatures may be alike enough to prevent one battling the other.' Severus paused and took a deep breath. Harry was staring at him in confusion, his eyebrows-so like Severus'-drawn together in a frown.

‘I still don't understand. Was my dad so close to death that she just grabbed the first person she could think of? Was her research wrong?

Severus shook his head. ‘No, her research was spot on.'

‘But how...'

‘James survived, Harry, because he and I were cousins. My mother and James' father were brother and sister. Twins, in fact.'