Severus's face was set in rigid lines as he gazed after the furious teen who had just had the audacity to hurl a mouthful of abuse at him, and then, miracle of miracles, leave with his hide intact. But truthfully, the last thing Severus felt like was abusing Harry at this point in time. The boy's mood was already balanced on a knife edge and even he could see that one more negative approach from himself would irrevocably damage any hope of the two of them coming to some kind of understanding.

A door above them slammed with some force and Severus had unconsciously placed his booted foot on the next stair upwards when Albus put a hand on his shoulder. He looked at the old man. It was meant to be a cold ‘let go of me', look, but instead it was a pathetic ‘tell me what to do now, Albus', look. Something had happened to him back in that bloody graveyard in Godric's Hollow. He wasn't sure what, but all he knew was that it gave him no pleasure at all to know that Harry Potter was upset. And he just did not know what to do about it. Once upon a time, he might have danced a jig to know that something he had done, or was going to do would upset the Boy Who Lived so much.

"Leave him for now, Severus. Nothing can be resolved at the moment. And I know you. You will answer the summons, no matter what, and trying to placate Harry will only make him more furious when you have no intention of not doing as he has asked.

"And things will be the worse for you when you arrive late." Severus shut his eyes and took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck, surprised anew by the fact that his hair did not cover the bare skin. He knew all eyes were on him, but for once he did not have a snarl or a cutting word to say to his audience. He knew they were all dying to know just what had happened to bring about this concern for Harry's welfare in him. That was something he and Albus and Harry would have to discuss at a later date, if it came to pass that he and Harry could get past this stalemate.

"Harry will be here in the morning, Severus. You will have all the time in the world to talk then." Severus looked into the wise old face and was aware that once again, Albus was demonstrating, unfailingly, that wisdom really did come with age.

He gave a curt nod and then turned and hurried down the stairs. He would have to transfigure his robes, but he would do that outside. The Weasley's did not need to see his Death Eater robes, after all. Before he reached the door however, Arthur blocked his path. Severus glared at him.

"Perhaps I should transfigure you back to the original version, Severus, as it was I who made you this way. You don't need for there to be anything amiss when you meet with, ‘He Who Must Not Be Named'. My Finite will be most effective." He raised his wand and said firmly, "Finite Incantatem!"

Severus experienced the very unpleasant sensation that he was melting and reforming. It was the same feeling experienced when Polyjuice Potion wore off. Any human transfiguration, even just a change in looks, was uncomfortable in the extreme.

"You can deal with your clothes," added Arthur and Severus gave a curt nod of thanks. He had known by the lack of reaction when he had first entered the room looking like a perfect stranger that all those present had been warned-probably by Bill Weasley-that his looks had been transfigured. Arthur's looks had returned to normal whilst Severus had been outside, but his clothes were still what Severus had transfigured them into.

He looked back towards the stairs where everyone was still standing as they had been thirty seconds ago. Ronald Weasley's mouth was hanging open as it was want to do when he found something hard to comprehend...which was more often than not. Why he was shocked now, Severus did not understand, unless it was because he had never before seen Professor Snape in Muggle attire. Yes, that must be it.

"Albus, make sure Harry takes the potions!" Severus demanded before exiting the house. He set his lips grimly. Two phials would be a large dose, but at least he knew that it would dull the present level of pain Harry was feeling in his scar, and it would put him into a deep sleep. Unless the Dark Lord demonstrated the level of anger he had done a week ago, Harry should sleep through the night without being awoken by the pain or a return of the horrors that had occurred in the graveyard at Godric's Hollow. Nor indeed any of the other horrors the boy had been a witness to or been involved in over the last year and which Severus knew were on his mind constantly.

Outside, Severus ran towards the property boundary. Just before he Disapparated, he moved his wand over his Muggle attire in a complicated movement that transfigured them into his black robe and hooded travelling cloak. One must always dress appropriately when one was in the presence of the Dark Lord, no matter what one may have been doing, or where one may have been at the time of the summons. Severus snarled his hatred and irritation and then, shutting down all negative emotions for the Dark Lord and his heinous crimes and the myriad happenings that had so recently turned his life upside down, he disappeared.

8888

Ginny stood just inside the door of Ron's tiny bedroom and watched worriedly as Harry stalked up and down the room between the beds. It was a distance of no more than four frantic footsteps because there was a dresser under the window and a rickety old wardrobe against the opposite wall. In fact, there was barely sufficient room for those pieces of furniture plus Ron's bed and the camp bed Harry always slept on when he was at the Burrow, let alone the addition of people. Therefore, Harry's ‘caged lion' tread was not affording him the satisfaction that it should have done because he could not get any momentum up before he had to stop and retrace his steps.

Ginny's looked even more worried when Harry, at the window end of the room, seemed to see something out in the dark yard. He had stopped pacing to lean on the dresser and peer out. He stood there, completely silent for about ten seconds, and then he released a roar of rage while scrubbing furiously at his forehead. He threw himself onto Ron's bed, where he sat with his elbows on his knees and abandoning his scar, his hands gripped and pulled his untidy hair.

Ginny couldn't stand it a moment longer. She knelt down in front of Harry and grabbed his wrists as tightly as she could, trying to get him to stop inflicting pain on himself. "Harry, stop it!" she said frantically but if he heard her, he ignored her.

"Harry, please," she croaked in a voice thick with tears and as she could not loosen his grip on his hair, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. "You're frightening me," she sobbed against his skin.

Harry didn't seem to be aware of her for several seconds, but finally, the feel of warm moisture on the bare skin of his neck and shoulder seemed to bring him out of the private place he had retreated to. He was suddenly conscious of the small, quaking body clamped tightly around him and he released the grip on his hair, realising belatedly that his scalp was really, really sore. He manoeuvred his hands away from his head and wrapped his arms around Ginny's waist, opening his knees so that he could pull her closer to him, even though she remained kneeling on the floor.

"Shush...Gin, it's all right," he whispered in her ear, sorry that he had upset her so much. He had not really been aware that she had followed him up here when he had stormed off, and he wasn't even sure that he wanted company, so mixed up did he feel. But he didn't want Ginny to be upset either.

Why was his life such a humungous pile of bat droppings?

Ginny moved her knees closer to the bed to try and balance herself better. She sniffled and seemed to suddenly become aware that she was blubbering all over Harry's neck. Embarrassed, she tried to pull away, but Harry suddenly decided that he liked her exactly where she was. While she was in his arms, he had something else to concentrate on other than the headache that was starting as a result of the constant pulsing of pain in his scar and the anger and confusion that he was feeling because of Snape. Ginny's petite form fitted against him perfectly and whilst he tightened one arm to pin her to him, chest to chest, he lifted his other hand to tilt her head back. He tried to kiss her on the lips, but Ginny turned her head and buried her face in his shoulder, sniffling again.

"Don't," she whispered, mortified beyond belief. "I'm a mess."

"I don't care," said Harry emphatically, and he directed her face back with a finger against her jaw, and proceeded to kiss her wet, swollen eyes, the tip of her nose and then her mouth. Ginny didn't fight anymore. She was just glad Harry had stopped trying to pull his hair out of his head, and wear a track in the floor, and if she could be a distraction from whatever it was between Harry and Professor Snape, then she was glad.

Harry couldn't understand why kissing Ginny after she had been crying was not the unpleasant experience kissing a teary Cho had been. Perhaps it was because Ginny was kissing him, not Cedric Diggory. Perhaps it was because Ginny had been crying for him, not Cedric. And perhaps it was because Ginny wanted to be with him, and not Cedric.

And God, she smelled so good. She smelled of flowers and summer grass, and Harry could picture the freedom of the outdoors, with pale blue skies and gentle breezes that set the long grass moving in waves and the flowers bobbing their bright heads on the ends of long stems. Harry thought that the delicate scents suited Ginny perfectly.

Cho had worn a perfume that was much heavier and Harry had always found it quite cloying...on the few occasions he had gotten close enough for it to envelop his senses. He had been willing to overlook the overload on his olfactory nerve in favour of what he had, at the time, thought of as ‘other compensations'.

Most of the wonderful scent enveloping his senses now, was caught up in the magnificent curtain of dark red hair that he had fisted in one hand while he peppered little kisses across the angle of Ginny's chin to her earlobe. He kissed the soft, velvety flesh, there and his teeth clinked against a tiny little earring that he had never noticed before.

Harry pulled back but just far enough for him to focus on Ginny's ear. A slight smile curved his lips as he ran his thumb over the tiny, emerald green, lightening bolt. Ginny watched him closely as his eyes travelled to the one in her other ear.

"How long have you had these?" Harry asked softly, pulling back a bit further to look into her liquid chocolate eyes.

Ginny's cheeks had reddened a little and she could only meet his eyes for a few seconds before she looked down, leaning her forehead against his and fiddling with the hanging end of the cord threaded through the hood of his jacket. "Mum and Dad bought them for me after you rescued me from the Chamber of Secrets, " she said very softly.

Harry pulled his head back and looked at her in surprise. "They did?"

Ginny nodded. "Dad said they were a gift because they were so relieved that I didn't...well, you know...that I didn't die down there and had miraculously been returned to them. and they picked those so I would never forget what you had done for me."

Now it was Harry's turn to look embarrassed but when he tried to look away, Ginny put her hands on his cheeks and held his face still. "You did save me Harry. There's no getting away from that fact." And she kissed him on the lips again. "Thank you, by the way," she whispered and then kissed him again. Harry happily succumbed and he tightened his arms around her. They were so caught up in each other for the next minute or so, they did not hear the door being pushed open.

A discreet cough was what had both teens jumping apart so violently, they bumped noses painfully and Harry's glasses were knocked askew. Ginny fell backwards onto her bottom and she scooted around to stare up at the intruder. Harry had sprang to his feet and he too stared, red-faced at Professor Dumbledore. Ginny grabbed hold of Harry's wrist-his hands were tightly clenched at his sides-and she hauled herself upwards. When Harry realised she was beside him again, he placed a protective arm around her waist and pulled her tightly to his side.

Harry's embarrassment was subsiding, leaving his face white and set with anger. "Did you want something, sir?" he asked in his coldest voice. "Or do you have a message from my father. I know he would want to deliver any message himself, but of course, the Dark Lord must take precedence."

Ginny's head had whipped around to stare at Harry, her eyes wide with confusion. Dumbledore looked regretful and sad, but Harry hardened his heart. "I knew you wouldn't stop him," he spat. "So, as you can't have anything to say that I want to hear, excuse us...but we were rather busy."

"I am sorry, children, but..."

"We are NOT children!" bellowed Harry, taking a step towards Dumbledore. "I stopped being a child when I was fifteen months old, Professor. When my parents were murdered and you handed me over to a family of sadists. You say it was to keep me safe, but I think it was to start the toughening up process. I was fifteen months old!"

"Harry..."

"Tell me, Professor Dumbledore, how did you keep a close enough check on me to know that my uncle didn't beat me so badly that he damaged me beyond repair...or even killed me? Mrs Figg couldn't see what was going on inside the house. If Uncle Vernon had done me in, who would have done my job then?"

"Harry, please listen to..."

"And to think," continued Harry, raising his voice to override the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. "All the time I had a loving f..."

"THAT WILL DO!" Dumbledore's uncharacteristically raised voice stopped Harry in his tracks. Harry glared for a moment longer and then he seemed to wilt. He swallowed and all of a sudden he felt totally ashamed of himself. Not even three weeks ago, he had berated the headmaster in a very similar fashion. He had wanted to attack the old man, but knowing that was not on, he had set out to destroy his office instead. And now, he had nearly launched into a rant that would have been heard in the lower levels of the house, and a secret that a man's continued health and safety was probably reliant upon, would have been made public.

Oh, God!

Harry turned horrified eyes to Ginny. She was looking at him as if she barely knew him. And she had heard him talk about ‘his father'.

"Gin..." he started hopelessly.

"I think I'd better leave you and Professor Dumbledore to talk together." She said softly and tugging her hand free, she moved to leave.

"Gin, I'm sorry."

Ginny stopped and turned back. She gazed at Harry's anguished face for just a second and then she threw her arms around his neck, and ignoring Professor Dumbledore's presence, she kissed him soundly on the lips. "I love you," she whispered, for his ears alone. And then a little louder, "I'll see you in the morning."

Harry watched his girlfriend as she crossed the four feet of space to the door, in front of which Dumbledore still stood.

"Goodnight Professor," said Ginny, not meeting his bright blue eyes because she was not only embarrassed to have witnessed his and Harry's argument, she was, belatedly, embarrassed by Harry's and her passionate display.

"Ginevra." Dumbledore put a wizened hand on the young girl's shoulder. "I would consider it an immense favour if you would kindly keep everything you have just heard in this room, to yourself. There are certain things, that, if they were to get out and were to fall upon the wrong ears, as it were, would be exceedingly dangerous, not only for Harry, but for Professor Snape as well."

Ginny now looked up at an unusually serious headmaster, not a twinkle to be seen. "I understand, sir," she said. "I won't say a word to anyone."

Dumbledore squeezed her shoulder gently. "Good girl." He opened the door, which he had shut earlier to try and contain Harry's angry outburst and ushered her out.

When they were alone, Harry could not look Dumbledore in the face. He whipped off his glasses and threw himself back on Ron's bed, throwing a forearm over his eyes and leaving his glasses dangling from slack fingers which hung over the side of the bed. He heard Dumbledore move closer to the bed.

"I suppose you've got the potion that Snape wants me to take," he said in a wooden voice. He heard a rustling of fabric and then the gentle clinking of glass on glass.

"Scoot over Harry. This old body has had far too much excitement for one day. I need to sit down."

Feeling even more guilty, Harry moved closer to the wall and he felt the mattress sag when Dumbledore sat down. Harry was positive that he heard several joints creaking and his horror increased. He had seen his old professor do such incredible things, he never really thought seriously about him being so very old. He had never seen anything, and probably never would again, like that wizard's duel between the old man and Voldemort in the atrium at the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore had moved like a twenty year old.

But then Harry remembered just how bombed Dumbledore had looked once the two of them were back in the head's office and he, Harry had destroyed the office. There had been terrible regret there, yes, but there had also been utter exhaustion. Dumbledore looked just as exhausted tonight, and though Harry had not seen what had happened in the graveyard, he could imagine, and formidable powers or not, casting multiple Patronuses, as must have happened considering the number of Dementors that had been there before he had passed out, took an awful lot out of a wizard. Even Albus Dumbledore.

And that made Harry's guilt overflow. Once again, he was the one responsible for causing others distress. Even though it had not been a conscious decision for him to disappear and go to the resting place of his dead parents, he had still done it. As a result, Remus had almost succumbed to the overwhelming numbers of Dementors, and Professor Dumbledore, looked about fifty years older than his already formidable age because he, along with Mr Weasley and Snape, had had to save both him and Remus.

Harry lay there, hiding from those all knowing eyes, too ashamed to show his face again. He wanted to say he was sorry, but residual anger kept on getting in the way. Was he ever going to be able to control his foul temper?

He felt the bed shift again as Professor Dumbledore bent forwards. Harry peaked out from under his crooked elbow and he saw the old man pick something up from the floor. Then he leaned across to the little table beside Ron's bed and Harry saw the glint of his own glasses in the candle light as those long fingers put them down carefully...he hadn't even realised he had dropped them.

Dumbledore began to speak in a soft, understanding voice. "Harry I know that you have had a very trying day..."

"I've had a very trying life, Professor," said Harry, his anger flaring again. There was silence for many uncomfortable seconds.

"Yes, you have. And you can have no idea how much that fact distresses me." Harry didn't say anything. He remembered Dumbledore's words back in that wrecked office. The old man had told him that he cared for him, that he cared for him more than he had cared for any other student who had ever passed through the school. And despite his anger at the time, that declaration had affected him powerfully. And he had realised that he cared for the old Professor as well. He had always felt a strange closeness, even before he had ever spoken to the headmaster. He had never really been able to explain it. All he knew was that the first time he had seen Professor Dumbledore's image on the chocolate frog card, a powerful emotion had filled his chest, making breathing at the time difficult. And then when he had caught sight of the powerful presence, sitting at the staff table in the Great Hall, he had felt almost as if he had come home. Professor Dumbledore was like an anchor...his presence kept him stabilized.

Harry still felt like that. But he now knew that Dumbledore was not omniscient. He knew the old man had made mistakes. But somehow, that just made him more human. But that thought did not make Harry any less annoyed right now. He listened as the soothing voice spoke, and though he told himself he understood, resentment still simmered.

"I have told you this before, Harry, but I never knew that your uncle and aunt were mistreating you so abominably. You must believe me. I knew that you were safe from any wizards who might have wished to harm you, but I could never have imagined that you were in a fair degree of danger within the walls of your relative's home.

"Oh, occasionally, my sensors would give little hiccoughs, and I would make sure that Arabella checked up on you more frequently. She saw you in your front garden, and out and about with your aunt and cousin, going to and from school and to the park. She saw you being bullied in the street by your cousin. She saw you, seemingly healthy and well-if very small and thin.

"And then, when you came to Hogwarts, I could watch you myself, and for the first time in nearly ten years, I felt relaxed about your welfare. With the assistance of Professor McGonagall and your father..."

Harry sat bolt upright on the bed. He glared at Dumbledore, the look no less furious for the lack of his glasses. "DON"T CALL HIM THAT!" he bellowed, and then, as if remembering just how thin the walls within the Burrow really were, he lowered his voice, and hissed through gritted teeth, his face only inches away from Dumbledore's. "He is not my father. James Potter is my father!"

Dumbledore put a placatory hand on Harry's shoulder, but Harry shrugged it off and scooted down to the end of the bed where he gained his feet and began pacing again.

"Harry, the revelation you heard earlier today does not make James any less you father. And nor would Severus ever try to make you remember James any differently."

"Hah," scoffed Harry. "As if he could! As if he would even care enough to try." He stopped in front of Dumbledore and threw his arms wide. "You act as if this is a wonderful thing, Professor, as if it's the answer to all my problems. So tell me, how is the discovery that a man who hates me with a passion, no matter how hard he has been trying to act otherwise since I found out about the other small matter of he and I also being cousins...how exactly is this going to make my life better?

"Or his, for that matter. He doesn't want this either. He said the whole thing was abhorrent to him."

"This was just as much a shock to Severus as it was to you Harry. He has no idea how to act like a father," placated Dumbledore.

"Has any man any idea how to act like a father when he first becomes one?" asked Harry reasonably. "I'm sure that if Snape found out he was...say...Draco Malfoy's father, he would make a credible effort at it."

"Well, Harry, we must agree to disagree on this point. Most men start out as fathers to new born infants, not teenage boys who are already on the cusp of manhood and with their personalities already set in place."

"Yeah, and we all know just how much Snape hates my personality...and my looks...hell, he hates everything about me." Harry's brow furrowed and he looked off into the distance, scrubbing absently at his scar. Then he huffed out a small, bitter laugh.

"Well, at least I know now why the sorting hat thought about putting me in Slytherin."

Dumbledore nodded his head once in acknowledgement of that statement. "Perhaps you could share that little anecdote with Severus."

Harry's eyes snapped back to Dumbledore. He was angry again. "Haven't you been listening Professor. I don't want to share anything with him. He doesn't want to hear anything from me. None of this...this discovery changes anything. He saved my life, yeah, but he was just doing his job."

"Harry, if you could have seen how upset Severus was when you were missing..."

"Yeah, I'm sure he was. He lost ‘the Boy Who Lived' on his shift. I made him look bad."

"Harry..."

"I don't want to talk about it any more Professor." He pressed his fingertips into his scar...hard. "He showed what he thought of me tonight, when he ignored my request not to go to Voldemort."

"Harry that is totally unreasonable. A child does not have the right to dictate his father's life."

"If he was interested in being a father, he wouldn't continue to put himself in danger," countered Harry, and he knew that he was being totally unreasonable. But he didn't care. "I told you, I don't want to talk anymore." He snatched up the two little purple phials and in his agitation, he unconsciously made a gesture with his hand and the two, wax sealed corks popped out and flew across the room. Harry had not even realised what he had done, but Dumbledore noted the whole episode. He sighed and stood up, watching as Harry downed the contents of both phials.

"I just want to go to sleep and forget this whole day ever happened," he said bitterly. He sat down heavily on Ron's bed again, feeling the potion begin to take effect within seconds. Dumbledore took the containers from Harry's slackening fingers and banished them. He guided Harry back against the pillow, levitating the slender body slightly and pulling the covers down. When Harry felt the pillow under his head, he tried to struggle upright again. He propped himself on an elbow. "I know," he said. "You could Obliviate both of us. Make everything go back to normal."

Dumbledore's sad face darkened and his eyes became steely. "That is totally out of the question, Harry." Harry missed the anger however. He had fallen back against the pillows. His eyelids were fluttering and he was fighting to stop them closing entirely.

"This is Ron'sh bed," he slurred.

"I am sure Ronald will not mind swapping tonight, Harry," but before he finished speaking, Harry's eyes drifted closed and his breathing deepened. Severus had been right. The double dose, while seemingly excessive, had just put Harry into a deep sleep. Dumbledore transfigured Harry's jeans and jacket into a pair of pyjamas and then pulled the covers up to his chin. He tenderly pushed the messy fringe aside and looked at Harry's scar. It was livid against the redness all the rubbing had caused. A gentle finger traced the lightening bolt and the old man remembered vividly the bloody wound that had marred the forehead of the otherwise perfect baby boy, on that terrible night when James and Lily had died, and he had left the child on the doorstep of ‘the worst sort of Muggles imaginable'.

He would never forgive himself for that, no matter how often he convinced himself that it had been necessary to keep Harry Potter safe.

8888

Something had lightened Harry's state of consciousness, and he wasn't sure what. With a little grunting snore, he turned his head so that he was lying on his other cheek. Within seconds, his breathing had deepened again.

There it was again. Harry swam closer to full consciousness this time, scrubbing his nose back on forth on the pillow because something was tickling it. Before he could settle back down, it happened again, and he raised his hand to brush whatever it was away. His fingers slapped against flesh, and then he heard a giggle and his eyes flew open.

Lying on his stomach as he was, most of his blurry vision was obscured by a shiny curtain of dark red. And then the scent of summer grass and flowers permeated his senses as his nose was tickled again and another stifled giggle sounded.

With the speed of the seeker, Harry grabbed at the pale hand before it could move away. Ginny squeaked in fright and then giggled again. She had been using a lock of her own hair as a feather to tickle first Harry's ear and then his nose. Harry grinned before flipping onto his back and pulling Ginny across his chest where she collapsed, laughing delightedly. It was less than five seconds before Harry realised that flipping onto his back had not been his most sensible move and not being able to flip back, he raised his knees and pulled hard at the covers so that they came away from the end of the bed to bare his lower legs, but enable him to drape them loosely over his lap.

Ginny pushed herself up and viewed his handy work. Then she turned and looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow. "Err, Gin...I think you'd better move," he croaked, his face and neck so red, he looked like he might spontaneously combust at any moment.

"Oh, Harry..."

"Gin, please!"

Ginny pushed herself upright and turned her back on her boyfriend but remained sitting on the side of the bed, her hands folded demurely in her lap. Harry couldn't see, but a small smile was playing about her lips.

Harry squirmed, willing his recalcitrant flesh to behave itself. But his full bladder probably put paid to any immediate diminution of his condition. Ginny had to go. "What are you doing in here, Gin? And where's Ron?"

"Mum sent Ron up to see if you were awake, but I ambushed him and told him I would check. And he slept in the twins room."

Harry was distracted from his uncomfortable embarrassment. "Why?"

"Mum thought you needed total peace and quiet."

"Oh. Well, thanks for waking me...what time is it by the way?"

"A quarter to ten. Mum let us sleep in."

"Right...well...err, that was the nicest awakening I have ever experienced, but I, err...need to..." The red returned with a vengeance. Ginny turned side on to face Harry.

"Harry," she said with amusement. "I do have six brothers, you know."

Harry's eyes snapped to her face again, his brow furrowed in question. "What!"

"I do know about the male anatomy and how it works."

"Not mine, you don't," he parried, mortified.

Ginny smiled and leaned forward, kissing him on his open mouth. Then she moved her lips to his ear and after giving him a quick nip on his fleshy lobe, she whispered. "Give me time."

And then she jumped up and moved to the door. She turned and grinned at him. "See you downstairs for breakfast. Your bag is on the camp bed, by the way. Mum said Professor Dumbledore sent it last night."

Harry stared after her, bemused and embarrassed, but the grin that was unfurling on his lips indicated that he was probably not going to be bemused or embarrassed around Miss Ginny Weasley for very much longer-not if she had anything to say about it.

Harry was aware that Mrs Weasley had his breakfast ready, but a good fifteen minutes had elapsed before he appeared in the kitchen. His shower had taken longer than normal. He arrived in the kitchen trying to flatten his wet hair and he dropped into a chair next to Ron who was stuffing half a sausage into his mouth.

"Mo'in'" mumbled Ron, looking like a squirrel hording nuts for the winter and sounding like a warthog foraging for grubs in the rotting matter of a decaying log.

"Good morning, Harry dear. Did you sleep well?" Mrs Weasley, placed a loaded plate in front of him and clucked over his sodden locks which had dripped onto the neck of his tee-shirt and soaked it through. She pulled her wand from the pocket of her floral apron and cast a drying charm. Harry could feel his hair standing up and he tried not to show his exasperation. Mrs Weasley was just being a mother, and he did appreciate her concern. But the reason he left it so wet was that it tended to not be quite so untidy when it was left to drip dry.

"You young boys...an extra minute is all it takes to actually rub your hair dry," said Mrs Weasley exasperatedly, bustling over to the sink and spelling the dishes to wash themselves.

"Ginny, when you and the boy's have finished, could you please put the plates in the sink. I'm off to hang out the washing."

"Yes, Mum."

Harry glanced across the table at Ginny-he had avoided looking at her thus far-to find her staring straight at him. She grinned when she saw she had garnered his attention. Harry wasn't sure whether the grin was in reference to his earlier embarrassment and how long it had taken him to arrive in the kitchen, or whether it was because of her mother's fussing over his wet hair. He wasn't sure he wanted to know and he quickly lowered his eyes to the heaping mound of food in front of him. Still, he was very aware of the swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about Ginny's appearance in Ron's bedroom that morning. He was very glad that the table wasn't glass.

He hastily shovelled a forkful of baked beans into his mouth and chewed mechanically, washing it down with a swig of pumpkin juice before turning to Ron.

"Where are your Dad, Bill and Remus,?" he asked, desperate to get his mind off Ginny.

"Dad and Bill have already left for work, and Remus had to go and see Professor Dumbledore. He said he'd be back later to see you though."

Harry nodded and tried to concentrate on his food for a while, but realised his efforts to ignore Ginny were futile. He knew if he looked up, he would find her eyes on him. Her provocative words from earlier kept replaying, over and over in his mind and they were conjuring up all sorts of interesting scenarios. But he had to stop thinking like that. There was nothing he could do...yet, and he was only going to drive himself mad. Desperate, he spoke to Ron again.

"Why didn't you sleep in your own room last night," he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Ron pointed the blade of his knife towards the back door. "Mum's idea. She said my snoring might annoy you."

"Your snoring annoys me, Ron, and I don't sleep in the same room with you," said Ginny, in her best, ‘annoying little sister' voice. "I pity any woman who marries you. She'll have to cast a silencing charm every night,"

"Sod, off," said Ron without heat, reaching for another piece of toast and heaping it with blackberry jam.

"It's just as well Hermione is so very accomplished with silencing charms," Ron lunged across the table before she had finished speaking, his chair crashing backwards onto the flagstone floor.

But Ginny was quicker. She shot to her feet and was standing behind her chair in the blink of an eye, laughing at her brother's ire. Harry watched the exchange with amusement, popping a bit of egg into his mouth. Ginny always seemed to get the better of Ron, and considering she was half his size, that made her quite a formidable little powerhouse.

When Ron ran around the table, Ginny darted in the opposite direction, giggling breathlessly, and ended up holding onto the back of Harry's chair, using Harry as a shield as Ron retraced his previous route to intercept her.

There might have been a flash of temper there for Ron when he had first dived at Ginny, but now he had an evil grin on his face, determined as he was to teach his sister that talking about Hermione in that all knowing way, was strictly off limits.

"I'll teach you to mouth off about subjects that are no concern of yours, smart mouth," he said advancing slowly. Ginny threw her arms around Harry's shoulders from behind.

"Oh, help me, sir knight. Save me from the vicious mountain troll..."

"'I'll give you ‘vicious mountain troll', little sister mine..." and Ron was primed to launch himself around Harry when he stopped dead and the colour drained out of his face.

Ginny and Harry's laughter died away as they stared at Ron. He was looking over their heads. Ginny straightened and spun around, and Harry twisted in his chair.

Professor Snape was standing just inside the scullery door, his obsidian eyes fixed unblinkingly on the three boisterous teens. This morning, he was back in his black robes, but he had his hands hidden under the folds of his travelling cloak which draped down in front of him. The weather actually seemed to reflect the season today, making the cape superfluous, at least here in southern England. Seemingly not wherever it was that Snape had just come from. Harry's suddenly hard eyes noted that the man looked none the worse for wear, so the Death Eater meeting must have not gotten out of hand.

Severus saw the immediate change in Harry's demeanour and he clenched his teeth together. Outwardly, there was no change in his set face, except for an imperceptible nerve jumping in his jaw. This was not going to be easy, nor indeed pleasant. But he was determined that this necessary talk between himself and Harry was not going to descend into chaos. To that end, he started as he meant to go on. Making any scathing comments or being unpleasant in any way towards his friends would not go down well with Harry, and so, Severus ignored the set faces of all and said in a neutral voice, "good morning." He focused first on Ron and then on Ginevra. "Your mother told me to come in."

Ginny nodded once, then turned to look at Harry who was staring down at his plate, scraping the tines of his fork through the remains of his scrambled egg and baked beans. "We'll leave you alone to talk to Professor Snape, Harry," she said, though it was obvious that she was extremely reluctant to leave him alone to cope with their hated Potions Professor.

"That will not be necessary, Miss Weasley. Mr Potter and myself will be the ones leaving."

Harry looked up at that, but it was Ginny who spoke up first. "But he's only just gotten here Professor. You aren't going to send him back to those horrible relatives of his, are you?"

Ron goggled at his sister, sure she had taken leave of her senses. He stepped forward and pulled on her sleeve. "Leave it Ginny," he said, and then he looked at Harry apologetically. "Sorry mate. We might see you later, yeah." And regardless of Severus's earlier words about them not having to leave, he dragged Ginny forcefully from the room.

There was silence for several seconds and then Harry said, "I don't want to go anywhere with you," and Severus bit the inside of his cheek again to stop his automatic retort.

Don't rise to the bait.

"I know you don't. But we have much to discuss, and I would prefer not to have an audience."

"I suppose what I want is immaterial," spat Harry, pushing the boundaries as far as he could.

Severus took a deep breath. "You know we have to have this talk, Harry..."

Harry pushed his chair back violently, so that it almost tipped backwards to join Ron's which was still on it's side on the floor. "Fine. Lets get this over with. Then you can go back to ignoring me until school starts back, and then you can start abusing me again" He stalked towards Severus, meaning to exit the house via the back door.

Severus held out his hand to stop Harry's angry forward momentum. "We will be using the floo. I would feel more comfortable having this talk in my quarters at Hogwarts. Harry looked at him from beneath lowered eyebrows, but Severus forestalled any argument by moving into the living room. Harry stood his ground for several seconds, but then with a sigh of resignation, he followed.

"The headmaster has organised a direct floo connection between the Burrow and my quarters, just for today." Severus indicated that Harry precede him. He lifted the bowl that the Weasleys kept their floo powder in, down from the mantelpiece. But instead of offering it to Harry to take a pinch, he thrust the whole bowl into Harry's hand before withdrawing a grey leather pouch from within the folds of his robes and loosening the drawstring. Then, to Harry's amazement, he tipped the glittering green contents of the bag into the near empty bowl before thrusting the bag back from whence it had come. He took possession of the bowl again and indicated that Harry take a pinch.

Harry couldn't believe it. Severus Snape had actually been thoughtful enough to replenish the Weasley's floo powder supply. Harry had learned that the magical dust was pretty expensive but it was also a necessary item in wizarding households. Everyone knew that the Weasley's weren't exactly well off.

Who would have thought Snape would even think to do such a thing? Certainly not Harry.

Severus pointed his wand at the grate and muttered, "Incendio!"

Harry sprinkled the floo powder on the flames and watched as they turned green and he could no longer feel the intense heat against his face. Then taking a deep breath, he stepped into the magically enlarged fireplace and called out his destination.

The horrible spinning sensation made him just as dizzy as ever, and by the time he was spat onto Snape's tri-coloured rug onto his hands and knees, he thought he might be sick. It appeared that the longer journey via the floo network disagreed with him even more than the short ones. He had never travelled by floo as far as he had today and his full stomach was letting him know it did not appreciate the experience. He could remember feeling slightly nauseated when he and Snape had travelled to Surrey from Hogwarts a week ago.

Severus nearly tripped over Harry's hunched form when he stepped from the flames a moment later with a gracefulness Harry would never be able to imitate. Rolling his eyes, Severus grasped Harry by the elbow, dragging him upright and thrusting him into a chair.

"How in the name of all that is magical can you seemingly fly through the air with barely a need for a broom, and yet you cannot find your feet after twenty seconds spinning through the floo network." Harry ignored him, but then Severus noted his unusual pallor. He clucked his tongue and pointed his wand towards his lab. "Accio, anti-nausea potion."

A clear phial with a mustard coloured potion within zoomed into Severus, hand and he uncorked it and held it out for Harry to take. Harry just shrunk back into the depths of the chair. "If I take any of your foul concoctions, I will be sick," he groaned.

"Drink!" It was an order. Gathering his Gryffindor courage, Harry upended the phial and swallowed the contents, preparing to gag and vomit. His eyes widened. The potion tasted of nothing-if he was blindfolded, he would have thought he was drinking water-and as soon as the liquid reached his stomach, the nausea began to subside.

Severus watched him carefully. "Better?"

Harry nodded and handed the phial back. Severus banished it back to the lab. "Why can't you make all your potions as palatable as that one?" asked Harry, determined to be in a thoroughly bad humour. Severus looked at him pityingly.

"That is a question I would expect from the likes of Longbottom," he said.

Harry seethed over the slur on his friend. "Or perhaps the likes of Crabbe and Goyle who manage to turn every potion into solid matter, even with Malfoy's help and without you hovering over them like death waiting to pounce."

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"You know they're worse than Neville, by a long shot," reiterated Harry.

"They do not melt a cauldron every other lesson."

"Neither would Neville if you just left him alone. And their cauldrons don't melt because they're reinforced with the concrete they manage to produce during every potions lesson."

" I have not bought you here to discuss the dunderheads I have to put up with in my classes, Harry, nor indeed am I willing to discuss my teaching methods."

"Or lack thereof," muttered Harry and Severus had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself launching into the sort of cold and cutting verbal tirade that he had strictly reserved for his dealings with Harry Potter over the last five years. Instead, he took himself out of temptations way by crossing to the dining alcove.

Harry ignored him, glaring at the remains of the green flames that had nearly died down to nothing inside the grate. But his head whipped around when Severus called, "Flintoff!"

The foul elf arrived with a crack and bowed obsequiously low to Severus. Harry shuddered, he couldn't help it. This elf gave him the utter creeps. "You is summoning Flintoff, Master Snape?"

"Please arrange for Devonshire teas for two, with milk coffee rather than tea." The elf bowed again, but before he Disapparated, he turned those protuberant amber eyes towards Harry and stared at him unblinkingly for several seconds.

"If you have to summon a house elf to your rooms, does it have to be that one? He gives me the creeps," said Harry, fully aware that he would be bringing Hermione's ire down on his head for daring to express such negative sentiments towards a lowly house elf.

"I'll keep that in mind should you decide to grace these rooms with your presence after today."

Harry stared at him, but then looked back towards the now empty grate. Why would he want to come back to these rooms? He wouldn't be here now if he hadn't been ordered to come. Snape was nothing more than his most hated teacher...well, equal first with the Umbridge bitch.

A moment later, the dining table groaned under the weight of enough scones to feed the entire Hogwarts' faculty. Harry remembered Snape's penchant for scones and jam and cream. The man was already seated and pouring coffee into two cups.

"Would you please join me over here, Harry?"

"I just had breakfast," Harry informed Severus, making no move to get out of the deep armchair that seemed to have swallowed him, so low was he sitting.

"Then come and keep me company. We need to talk, and I would prefer not to be directing my conversation across the room."

Harry clucked his tongue, much as Severus had done earlier, but he levered himself out of the chair and sloped across the room to drop into the chair opposite Severus. He watched as Severus spread jam and then added a generous dollop of cream onto a large, fluffy scone. The man's penchant for the calorific treat was totally incongruous and Harry filed away the information to tell Ron and Ginny when he saw them later.

Silence reigned until Severus had polished off a whole scone and drunk half a cup of coffee. Harry took a sip of his own milky brew, remembering how delicious it had been the last time he had had it.

"You should have a scone," encouraged Severus, wiping his fingers on a napkin.

"I told you, I just had breakfast. Mrs Weasley let me sleep in."

"I am glad. But you barely ate any food if that heaped plate I saw when I arrived at the Burrow was what remained of your meal.. I doubt you had half a dozen mouthfuls."

"My diet is no longer your concern, Professor Snape. I am no longer ill and therefore, I am no longer your patient."

Severus was in the process of preparing another scone for consumption, but he stopped at Harry's words and gently laid his spoon down. "But you are my son."

Harry dropped his cup back into it's saucer with a dangerously loud clink. His lips were set and white. ‘Don't drag that up. It's irrelevant! An accidental discovery."

"But it was discovered none-the-less, Harry..."

"And stop calling me Harry! It's bullshit! You no more think of me as Harry as you think of James as your best friend. I'm Potter, remember. Or if you're in a particularly good mood, Mr Potter.

"I would like your permission to call you Harry."

Harry shoved his chair back and sprang to his feet. He banged his hands down on the table-knocking over his cup and spilling the remains of his coffee in the process-and leaned forward across the table. Severus gazed at the furious visage, suddenly remembering Albus's words from a couple of weeks or so ago. Harry definitely got his temper from Severus, and at this moment he saw quite clearly the resemblance between himself and the boy. As Harry had left childhood behind, and hormones had stripped the facial chubbiness of childhood away, Harry's facial structure had become more Severus than James. Anger made the resemblance even more striking.

Oh, to the casual observer, Harry was still the spitting image of James-the hair, the nose and the poor eyesight necessitating the wearing of glasses. If Severus himself had not known the truth, he would not have noticed the similarities between himself and Harry. Of course, he, Severus had his own share of Potter genes. The black hair, the tall build, the long fingers and feet. Even his black eyes were from his Potter side. His Potter grandfather had had black eyes-he had seen photographs. James had inherited his hazel eye colour from his mother.

Harry had missed out on the height entirely. He was much smaller, more Lily's build, and of course, those eyes were most definitely Lily's. A very striking combination, the jet black hair and the almond shaped, emerald eyes. Harry was even more good looking than James had been, but unlike James, he had no clue about how pleasing his looks were. He was, in fact, totally oblivious. Thank Merlin, the only Snape trait Harry seemed to have inherited was the birthmark that had brought this whole thing to light.

"You don't really want to call me Harry. you wouldn't even be pretending if it wasn't for Dumbledore, I bet. He's told you to try to build a relationship with me because it will be good for me to have someone...to have a family that cares for me.

"But we both know that you care for me just about as much as Aunt Petunia does. Well, you don't have to pretend. I know you hate me. And a birthmark isn't going to change that, Professor.

"I've coped without adult love since I was fifteen months old. I don't need a father. Particularly one who finds the whole idea of having me as a son, abhorrent. I'll stick with the memory of James Potter, thanks. He loved me enough to die for me. For me and my mum." Harry's voice had begun to crack during this speech, but he ignored this evidence of just how emotional he had become, and continued to talk in an increasingly thick voice.

"He might have been a bully at school, along with Sirius, but he ended up being a good man." But now tears began to well in his eyes as well as block his throat, and horrified beyond belief, Harry spun away from the table and walked back towards the living area on stiff legs. He stood in front of the fireplace and glared at the empty grate.

The closest he had been to his parents that he could remember was kneeling beside their grave. The grave of two, twenty-one year olds who had left behind a son who had had to rely on other people to tell him how wonderful they were, or in the case of Severus Snape, to tell him what an absolute shit his father had been.

Severus left Harry to get himself under control. Truth to tell, he was shocked at just how much Harry's angry, emotional words had pierced his armour plated heart. Because of recent events, he had been thinking of James more often than not, and pondering their twin roles as paternal parents to Harry; wondering what his cousin would be making of the whole thing if he knew. But Harry's words were making him think of the young man James had been and everything he had lost when his life had been snatched from him in a split second, bathed as he would have been in the hideous green light of the Killing Curse.

Severus started slightly when he realised Harry was speaking again. He didn't much like what was being said though.

"Tell me, Professor, did you celebrate when you found out James was dead, or were you too busy mourning the loss of Voldemort?"

The boy was determined to wound as much as he could...as much as he, Severus had tried to wound yesterday, in fact.

No, that was not strictly true. He had not deliberately set out to wound. He had just been incapable of telling Harry the facts that were now their lives, without wounding. He did not do subtlety well. And worse was his ability to do compassion!

But so far today, he had managed to keep his fury in check. And yes, he was furious at the way Harry was talking to him, baiting him, willing him to lose his temper so that he, Harry could say, ‘see, I know what you're really like. I know that you really do find this whole thing as abhorrent as you said you did yesterday'.

Now he would see just how in control he could stay and how carefully he could chose his words.

Harry really didn't expect an answer. In fact, he was surprised that he hadn't been told to get out and never darken these dungeon rooms again, like he had been expelled from Snape's office after the pensieve incident. So he was surprised enough to turn back and face Severus when the man finally spoke. Harry had dispensed with all evidence of those stupid tears while his back was turned, so Snape wouldn't be able to laugh at him for being like an over-emotional girl or anything.

Harry watched warily as Snape joined him in the living area. He sunk into one of the chairs and steepled his fingers together, looking at Harry over the top of them.

Before I answer your question, I would like to ask permission once again for me to be allowed to call you ‘Harry'." He held up his hand to silence the words that seemed to want to bubble out of Harry's mouth. "It has not been easy for me to break the habits of the last five years, but amazingly, I now find myself thinking of you in terms of ‘Harry', rather than ‘Potter', or ‘Mr Potter'.

Harry looked at him suspiciously, putting every effort into turning the look into a glare and falling somewhat short of the mark in Severus's opinion. "I am not just saying this because I think it is what you would like to hear. Indeed, you cannot be more surprised at this turn of events than I am myself."

"So when you found out that I had disappeared right out from under you nose yesterday, you just thought to yourself, ‘oh dear, I wonder where Harry has gone'?"

"No, I would not insult your intelligence with such a blatant lie. I cursed that ‘Potter brat' to the heavens and back. And if you make me angry in the future-if there is a future for you and I-no doubt I will revert to kind. But the fact of me thinking of you in general terms as ‘Harry' is something that I would never have thought to contemplate, let alone do.

"And before you give me an unequivocal ‘no', I will just say, please do not cut off your nose just to spite your face."

Harry threw himself down in the other chair, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on his knees. He did not answer yea or nay to Snape's carefully worded request. He was not entirely sure the man really meant what he said, but he really didn't want to cut his nose off to spite his face. Silence seemed the best option.

Severus could see that he was not going to get a quick answer from Harry. He supposed he was being optimistic in the extreme to have expected the angry young man in front of him to just lay everything that had happened between them aside, and act like yesterday had never happened. The thing that really rankled though, was that before yesterday, he and Harry had reached a certain accord. They had reached the point where they could be in the same room without going for each others throats every other minute. There was still wariness there, on Harry's part, but he had seemed to come to terms with the fact of their being cousins and seemed to understand and believe that he, Severus did have his best interests at heart and would protect him to the best of his ability.

On his part, Severus had found that the boy was not the obnoxious little snot of a Gryffindor he had always thought him to be...well, not all the time anyway. Delving into Harry's memories, memories that had been given up unwillingly, had not really been enough to show him the reality of the horror that had been his childhood-the foul people who had been charged with his care and had ignored their responsibilities in favour of having a small slave and punching bag. Sadists, both of them-if they had been magical, Severus did not doubt that Vernon and Petunia Dursley would very much have agreed with the Dark Lord's doctrine. They had not a care for anyone except themselves and their son. But it seemed that the son might just be worth saving.

And Severus knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Harry would insist upon maintaining a relationship with Dudley Dursley as long as Dudley wanted that to happen. That sort of attitude was something that Severus found difficult to come to terms with in the boy. He did have an incredible capacity for love and forgiveness as Albus had once told him.

Lily had been like that, but Harry took that altruism to a whole new level. Much like Albus actually. It was inconceivable to Severus how someone could be so determined to ultimately see the good in everyone. But that was the thing that might make the boy be able to, if not totally forgive, then certainly overlook the misdemeanours of his most hated teacher...the man who had, by a totally unimaginable quirk of fate, helped design the blueprint that was Harry James Potter.

The silence had gone on for a while. Harry had now thrown himself back in the chair and was glaring at the box of floo powder as if he wanted to jump up and transport himself out of here. Severus took a deep breath.

"So, in answer to your question; "no, I did not celebrate when I found out that James was dead, and not only because Lily had died along with him, if that is what you were planning to say next." For Harry looked as if he had a comment to make. He subsided, however, after Severus's addendum.

"I don't really know how I felt, to tell you the truth, but joyful was certainly not it. Shocked. Sorry. Nostalgic: because James was my cousin and in our own way, albeit negative, you have to say he was a large part of my life during my school years. Bewildered and bitter: because I suddenly realised that apart from an infant, I was the last of the Potter line, but as far away from being a Potter as you could get. Guilty: because I had never carried out my mother's dying wish to bury the hatchet on the past twenty four odd years of dissension and bitterness. There was also real grief for Lily, and anger because she could have been spared if she had not tried to save you."

"If you think this is making me feel any better, then you're totally nuts," stated Harry bitterly.

"I am trying to be honest."

"And hurtful."

"It is not my intent to hurt you, Harry. You asked me a question. I am answering it. I have never pretended to be anything than what I am, and what I am, is not a very nice person. In my grief, I thought I was perfectly reasonable to be angry and bitter because Lily had chosen to forfeit her life knowing as she must have done, that her child would die seconds after her. When a wizard as powerful and evil as the Dark Lord marks you for death, you die. Your mother had no way of knowing that her sacrifice would save your life and rip him from his body and virtually destroy him for many a long year to come.

Harry swallowed, the horror of that night that he had relived often under the effects of the Dementors, flashed through his mind again, bathed as it had been in the hideous green flash of the Killing Curse. Snape's thoughts on that night were making him see the whole thing from another perspective. He tried to rationalise his mother's actions.

"She knew the prophecy," he said. "That's why my Mum and dad went into hiding, why they employed the Fidelius Charm..." Harry took a deep breath, his face set. "And put their trust in that weak, treacherous shit, Pettigrew."

"Harry, your mother could not possibly have thought that you would survive a confrontation with the Dark Lord when you were fifteen months old, regardless of the prophecy. She could not have known that if you by some miracle did survive, then the Dark Lord would mark you as his equal. She did not have time to reason these things out."

"Look, I get that you're unhappy that my mum died to save me, OK. How do you think I feel to know that she could have lived. But have you ever stopped to think how she would have felt knowing that her husband and son were dead and she survived?" Harry was getting angry again.

"I know how she would have felt. She would have pined away. She would probably have died anyway, months, or perhaps years later." They were both silent for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. When Severus spoke again, he looked directly at Harry.

"I was the same age as James and Lily when they died, Harry. I was young and selfish and I had been around evil for far too long. I was only thinking of myself and was totally incapable of projecting myself into the shoes of a parent.

"James died trying to protect his wife and child, the two people he loved most in the world. Your mother died trying to protect you, and knowing that her husband was already dead. Your father would have died anyway; that was one of the things the Dark Lord went their to do. But I could never understand your mother's actions." Harry looked away, his face set.

"But now I think I do understand Harry." Harry's head spun back and he stared at Severus.

"I never thought about having children. There was only one woman I ever had the sort of feelings for that might conceivably lead to children..."

"My mum?"

Severus paused for a minute but then nodded once. ‘Yes. Your mother never made me believe that she could ever love me as anything more than a very good friend, but I admit I was bitter when she chose James. But even their relationship and subsequent engagement and marriage didn't kill my love. I just buried it deeply and continued along the dark path I had chosen at the age of sixteen.

"I could not refuse her when she asked me to help James. And also, in the back of my mind was the memory of my mother asking me to make peace with James.

"But I could have had no idea of the consequence that sharing my blood with James would bring about. Not even with my background in healing. Truthfully, I could not believe it when your mother sent me word that James had survived and was back to normal. I had not been able to deny Lily's request, but I was sure her theory was wrong, and I was sure that James would die."

"You hoped, you mean." Harry couldn't stop himself from saying.

Severus's eyes narrowed a little, but he controlled his anger with an effort. Harry still felt the need to mouth off, it seemed. Severus rubbed his forehead, aware that a headache was beginning to flare

Just be patient a little longer.

"No, strangely enough, I did not hope that James would die. I had given up the hope of ever winning your mother for myself. I was bitter, yes, but also resigned. I wanted her to be happy. And James made her happy.

"I am not sorry that I saved James's life. I am glad Lily was happy with her husband and son. I have had longer to process these facts, Harry, and not a night has gone past since the paternity potion proved that you are as much my son as you are James and Lily's that I have not dreamed of your mother. The Lily I knew would be thankful to know that her son had someone living, that he can call family, no matter how belatedly that discovery has been made.

"I do not believe that she would have been happy about you being put in the care of her sister and her walrus of a husband. I also know that she would have been greatly distressed with my own treatment of you over the last five years, but that is in the past, and it cannot be changed now. I can only hope that you will be willing to try to make this relationship work-and as much as you might try to deny it, there is a relationship, Harry.

"I do not know what has changed over the last couple of weeks, but I am willing to try to be a father to you."

Those striking green eyes Harry had inherited from his beautiful mother seemed to shine like polished emeralds. Severus knew it was a sheen of tears making them appear so. "Because you think my mother would want that?" he said in a tight voice.

"That, and because I want it. I hope that you will want to take the chance of allowing me to be a father to you."