At 6am, Snape made his way back to the room Potter was in. Snape had slept on and off during the intermittent three hours since the boy had come to him for help, but he had found no reprieve. His dreams were plagued with images of his own abusive father and tortured childhood. He cursed Potter for bringing up the memories, and cursed the Dursleys even more for their role in the whole fiasco.

Snape entered the small bedroom and lit a lamp on the desk. The teen lay on his side facing Snape, his arms akimbo, his mouth half open in slumber.

“Potter,” Snape called.

There was no response, save for the rhythmic rise and fall of the boy’s chest and the periodic fluttering of his eyelids.

“Potter,” Snape said, louder this time. He reached out and lightly shook the teen’s shoulder.

Potter startled, his eyes flying open in panicked response. “What...?” Seeing it was only Snape, Potter mumbled something incoherent and promptly shut his eyes again.

“Potter...” Snape growled. “You need to sit up. It’s time to change your dressings.”

After a moment, the teen moaned in reply but still didn’t move. Snape knew from the boy’s slow reaction time that Potter was caught in that place between sleep and alertness; likely the pain relieving potion had something to do with that as it had a strong sedative effect on some individuals.

Sighing, Snape slid his hands under Potter’s armpits and dragged him into a sitting position. Potter opened his eyes again, and tried to focus—without much success—on the potions master.

“Stay with me, Potter, this won’t take long.” Once Snape was sure the boy wouldn’t fall over, he let go.

“Ok,” the boy mumbled, swaying slightly.

“Take off your shirt,” Snape directed, gathering the supplies he needed to remove the current wrappings and replace them with fresh ones. He pulled the desk chair in front of the bed and sat on it, facing the boy.

Potter’s reaction to the command was delayed, but eventually, he drunkenly shrugged out of the pyjama top. Then he mumbled something Snape couldn’t understand.

“What was that?”

“I’m tired,” the boy grumbled, his eyes closing as he yawned. He started leaning to one side, and Snape had to catch him to keep him upright.

“Potter! Stay awake!”

The teen managed to stay upright long enough for Snape to cut off the strips wrapped around the boy’s chest.

As Snape stood to remove the folded squares of gauze and get a better look at the boy’s gashes, Potter toppled forward, startling Snape and almost knocking him over.

“Potter...” Snape hissed, but it was no use. The boy was out cold. Cursing under his breath, Snape held the boy by the shoulders, allowing Potter’s head to droop forward, as he studied the boy’s back. The wounds that had been infected were bright red, but clean. And they were healing at the expected rate.

Snape stood for a moment, undecided. He needed to do some minor spell work on Potter’s back before redressing the wounds, but if he laid the boy down, he’d just have to get him back up again. Finally, he leaned Potter’s head against his chest, and quickly uttered the necessary healing charms. Then he repacked the wounds with the medicated gauze, using a sticking charm to keep the pads in place until he could get the straps of cloth wrapped back around the boy.

Once again, he took the teen by the shoulders and steadied him as he sat back down on the chair in front of the boy. Frowning, he considered the situation. He needed both of his hands to complete his work. Finally, he let the boy fall forward against him. Potter’s forehead came to rest against his left collarbone. Snape scowled. He was not a leaning post. But there was nothing for it. Gritting his teeth, he lifted Potter’s arms by the elbows and hoisted the boy’s forearms over his broad shoulders.

Quickly, he wrapped the cotton strips around Potter’s torso and secured them, ensuring that the gauze would be properly held in place. As Snape muttered the last set of charms, Potter turned his head and nestled his cheek against Snape’s chest. Snape stiffened.

Then the insufferable boy looped his arms around Snape’s neck in a loose hug and, in a childlike voice, murmured: “Dad?”

Quickly, Snape disentangled himself from the sleeping teen and pushed him roughly back onto the mattress. “I am not your father.”

Lily’s green eyes looked up at him from the face of an obviously confused and still half-asleep child. “Huh?”

“I said... “ Snape stammered. “Never mind. Go back to sleep.”

“Ok,” Potter said as rolled onto his side and promptly drifted off.

Snape stood there, watching the boy sleep and feeling completely gobsmacked. He scratched the back of his neck, feeling as if an irksome fly had landed there to torment him. He had never had a paternal feeling in all his years, yet having this insufferable brat call him “dad” in his sleep was enough to make the normally restrained and impassive professor crave a very strong alcoholic beverage. Unfortunately, it was only 6 am, and even he couldn’t justify a stiff drink at that hour of the day. But no more could he go back to sleep either.

“Lily,” he growled as he closed the door to the small bedroom behind him, “why did you do this to me? I don’t need this, you interfering, meddlesome witch.”

Snape shook his head as he walked down the staircase and headed to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. Lily had a way with involving him in things that she thought would be good for him, like the time she introduced him to Gobstones. He’d thought the game a complete waste of time before she’d forced him to learn it via bribery, pouting, and outright blackmail. They’d ended up spending the whole summer playing the irksomely entertaining game together. He’d never been happier. Only many years later, when he’d cleaned out his mother’s things, did he realize that his mother, Eileen Prince, had been captain of the Hogwart’s Gobstones Team while she was a student. Lily must have discovered that fact at Hogwarts, and had once again done what she could to inconspicuously build ties between mother and son. The fact that Lily had managed to reach from beyond the veil this time to show him yet another side of himself that he had no wish to discover was both astounding and infuriating.