"James Sirius Potter," Harry hissed, "What do you think you're playing at? "

James started violently. The study had been dark until Harry, who was sitting at his desk, lit his wand.

James had crept in trying to replace Harry's broom. Rather than the front door opening and shutting, Harry had heard the drawing room window slide open, and then stealthy footsteps. Harry mused that he needed to replace that ward since James must have disabled it sneaking out. It was likely that James had been sneaking out that way all summer. What was maddening was that the boy hadn't necessarily needed to sneak, but he did love to take risks.

Clearly James believed that, once again, he'd made it back without being caught.

The broom itself would have given the boy away, however. It was obvious had been through a bit of rough handling, there were missing chunks of straw and scratches on the handle that hadn't been there the night before. The boy's own appearance also was evidence of his misadventure, although no doubt he had assumed he could clean up his black eye and lacerations himself without anyone being the wiser.

"Dad! You're back...I...er- thought you and Mum were still at the...I mean..." James trailed off under his father's unusually fierce gaze.

"We do have a house elf, you know." said Harry silkily, "And I do ward my possessions. However skilled you've become at disabling the household wards, you forgot to disable the anti-theft charm. When the alarm goes off, it also says who's taken it." James stared at Harry in horror. Harry leaned forward and said, very softly, "So explain to me, what were you doing?"

Harry had had some time to sit in his study and fume after Kreacher had told him that his oldest son had "borrowed" his broom.

It would have done no good to go out and look for the boy; the broom was custom made for Harry and his work as an Auror. It was the newest 'Lightning Bolt' model, modified with spells of concealment and stealth, as well as a few other charms that Harry himself had created. It was frighteningly fast. Fast and, in the hands of an inexperienced youth, very dangerous.

Harry's heart had stopped about half a dozen times that night as he kept thinking he'd heard an owl peck at the window. Finally he'd just opened it, waiting to get the owl that James was in St. Mungo's after crashing or in Ministry custody after being seen by muggles. Or perhaps both. Now the boy had the audacity to appear relatively unscathed. Harry's paternal fear changed immediately to anger.

He took a deep breath, fighting down the urge to put the boy into a body bind curse and stick him to his bed for the remainder of the holidays.

"You could have been seen. You could have been killed." Harry stood and leaned over his desk, "What the HELL were you thinking?"

James quailed, but his chin came up a little, "I wouldn't have been seen. It's got all those..." he broke off eye contact, his brown eyes dropping to the floor, and then coming back up, "I just took it out for a little spin." he said with false bravado, "Nothing happened."

"NOTHING HAPPENED?" roared Harry, "YOU CALL THIS NOTHING?" crossing the room in two steps, he snatched the scratched broom in one hand and James' torn cloak in the other, "YOU BLOODY WELL CRASHED MY BROOM!" Harry had seen the boy arrive in the darkened courtyard, taking a header off the broom because he wasn't accustomed to it's breaking speed. It was probably not the only spill the boy had taken that night if the state of his clothes were any indication.

"N-no, it was just a tumble...Really...It'll clean right up." James paled, looking terrified.

Harry turned away, getting hold of himself. It wasn't the broom, at all, that made him so angry but the way that James was so convinced of his own immortality.

"You are very lucky it's the holidays." Harry said quietly, "Minerva McGonagol would ban you from Quidditch forever, for this kind of stunt." he turned back to the boy, "Perhaps I should owl her in the morning and tell her that I don't want you playing next term."

"No! Dad! You can't!"

"Can't I?" Harry said coldly, "Keep pushing me and you won't be going back to Hogwarts at all."

Whatever James was going to say died on his lips as he looked at his father.

"Get out." said Harry, harshly, "Your mother's downstairs. Get her to fix that eye and whatever else you damaged." Harry was hanging onto his temper with finger and toenails. He never been so tempted to just thrash one of his children. He wanted James out of his sight before he said anything he'd regret.

The boy didn't need to be told twice, although his mother was undoubtedly waiting to hand him his head on a platter.

Harry noxed his wand, sat wearily down at his desk.

In the shadowed corner of the room, he heard someone laughing.

"Who's there?" Harry lit his wand again.

In the corner stood Severus Snape, leaning casually against the wall.

Laughing.

At Harry.

"Hang on..." said Harry, "I'm dreaming again..."

"Yes." said Snape, looking amused. He definitely looked younger than Harry had ever seen him. This time, his teaching robes were newer too, "Was that an accurate memory, or did your mind embroider it?" he came into the center of the room, conjured a chair for himself. As a seeming afterthought, he conjured a bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses, which he filled.

"It was pretty accurate." Harry admitted, taking the glass from Snape. He'd wanted to kill James that night. He had taken away James' own broom and he had prevented James from playing Quidditch until Christmas break last year. James had been beside himself with the unfairness of it all, and wouldn't talk to his parents for weeks.

Harry had second guessed himself about being too harsh, but then he'd remember the way his stomach had dropped when James had come off his broom and that strengthened his resolve.

This wasn't the first time Harry had dreamt about that night. He'd had quite a few nightmares of what didn't happen that night.

"Well, well, I'm impressed Potter," smirked Snape, "I expected you, as a father, to channel Black or Lupin, perhaps even Dumbledore. Certainly not myself."

Harry snorted, "Only when they try to get themselves killed." Harry's answer was meant to be flippant, but Snape's black eyes caught his. Harry had the feeling that his head was being rifled through again, memories unbidden rose to the surface of his mind. All of them too fast to really focus on.

This time though, Snape was not intruding into the mind of a fifteen year old boy. The dream-Snape was no match for the fully trained Auror. Harry, with a rush of anger, shoved Snape out.

"Get out of my head. What the hell are you doing here, anyway?" demanded Harry.

Maddeningly Snape shrugged, unconcerned, "I told you once, I have no idea how your mind works. It's obvious that you feel there is something to be gained from reliving this night."

One of the memories Snape had called to the surface seemed to burst into full bloom.

"You were seen...If I was your Head of House...You damaged a very valuable tree...I don't have the power to expel you, but..."

In the memory, Snape told Harry and Ron off for stealing Mr. Weasley's car in almost the same words and tone Harry had used on James.

Harry took another drink of his non-existent firewhiskey, wondering if dreaming about getting drunk could give you a hangover.

Snape looked grave, "I wish my life had been different." he said.

Harry nodded, "And me. I wish things could have been different between us."

"It wasn't just that you looked like your father, you know." Snape said quietly, "It was that you could have been mine. If I hadn't been such a fool. Lily saw where it all was going. Where I was going...It wasn't just using...that word...to her. It was everything I was doing. I looked at you and I saw my own weakness. I was determined that you would not be weak.

Another unbidden memory;

"Blocked again and again and again until you learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed."

Only this time, Harry heard the exhortations underneath the insult, "Figure it out, damn you. It will save your life. "

"You did your best. We all did." Harry noticed his whiskey was empty, he held it out for more.

Snape refilled it, "Are you so damned eager to forgive, Potter? Do you think I need it?" he sneered.

"No. You don't need forgiveness from me."

"No, Potter. Not from you." agreed Snape.

They were silent for a while.

"You have been very good to the little boy." said Snape, "He needs that."

"Why are you so interested in Tim?" asked Harry, curiously.

"Perhaps I'm the voice of your own parental reason." Snape sighed, "Or maybe I have a personal interest. It's even possible I've come trying to prevent the rise of another Dark Lord. The boy's magic is very strong. Growing up in a state of deprivation is what created the Dark Lord after all."

"Rubbish." said Harry flatly, "Voldemort did what he did because he was a twisted evil bastard who wanted power above all else."

"Yes, but why did he desire power?"

"Come on Snape, the same could be said about us." Harry was sure now that the dream-Snape was the voice of his own subconscious. This was an argument he'd had in his head when he was awake.

"Us?" Snape asked.

"You. Me. Sirius. Hermione..."

Snape looked at him sharply, "What was wrong with Miss Granger's homelife?"

"Her parents were a pair of drunks." Harry gazed into his glass, "I didn't know until after we'd left school of course, but you have to reckon that her crazy perfectionist streak had to come from somewhere. And why else would she be so tolerant of wandering the countryside with me? Not to mention sending her parents to Australia. I mean, it wasn't like they were the Dursleys or anything, but she had her share of issues."

"Hmm." grunted Snape, "All the same...Thank you."