With long-flowing beautiful red hair, a green-eyed woman clenches the white sheets painfully in her hands as she release another loud, terrifying scream. She sounds as if someone is murdering her, which judging by the pain in her face doesn't look too far from the truth. He eyes then harden before darting to me. The green orbs accuse me, stating that I am at fault for her current state of agony.

I stare back at the witch, unable to speak. No words I say are going to make her forgive me for what I have done, to her, to everyone. I wish I can take her pain and mold it into something enjoyable. But I know that I am not here for her. She does not wish me to be near her anymore. I have lost that chance, my second in fact.

Her husband's hazel eyes stare at me through his round-rimmed glasses, ever wary of my next move. In fact, the hand not occupied with his wife's is mere inches from his hidden wand that has tormented me for years. So far, he has been civil, the first in a good many years. He has not spoken a word or attempted to hex me yet. However, he is clearly unnerved by my presence here as evident of his feeble attempts to smooth the untidy black hair.

As I hear the witch's pain-filled screams again, I close my eyes and turn away from the scene. I am not wanted here. I am well aware of that. But the relic from our past has demanded they permit me to be here so I am. Neither one can say a word against my presence either unless they wish to anger him. Even though, I know this ordeal shall be the hardest thing I have ever faced, I admit that I am grateful I am allowed in this room for this occasion by his order. I shudder to think of the what-ifs, concerning it.

We have been happy once before, but no longer. She is now, as loathe as I am to admit, with a man who truly deserves her, one who is not myself. He is going to keep her happy, protect her, cherish her, and love her. I cannot do that in my current situation. I can love her, yes, and likely even cherish her, but I can never keep her happy and protect her from the evils of my life. She is with the better man. When she suddenly quiets and a new soft noise enters the world for the first time, I glance back and feel my heart clench at the small, bloodied infant in the matron's arms as she walks towards me. I hold my arms out expectantly, knowing that this is likely going to be the last time I do so.

The babe does not stir as I settle the child in my arms. I stare at this beautiful angel and close my eyes to keep my emotions at bay. One mistake from youth has cost me this.

Opening my dark eyes again, I glance down. He is a truly remarkable child. I can see it in his youthful face. Making the most of my time I have left, I rub my finger against his cheek, nearly chuckling when the babe opens his eyes for the first time. Once more, the knife stabs my heart as I notice the lovely green eyes of his mother.

"James will be taking our son now," says the red haired witch as her husband steps towards us.

I quell the urge to respond that he is not this child's father, but I do so just barely. After all, we both know that she says it out of spite. I am not going to give them the satisfaction. I sigh heavily, staring at the child, my child, committing him to my memory so I never forget him.

Hesitantly, I hand the infant over to his new father before I pull back at the last second. I hear the sudden intake of air from her husband and her growling, but I don't care. I press a kiss against my son's forehead, smoothing back his black locks in the process.

"Know that I love you, and that I am sorry, my son," I whisper so no one hears us. I do not wish them to interrupt our private moment. I close my eyes again as my son's tiny fingers wrap around my pinky. "This is for the best, though." I then stand tall again and hand him over with a heavy heart.

"Here we go, Harry," the man says quietly, adjusting his hold on the babe with his back turn from his wife. The man's eyes then catch mine before he slightly inclines his head towards me. Whirling around a second later, he calmly walks back towards the green-eyed witch, who glares daggers at me.

"You will not contact us," she snarls, grabbing the bundled child from her husband. She looks as if she's ready to kill me at any moment, while her husband looks somber. "Do you understand me?"

"Lil," her husband says, clearly outraged as he gives me a surprisingly sympathetic look.

"I don't want to hear you, and I definitely do not want to see you ever."

"I understand," I reply quietly, staring at her without a hint of emotion on my face.

"Good, well, you've had your five minutes." She wraps her arms a little tighter around the child as if she is protecting him from me. "Now get the hell out of here, Severus."

Without another word, I turn on my heel and leave. I deserve this fate. Truly, I do.

~NSNV~

A year later, I sit with my head in my hands. I cannot hold back my sobs of grief. I have killed them, both of them. The tears stream down my eyes as I remember holding my son after his birth. I am never going to be able to hold my child in my hands again. Why? What reason can I possibly have to justify this evil that I have brought on them?

A hand then rests gently on my shoulder. I can't just sit here and sob all night. That isn't going to do a bit of good to anyone. I know this. Tears do nothing to heal the soul. And my soul needs more healing than ever before. I draw in a shaky breath and angrily swipe the tears from my eyes before glancing upwards. However, sounds of something eerily familiar near my ear make me glance to it.

"But—what—how?" quietly I ask, glancing at the somber elderly wizard.

"I am unsure," he answers solemnly. "However, I am sure you will find this to be a blessing, though." The man's blue eyes then glance down at the child in his arms. "He really is beautiful."

"So was his mother," I respond, gently grabbing my son from him. I chuckle quietly, the first in a great while, as my son snuggles into my robes.

"If you want, Severus, I can draw up the papers straight away so you and your son can go about your lives without any issues arising later."

Feeling the familiar tightness in my chest, I answer a moment later, "No thank you, sir. Even if the Dark Lord is gone, the others are still around. The Aurors won't be able to capture all of them."

"Have some faith, my boy," he says, giving me that calculating look again.

"I do, Albus. I just don't have faith in others as you do." I then brush my son's fringe back, narrowing my eyes on the lightning bolt mark on his forehead. "Is this a result of a curse?"

"A failed one, it appears," he says, looking thoughtful. "You wish me to carry out her last wish?"

"Yes," I respond, ignoring my heartache. "Black and Lupin are suitable to raise him, even if I wish they weren't. But they will care for him for James." The Marauders are the cause of many things, but they have grown out of their childish ways. At least, I haven't heard of them attacking anyone lately.

Kissing my son's lightning bolt, I once more give him away. But I must—for now.

~NSNV~

Sitting at the High Table, I stare out at the four House tables with the second-years through seventh-years. Harry is eleven this year, so I know I am going to be greeted with those green eyes of his. Though, I'm not sure how our meeting is going to go. Harry likely doesn't even remember me.

As the doors open and Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor, leads in the conglomerate of first-years, I instantly feel on edge. My heart starts to beat faster as my eyes try to find the raven locks and green eyes of my son. However, I am only left disappointed when I don't find him automatically. He is there. I am sure of it. Dumbledore and likely McGonagall are going to have a coronary if he isn't.

A moment later, when the first-years gather round in front of the platform, Dumbledore stands and does his usual start of the year speech. I of course do my usual, tuning the old man out. Honestly, if I hear that Merlin forsaken idiocy about the Forbidden Forest being forbidden again, I'm going to yell. Of course the Forbidden Forest is forbidden to all students. The damn word is in it.

I then half-listen to the witch as she reads off the list of names. I grimace slightly when I see my godson Draco cockily walking towards the Slytherin table after his Sorting. Clearly, his father has been giving him lessons on how to be a Malfoy. I see that I am going to need to speak with him, so there are no issues. I can only imagine what wise words Lucius imparted on him prior to their leaving.

After some girl is sorted into Hufflepuff, if ever there is a waste of a House it is that one by far, I notice my son in the sea of first-years. Our eyes meet, green and obsidian. Before I even realize what I am doing, I lower my hand as if to shield my wrenching heart from his mother's green accusing eyes that stare back at me.

I cannot believe it, staring at him. He looks the way I did when I was a first-year. What the hell has happened to my son? My eyes then narrow in anger. Instantly, I notice my son's brows furrow in confusion before his hand suddenly comes up to clutch his lightning bolt scar as if my gaze has caused him pain. As my heart beats violently against my hand, it quickly alerts me to what I am doing. I expertly turn my gesture into a simple lowering of my hand like any good Slytherin and look away.

I tune out the other students' Sorting. I shall know soon enough after all which Houses they belong to when they all wander to my dungeons for their first lesson. My ears suddenly perk up as I hear McGonagall call for my son to come forward for his Sorting. I must admit that I am rather anxious. However, I have braced myself enough for this moment to know that if he does end up in Gryffindor, then I'm not going to pitch a fit in the middle of the Great Hall. I of course ignore the attachment of Potter to my son's name. It isn't out of spite that I do this, though, surprisingly. Potter—James took care of my son until his death since I cannot. While he was very much a bastard throughout our years at Hogwarts, James did mellow in his later years. I shall give him that.

I watch my son's Sorting, feeling oddly proud of the boy. Unlike my godson, he is perfectly humble as he approaches. Fear is evident, but he is doing his best to hide it. I grimace in sympathy when he jumps as McGonagall lowers the decrepit-looking hat on him and it comes to life. I remember my own Sorting and how high I had jumped when the thing started talking to me.

"Gryffindor!" the Sorting Hat shouts after a couple of minutes.

I just barely hold back my groan. I guess it could've been worse. The boy could've been in Hufflepuff. I watch Harry walk over to the Gryffindor table, and sigh as I see the relief. He clearly believes Slytherins to be the enemy. Well, in a way, he has a point. The majority of the people in Death Eater ranks are Slytherins. Though, this does make me wonder how he is going to take the news that his father is the Head of Slytherin. I then grimace at that thought. I don't even want to think about that day. It feels as if it is never going to come. I've waited eleven years for the threat to pass, and it hasn't yet.

"Sev-Severus," stutters Quirrell next to me.

I glance towards him, doing my best to ignore the disgusting smell coming from his turban. He is staring at me oddly. What am I doing this time? I glance around my persons before glancing up.

"What is it, Quirrell?" I growl.

"Y-you keep st-staring at th-the boy," he replied, glancing towards Harry. "W-why?" he asks.

"Keep your stuttering comments to yourself," I snarl, sneering at him. When he yelps and glances away, I start to eat. I have to be more careful, lest someone discovers I am Harry's true father.

~NSNV~

So much has happened this year. During my very first class with my son, I manage to make him hate me for it. I can't be seen as being considerate to Gryffindors or I lose my Snakes' respect. If I lose their respect, then I cannot do my job fully to save them from themselves. Though, I admit. When I see Harry taking notes like any good pupil, I am thrown for a moment. No student has ever done that during my tenure at Hogwarts. Then again, my son isn't like any other student here. He is different thanks to me, his Death Eater father who is also the one responsible for his mother and James' deaths.

Why must I be an ass? I've asked myself that question numerous times, but I only come back to the answer of that it must be done to protect Harry. How long must I debase myself like this and cause further strife between us before I realize that protecting Harry and being his father is the same thing? I then sigh and shake my head. I have to keep us at arms' length, just for now.

"Severus," a frantic voice echoes from the Floo in my office.

My head whips towards the fireplace, and I briskly walk towards it. I nearly groan at the face staring back at me. I should have known it would be her. I open my mouth to be my usual sarcastic, charming git self, only to be cut off.

"You're needed in the Hospital Wing immediately. I can't explain." The witch's face then disappears, leaving my fire to crackle in peace.

I grab a fistful of Floo powder, jumping into the flames and throwing down the powder. I loudly call out my destination of the Hospital Wing as the witch suggested, expecting her to be there waiting. When I arrive a moment later to find her not there, I find myself confused. I, however, push this mystery back and walk into the main area. My eyes narrow on Madam Pomfrey's turned back as she is feverishly working on someone lying on the cot. I catch Dumbledore's blue eyes as he notices my approach. He appears to be worried about something before he glances back down, following Madam Pomfrey's orders. I then see the familiar black locks, peeking around her on the white pillow.

Harry, I think, feeling the wind knocked out of me instantly. I stop in mid step, just staring, unable to move or speak. That's my son. That's my boy.

"Oh, honestly, Severus, get over here and help me," the matron snaps as she waves her wand down Harry's chest. "This doesn't make any sense," she growls before turning around and give me her famous "I am not joking, Mister" look.

I easily comply, not wanting to upset the woman working on my son. Though, I'm not quite sure what she wishes of me. Luckily, she shows me by grabbing my hands and thrusting them on Harry's small chest, just above his heart. It calms me slightly to feel his heart beating under my hands.

"I apologize, madam, but I don't understand," I admit a few seconds later, enjoying the feel of my son's steady heartbeat. He's alive. I have to keep telling myself that, but he's alive.

"Check to see if he has any dark magic surrounding himself," she orders, not taking her eyes off her task. "You are after all our resident Dark Arts aficionado, are you not?"

I want to respond that I'm not, but, well, I am unfortunately. There are hardly any dark arts spells that I do not know about. I quickly draw my wand from my robes, running it down Harry's unconscious form. His aura remains the same white it has always been for the most part, except for one lonely dark spot on his neck. Wait a moment. I've seen this signature before, but where? I try to recall it before scratching my left forearm. It then hits me like a bludger. My heart stops. I know where I recognize it from. I glance towards my black-sleeved arm that hides my mark.

"The Dark Lord?" quietly, I ask, glancing towards Dumbledore.

"So it would seem, my boy," Dumbledore replies solemnly.

"How?" snarling, I demand. I don't need to ask where. Harry's rips and tears tell me the where.

"You know how, Severus," he answers, giving me that all-knowing look again.

"Quirrell," I growl. I've had my suspicions about him all year long. I'm not the only one either. More than a few times I've seen that annoying twit Sinistra stare at Quirrell during meals. Well, the meals she attends at least. I then scoff. Of course! She must've been watching the third floor this night and seen Quirrell enter. She must have seen Harry then go down there and alerted someone as she did for me to go to the Hospital Wing. I then stop. Why did she alert me? Does she know? Gritting my teeth, I decide once Harry is in the clear, I'm having a long conversation with my reserve Head of House.

~NSNV~

My son still doesn't know that we are related. I can't seem to find the words to say. I have tried. When I meet him down by the lake prior to his leaving, I attempt to tell him. It only comes out as an 'Enjoy your summer, Potter,' though. How do you tell a child that you are his father but that you cannot keep him? All summer long I've pondered this question, hoping an answer comes to me. And all summer long I receive no answer so I wait and ponder more. The answer is going to come to me. I know it is. But as the summer passes by, and once again it is time for the annual Sorting Ceremony, I realize that I've wasted my entire summer without getting a single answer to my query.

Once more, I sit at the High Table, watching students filter into the room. Though, none of them appear to be my son. My eyes then slowly wander over to the table underneath the large crimson banner with the roaring lion. I see the know-it-all's familiar bushy hair, but the usual black hair of my son's along with his best friend's red hair is missing from the table. Where is my son?

Glancing over the Gryffindor table, I notice that out of the Weasley brats, my son's best friend's family, the only redhead missing from the table is my son's friend. Those two dunderheads, and I mean it affectionately of course, aren't stirring up trouble their very first day, are they? I then growl as I notice that the bushy-haired girl, the only one of the Gryffindor trio who is there, is glancing around as puzzled as I am, looking for Harry. However, looking over the other House tables, it doesn't seem as if Harry and his best friend are the only ones missing from the Great Hall. Perhaps something has delayed him.

As the doors open wide again, my eyes dart to them, only to make me feel slightly disappointed when it is only the caretaker, Argus Filch. I turn my attention back to the table, reaching out to grab my glass of wine. Unfortunately, I'm in a rather foul mood, so I toss the wine back as if it is Firewhiskey, which I truly can use a glass of right now.

"Professors, ev'ning," Filch says, attempting to force a smile to his face that is horrifying to behold. Though, that might be because the man looks as if he hasn't been acquainted with a shower in years. His eyes then fall on me. "Sir, I've some students you'd want to speak to in your office just now. Baron's watching them currently."

Something in his eyes makes me pause for a moment. No, he can't be meaning—my heart then drops as I notice the smirk. Standing, I throw down my napkin. My son better have a damn good excuse for his behavior this time. After all, how hard is it to get on a damn train and show up on time?

As I walk past the table to stalk out through the side chamber, a hand suddenly latches onto my forearm directly on top of my hidden mark. I glance towards the person, wanting to take my frustration out on someone. However, I am not about to make a scene in the middle of the Great Hall just because my son and his little fool of a friend can't do the simplest tasks.

"What is it?" I hiss, attempting to yank my arm back.

Locking eyes with mine, a curly-haired witch says, "Listen first, and then react." She then releases her hold on my arm and turns back to carry on her previous conversation.

With my robes billowing in their familiar flair, I briskly walk out of the Great Hall. Just because the damn witch knows now, it doesn't mean that she can tell me how to run my life. Merlin only knows what the boy has done this time. Thankfully, I learn it as Filch pulls the evening edition of the Daily Prophet from his jacket.

"You'd want that, I'd think," he says gruffly, handing the paper to me.

Still walking briskly, I grab it and glance at the front page. I then stop in mid-step as I catch the headline 'Flying Ford Anglia Mystifies Muggles.' I don't believe it. Which idiot child has done this? I then read that seven Muggles have claimed that they've seen it, flying from the parking lot where I know leads to Platform 9 and ¾.

"Flew the damned thing into the Whomping Willow, they did," Filch muttered. "Don't suppose you have something to patch that up, do you, Professor?"

"I'll see. But I take it that the two waiting for me are Potter and Weasley?" I don't really need to hear his answer. I know in my heart that it is. "Wait a moment before you bring them in, Filch."

I then continue heading towards my office. Turning a corner a moment later, I wave my hand in front of the stone wall, watching the stones slide apart to make a small entryway for me. I walk in and quickly enter my office, reaching my desk and sitting down just as the door opens. Propping up the front page so the little idiots see their handiwork firsthand, I wait. I say nothing as I hear the boys slowly wander in with Filch ordering them to walk faster to my desk.

"You were seen by no less than seven Muggles," I snarl, throwing the paper onto my desk in disgust. "Do you have any idea how serious is this?" I glance at both boys then, taking in their appearance for the first time. Breathing a sigh of relief in my mind a moment later, I am grateful that neither one of the boys appears to be injured. I lean forward slightly to impress upon them the seriousness of their actions. I mean, honestly, flying a car in London in clear sight of thousands if not millions of Muggles. They're lucky their wands are not snapped right now. "You have risked the exposure of our world," I scold. I then add as an afterthought, "Not to mention the damage inflicted upon a Whomping Willow that's been on these grounds since before you were born." When Weasley opens his mouth, I immediately notice Harry's head turn towards his friend as if he knows how foolish it is to argue with me.

"Honestly, Professor Snape, I think it did more damage to use," Weasley says, living true to his Sorting of being a Gryffindor.

"Silence!" angrily, I snap. Both boys jump in response. However, my temper takes over. Standing, I slowly stalk towards them, gripping my desk tightly to keep from throttling both boys. I notice their fear instantly as I approach, but I continue towards them, closing the distance. "I assure you were you in Slytherin and your fate rested with me, the both of you would be on the train home tonight." Well, Harry likely would not join his friend.

My son would be with me, receiving my punishment for his foolishness and scaring me half to death again. "As it is—"

"They are not," Dumbledore's gentle voice interrupts.

My head snaps towards him, and I catch McGonagall standing next to him tightly lipped. I stand up fully, keeping my hand closest to the boys on my desk. I should have known that my presence would be noticed from the Great Hall.

"Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall," Harry says, glancing at both of them.

There is a slight quiver in his voice that I can tell he is attempting to hide.

"Headmaster," I say, finally lifting my hand up and pointing a finger towards the two.

"These boys have bludgeoned the decrees of restriction of underage wizardry," I angrily say, not glancing at my son but locking eyes with Dumbledore. I attempt to pass him my thought of how I wish to deal with my son without Weasley being there. He only walks closer, forcing me to lower my arm. "As such—"

"I'm well aware of our bylaws, Severus, having written quite a few of them myself." He then glances over his half-moon spectacles at me, giving me the unspoken response that he can't allow me to be alone with Harry just yet.

I grit my teeth, staring at him. I need to speak with my son. The boy needs to understand that I am not going to tolerate such arrogance. As Dumbledore speaks again, I force my face to relax.

"However, as Head of Gryffindor House, it is for Professor McGonagall to determine appropriate action."

Reading between his words, I sigh as I hear his hidden warning. Sinistra knowing about my relationship to Harry is one thing because she just knows, but McGonagall knowing by my uncharacteristic interest in one of her lions is a totally different animal. Who knows who is going to find out next then?

"We'll go get our stuff then," Weasley glumly says.

"What are you talking about, Mr. Weasley?" McGonagall replies, staring at him confused.

"You're going to expel us, aren't you?" Weasley's head hangs dejectedly.

"Not today, Mr. Weasley," she answers.

Both boys glance at each other, their happiness shining through.

"But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to your families tonight, and you will both receive detention," she says.

The boys then glance at me. I narrow my eyes on them in response, especially on Harry. My son is going to have a permanent letter in his file now. Both boys are. I idly wonder if I am going to receive a copy of McGonagall's letter, but I am not going to be heartbroken if I do not. After all, I am here to witness the whole sordid thing. The boys then leave, and I sigh. Can't we just have a normal year here?

~NSNV~

I can't believe what has occurred during my son's second year. Seriously, I'm starting to think the boy has a nasty bad luck curse on him. He arrives to school in a Ford Anglia that he and Weasley fly into the Whomping Willow. Then he has the unfortunate luck of speaking to a conjured snake in front of the entire school. For months I hear the rumors of how Harry is the Heir to Slytherin.

I want to respond to the little dunderheads that he is. He is the heir of the Slytherin Head of House. But I know they're not talking about that heir. These rumors only get worse as the year progresses. People actually start to believe all these strange occurrences with the petrified victims are a result of Harry cursing the victims, as if a twelve-year-old has the amount of power required.

Of course if it isn't the rumors that Harry is trying to murder people, then it is the looks people give him. His peers and some of my coworkers treat him like an outcast. He is not the enemy, though. Once they worship him, now they shun him. It is no wonder then why the boy and Weasley force Lockhart into saving Weasley's sister when she is taken down into the chamber. Who can my son go to that is not going to look at him with suspicious eyes as if he is the one who has taken her? I do not blame him for going down there with that in mind. However, I do wish that is not the case for all his years. The boy needs someone to be there, and Weasley and Granger can only do so much for him.

Though, all of that is beside the point. Harry is once again safe. Well, as safe as one can be after slaying a basilisk. Honestly, a basilisk, is this a school or a slaughterhouse? Some days, I wonder now. However, I know that Hogwarts really is the best place for him, even though there seems to be danger lurking around every corner.

I stand in front of the statue, waiting at the bottom of the steps to the Headmaster's office. I've finally decided I'm going to ask Dumbledore to draw up the papers. I want custody of my son now. This entire fiasco has caused me to realize how close I came to losing him without him knowing the truth.

As I hear someone walking down the stairs, I draw myself up. However, my eyes narrow on the aristocrat Lucius Malfoy when he comes into my line of sight. I force myself not to react at the man's presence. After all, the threat has not officially passed yet. Lucius being here shows that.

"I do hope that boy is taught a lesson one of these days," Lucius sneers.

"Not as long as Dumbledore is around," I respond, glancing towards the blond.

"Then we shall pray that he is not around long, shall we not?"

"I didn't peg you as a praying man, Lucius," I answer. "If you'll forgive me, I must be on my way." I then start my ascension up the steps, but am stopped by Lucius' cane as it catches my forearm.

"I would just hate to think what would happen if someone believed that being here in this lush position has made you soft, Severus," he drawls, staring at me as if he's trying to figure something out.

"Then we shall thank Merlin that I am not," I reply silkily, holding his gaze. When he pulls back, I respectfully incline my head before walking up the steps, far away from him and that damn cane. The door suddenly opens, and I am standing face to face with my son. For a moment, I'm at a loss for words. I have not seen him since earlier in the Hospital Wing. I grimace slightly at the dirt and grime on his clothes. He looks as if he's some street urchin. I then open my mouth to say something, only to find the boy moving past me already. My mouth snaps shut, and I quickly whirl around and follow him.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry calls out, rushing towards the blond ex-Death Eater and his house elf. "Mr. Malfoy!" he repeats, a bit louder this time.

As Lucius turns, I immediately jump into the shadows, camouflaging myself. My ebony wand is in hand and at the ready for anything Lucius might try with my son. That bastard is not going to hurt my child, and if I have my way, he is never going to hurt his child either.

"I have something of yours," Harry says, holding a worn book in his right hand. My son then thrusts it into Lucius' hand before taking a step back.

"Mine?" Lucius demands. "I don't know what you're talking about." His glare deepens.

"Oh, I think you do, sir," Harry retorts, anger seeping into his words.

I grimace slightly. The boy certainly doesn't have a Slytherin bone in his body. There is no tact. There is no plan, it seems. Perhaps that is the first thing I shall teach him. Well, after we get over that minor detail of him thinking that I hate him.

"I think you slipped the diary into Ginny Weasley's cauldron that day in Diagon Alley."

"You do, do you?" Lucius sneers. His glare is becoming deadlier by the second.

When his hand suddenly moves, it causes me to jerk with a spell halfway already cast. I am not going to stand here and watch that bastard strike my child. However, when he only hands over the diary to his house elf, I relax slightly. Perhaps I have become a bit impulsive with old age. Though, there is nothing wrong with being overly cautious. As Lucius takes a step towards Harry, I take a step towards them, my wand emerging from the shadows.

"Why don't you prove it?" Lucius snarls, a feral look on his face.

Lucius and Harry then stare at each for a few moments. He doesn't seem to be threatening Harry with any violence as he does whenever Draco calls him out on something. When neither one stands down, Lucius then turns and glares down at his house elf.

"Come, Dobby," he snarls before stalking away.

I watch a curious exchange between Harry and the elf. My son seems to be telling it something, but the words are too quiet. My eyes narrow as the elf opens the book before glancing up with big eyes.

"Dobby," Lucius calls out again.

"Master has given Dobby a sock."

"What? I didn't—" Lucius' face falls at the sight of the grey sock in the book.

"Master has presented Dobby with clothes. Dobby is free!" the house elf squeals.

Lucius then whips his wand out of his cane, pointing it at Harry. "You lost me my servant!"

I take a step completely out of the shadows, intending to curse that bastard to hell and back. However, the house elf beats me to it. I am shocked temporarily when Lucius suddenly flies backwards in response to the house elf's rare display of protective magic.

"Your parents were meddlesome fools, too. Mark my words, Potter. One day soon you are going to meet the same sticky end." Lucius then whirls around and rushes out.

I've never been meddlesome. I take offense to that. I then watch Harry and the house elf, sighing in response. He loves too easily. Maybe when he learns the truth I shall experience that too. Knowing my son is safe once again, I walk upstairs. This conversation with Dumbledore is long past due.

The damn papers finally have gone through. However, June has past us by with July soon joining it. My son has lived with the wretched Dursleys for a month and a half. Granted, I've seen no signs of abuse on my son when he comes back from them, but the air of neglect certainly hangs around him. If only that son of a bitch Sirius Black not have murdered one of the damned Marauders days after the Dark Lord's downfall. If that had not happened, I would be fetching my son then from Grimmauld instead of that damned Privet Drive with those wretched Muggles.

Smoothing my black raincoat for the hundredth time, I walk towards the two-story complex in front of me after I apparate to the Muggle area. The weather is absolutely horrid and has been since the first. Seriously, it is almost as if we're encountering a monsoon these days. However, the rain is good for one thing. No one, if anyone is watching, can see who I am since the shadows are my friends. Glancing upstairs, I notice that all of the lights seem to be off. Perhaps the Dursleys and my son are having some sort of family night. I then scoff as I try to imagine Petunia entertaining anyone. The only thing she entertains people with is her likeness to a horse's ass.

Raising my hand, I rap my knuckle against the front door before taking a step back. When the door is thrown open a second later and a portly Muggle man in a pair of white boxers and a white tank top stands there glaring at me, I wonder for half a second if I have the wrong address. Tuney's annoying voice inside, however, informs me that I do in fact have the right house.

"Yeah, well, what do you want?" the Muggle snarls.

"I've come for Harry Potter." I watch the man instantly turn a violent shade of purple before one of his beefy hands grabs me and yanks me inside. Perhaps I have been mistaken all these years. Perhaps my son is being abused by these wretched Muggles. My eyes darken at this thought. If he has been, then it is my fault that he is.

"You're one of them freaks, aren't you?"

I cannot reign in my temper. The man is manhandling me and holding me against the wall. What else am I supposed to do? So brandishing my wand, I lean towards him, so we're nose to nose.

"I am the worst kind, Mr. Dursley," I hiss darkly. I nearly chuckle a second later when the man releases me and jumps back as if he's expect me to kill him right there. "Now, where is Potter?"

"Not in," Dursley responds stupidly.

I can see the falsehood in his face. I can't help it. This man is seriously starting to piss me off. I mean, this entire thing is only supposed to take a couple of minutes, if that. I take a step closer towards the portly Muggle, giving him my nastiest glare.

"You're lying, Dursley," I hiss in my deadliest voice.

"Finally come to collect your bastard son, have you, Snape?" a voice says behind me.

"Tuney, I thought I heard your obnoxiously nasal-sounding voice," I respond, glancing towards her. She still has that horse's ass face. She clearly hasn't changed much over the years. "You're still shrew as ever too, I see." I nearly chuckle at her brief look of outrage. She's still so easy to rile up.

"The boy's upstairs. Take him and then get the hell out of our house."

"And his things?" quietly I ask.

"They'll be down here for you take on your way out." She then whirls around, motioning with her head towards her husband that it is in his best interest to follow.

Once the Muggles are gone, I walk up the rickety stairs. Idly, I notice how my son is in none of the pictures on the walls. It is just Petunia, her fat-assed husband, and their son, who appears to be taking after his dad in becoming an elephant. I find the door that I guess is Harry's and knock softly. There is no response, which isn't all that surprising if one considers how the boy likely has lived here. Quietly opening the door, I walk into the darkened room, casting a minor Lumos.

I find my son huddled on his bed, all curled up into a ball as if he's in pain. I silently walk towards him and gently brush his hair back, an action that always helps soothe me. I feel the warmth from him immediately and swallow back a long list of curses I want to use on the Dursleys. The boy is clearly ill, and I see no signs of them even attempting to care for him.

"Shh, Harry, it's all right," I whisper, gently picking my child up to hold him against me. I expect him to wake and start to scream at me for doing this. But he doesn't. "It's time to go home."

Harry then whispers something, but I don't catch it. He is speaking too quietly for me to hear. He then inhales deeply, attempting to bury himself into my shoulder even more. "Dad," the boy repeats.

Even though I know the boy likely thinks that I am James Potter and not Severus Snape, my heart warms instantly at that one word. There is so much love spoken behind that declaration that I cannot help but close my eyes and press the boy tighter against me. This is my son, mine. I then have to remind myself that Harry is very sick as the boy moans in pain, and that it isn't because I've hurt him. I am terrified of hurting him. It is one of the many reasons why I have not collected him before now.

"Shh, Harry, everything will be all right now. You're safe."

"I know, Dad," the boy mumbles into my collarbone.

I cannot believe that I, Severus Snape the cold-hearted bastard of the dungeons, am coming apart because of the words of my twelve-year-old son who is likely suffering from fever-induced delusions. I mean, this is beyond absurd. Yes, I freely admit that I have dreamt about taking my son away for years. In fact, I have dreamt about this moment ever since I first gave him away that day in St. Mungo's after his birth. No matter what sort of father he is, jaded or otherwise, a father always has some amount of love in him for his child. As humans, we are just predisposed to this feeling of love. It goes away, yes, but it returns always. To be human is to love. I then snort. I sound like some idiot right now.

"Dad, can Snuffles come with us?" he mumbles, wrapping his arms tighter around my neck.

"Snuffles?" quietly I reply. "Who is Snuffles?" Can it be one of the boy's teddy bear? Glancing around the room, I do not see any such items, though. There are no toys. There is nothing.

"My dog," he answers weakly before coughing harshly.

I want to respond that he already has a dog, but I don't. I'm not going to separate my son from one of his few things that he can call his own. Waving my free arm to the room at large, I pack everything that is his. His drawings and Quidditch pennant hanging on the wall are carefully packed with his threadbare clothes in his backpack. I release his snowy owl Hedwig from her cage, banishing the window for her to fly out. With another flick of my wrist, the window reappears. I find it strange how none of his school things like textbooks, his trunk, or even his wand appear to be in his room. But I suppose the Dursleys believe that by locking those things up, they are then protecting themselves from him and his magic. I summon his bag, slipping my arm into the shoulder strap. Turning from the sight that greets me, I walk with Harry still in my arms out of the room. And those bastards call that a room. It is more like a prison cell to me.

Walking down the stairs, I wrap an arm to keep Harry from falling as I feel his grip slacken a bit. I cannot help but wonder about this dog Snuffles. Knowing Petunia as I do, I know that there is no way she knows about the dog. So Harry must have hid the dog somewhere, but where? Well, any good dog knows when its master is leaving. I have learned that over the years.

"Look at him," Petunia sneers, glaring at Harry's back. "Does he know, Snape? Does he know how you left him and my perfect sister? How when you found out she was pregnant you told her that you were done with her? Hmm, does your son know that?"

I just stare at her, knowing that my child is not hearing a word of this woman's spite-filled words that unfortunately contain a bit of harsh truth. What am I supposed to respond? Why, yes, Tuney, I have told my son about how I left his mother the exact second she informed me she was pregnant. I've even told him about how I called the woman I loved more than life itself a whore and that I've had better before I threw her out into the street.

"Are you listening, Potter? That man that you cling to so desperately slept with your mother just so he could ruin her life and marriage. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he drugged your mother with a series of those fertility potions just so she would end up having you. Oh, I know all about you, Snape."

I do not need to explain myself to anyone but my son. So I just continue to stare at her, not letting her nastiness affect me in the slightest. After all, in matters of these one has to consider the source. And if ever there is a bitch in the world, it surely is Petunia Evans-Dursley.

"Well? What do you think about that, Potter?" She then leans closer towards Harry, smirking nastily. "He likely even forced—"

Unable to control myself, my open hand smacks Petunia's face, causing the woman to release a shrill banshee-like cry. I grit my teeth instantly, scolding myself for hitting a woman. I am not Tobias.

"Get out! Get out of my house, you FREAK!" she roars. "And take your bastard son with you. We never asked for him or any of his kind. Take him and get out!"

"Gladly," I hiss, glaring at the woman.

"You never deserved her! You, the son of a drunk, never deserved my sister. She was better off with that damn Potter in my opinion. She was happier with him than she ever was with you."

"And since when did you give a damn about your sister, Tuney?"

"When she came crying to me in the middle of the night, saying you were done with her and that you never wanted to see her again. She was so distraught. She thought you loved her. Never in a million years did it cross her mind that you were just using her to create that boy for your master. You know, when I heard that my sister was dead, I knew. I knew you were the reason she was. The thing I still don't know, though, is why you left your bastard son to us. Isn't he what you wanted, Snape?"

I want to set her straight and explain my reasons to her, but I don't. I remain silent, holding my son against me and just staring at her. I can see that my non-reaction only manages to tick her off more.

"If you think that boy will love you, the man responsible for the deaths of his true parents, then you are dead wrong, Snape. He will hate you. He will wish you were dead. And when that occurs, I shall laugh my head off." She then pokes her finger into my free shoulder. "You cost my sister everything, Snape. It seems only fitting that you will lose everything in the end, too."

"Goodbye, Tuney," I hiss through clenched teeth. I then shrink and summon Harry's trunk, stuffing it into my trouser pocket. As I slam my free shoulder spitefully into Dursley on the way out, I feel the corners of my lips upturn slightly at the sounds of glass breaking. Dursley has bumped into a table, knocking over a vase and family photo that fall to the floor and shatter. Whistling as loudly as I can, I wait for half a moment, grimacing when a mangy old looking dog limps towards us. The dog growls towards me, baring his teeth, but instantly relaxes at the sound of Harry telling him to be good. "Come, Snuffles, unless you wish to remain here." The dog approaches, ever wary of me. I lean Harry over so he can run a small hand through the mangy mutt's coat. "Keep a good hold of him." I then close my eyes and apparate my sick son and his mangy mutt that desperately needs a bath home, our home.

Once we arrive, I quickly stand up and head towards the threadbare sofa. Gently, I set Harry onto it, turning to retrieve my emergency supplies. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that damn mutt jump up and settle on Harry's chest. I want to shoo it away because Merlin only knows how many fleas that thing has on it. I don't, though. The dog seems to calm Harry, so I allow it to remain.

Walking into the kitchen, I grab a vial of Pepper-up and another of Fever Reducer from my rack on the tiny table before heading back into the sitting area. That mutt is now licking my son's face. I walk over to them, pushing the mutt off. Unfortunately, this action results in the damn thing biting me.

"Son of a bitch," I yell, glaring at that mangy damn mutt. I nearly do a double take when the dog looks as if he's smiling at me. However, I just write that off as my needing sleep. After all, dogs do not smile. Even Longbottom knows that.

Flexing my hand, I concentrate on the wound, sealing it magically. I likely should have cleaned it out, but I'm more concerned with my son right now than myself. Returning my own glare at the mutt, I gently slide an arm under my son to push him upright.

"Oh, shut it," I snap towards the growling dog. "I'm attempting to help him, not hurt him." I then carefully lift the vial of Fever Reducer to my son's pale lips first, helping Harry drink it. Merlin only knows how long he's been suffering from that fever. Brushing back his fringe, I feel the warmth slowly retreat, leaving behind the cool sweat. "That's my boy," I whisper softly, placing the Pepper-up potion to his lips this time. "Just one more, and you'll start to feel better, Harry."

My face then relaxes almost into a smile as Harry follows my instructions. I remove my hand, moving a few steps back from him. After all, we haven't had the best relationship these past few years. The boy likely is going to think I've kidnapped him, which I suppose I have, in a way.

"Where … where am I?" he asks weakly, starting to stir. His green eyes glance around the room for a moment as he attempts to regain his bearings. Then he sees me, and his eyes harden. "Snape," he growls, reaching for his non-existent wand likely.

"Mr. Potter," I respond as cordially as is possible for me. I then hold out his Holly wand.

"Thanks," he forces himself to say, plucking his wand from my hand. "Where am I?"

"You are in my home."

"Why?" he curtly asks with a puzzled look.

"You were suffering from a rather high fever when I brought you here, Mr. Potter," I answer, ignoring his question. "However, the potions appear to have done their job. How do you feel?"

"Drugged," he replies, gritting his teeth slightly.

"Likely a reaction to the Fever Reducer and Pepper-up working in conjunction with one another," I respond, crossing my arms.

"Why am I here," he growls before adding bitingly, "Professor?"

"Your relatives were negligent in their care of you, Mr. Potter."

"So? What do you care, Snape?"

"I care because you are my—" I then close my mouth. After all, I can't just reveal that to him right now. If I do, I'm only going to manage to make my son pass out in shock or laughter.

"What? I'm your what, Snape? I'm your person you can take your anger out on?"

"It isn't that way at all, Mr. Potter."

"Then what way is it?"

"I shall explain when you are more calm, Mr. Potter." I then turn to leave the sitting area.

"No. I want an explanation now, sir," he responds angrily. "I can take whatever it is."

I whirl around and snort in response. He can take it? Judging by his face right now, he looks like he can barely take the presence of Hedwig right now, let alone my revelation. I just stare at him before sighing, shaking my head slowly.

"You'll have to forgive me for not believing you," I reply, turning away again.

"What? What is it, Snape? What is this big thing that you have to tell me?" After I don't respond, he then forces out a low laugh. "No, no, NO YOU SICK SON OF A BITCH, NO!" he yells. "You are NOT my father! Don't give me that bullshit, Snape! You're not my father! You CAN'T be my father."

"Why?" I ask, oddly wondering his reasoning.

"My mother wasn't—she LOVED HIM, Snape, HIM, not you! You can't—you can't just rewrite the past like that. It isn't fair. IT ISN'T GODDAMN FAIR!"

"Life isn't fair, Mr. Potter," I gently remind him.

"So how'd you do it, Snape? Huh? You brew yourself up some Polyjuice to trick her? Is that what you did?" His voice reminds me so much of his mother right now.

"She came to me willingly," I answer quietly, walking over to the chair in the corner to put some distance between us. Well, this isn't how I've imagined this conversation going, but I am going to get all of this out there in the open. My son does deserve an explanation. After all, I can see in his eyes that all this is a front for the immense hurt he feels at being abandoned by his living father.

"Willingly, you expect me to believe that?" he snarls, glaring at me with the accusing green eyes.

"At my age, I've come to expect nothing. However, if you wish to know for certain if I am telling the truth, I shall allow you to view my memories of that night."

"You're a wizard," he points out.

"As are you, Mr. Potter," I respond. "A wizard's oath or an Unbreakable Vow that I shall never lie to you, will that satisfy you, Mr. Potter?"

"You could break them. You're a sneaky enough git to do it."

"What part of 'Unbreakable Vow' do you not understand, Harry? If I break it, then I die, hence why it is called the Unbreakable Vow. You cannot break it and live to tell the tale about it."

"Fine, so you claim my mother came to you willingly? So what? Did you get her drunk then?"

"No. It was my understanding that she believed James was having an affair on her."

"And she just went crawling into your bed? Must have been your lucky day, Snape," he growls.

"That was my thought, too, yes," I admit quietly. "I could not say no to her when she came to me that night. I knew that there was a chance of a misunderstanding between her and James, but I welcomed her with open arms."

"To get back at my father?" he snaps.

"That was the thinking, yes," I answer.

"So what happened? She shagged you and then left?"

"Do not use that vulgarity when speaking about your mother." I honestly don't know why I am cutting Harry so many breaks right now. Well, likely it is because the boy is going through some sort of identity crisis right now. The man whom he has believed to be his father for years isn't his real father. I know I would be the same stubborn, snotty twelve-year-old if I ever was in his position.

"Why? You're basically calling her a—"

"I am not, Mr. Potter," I respond calmly. "Your mother was never such a woman." I then sigh. "If you are looking for a reason as to why she sought me out, she likely came because she knew it would upset him the most. She was hurt by his actions and wished to pay him back. I am rather certain that she didn't come to end up in my bed. Your mother and I were close friends since we were nine years old."

"Why would she be friends with a slimy Slytherin git like you?"

"We were nine as I said. There were no thoughts about Houses at that time," I answer, ignoring his blatant disrespect. However, it is starting to get on my nerves. "At the time, I was not as concerned about blood purity as I became in my later years."

"So her being a Muggleborn didn't bother you then?"

"No. I loved Lily for the kind woman she truly was. I likely still would have loved her even if she had been a Muggle. However, as time went on at Hogwarts, my loyalties were tested. I failed, and so I lost your mother as a result."

"Only to regain her later," he bitingly says.

"And lose her then again," I point out. Folding my hands in my lap, I stare at my son. Well, there is no easy way to say it than just to say it. "No doubt you are confused, considering what the Weasleys and others have informed you thus far about your parents. However, you are correct. Your mother loved James, not me in the end. No matter how many times I try to spin it." I then swallow back the bile. "Your mother and I had a fling I suppose one could say for nearly two months. She did not wish to return to James because she believed him to be like all the other pureblooded wizards at the time."

"So you and Mum were together, having the time of your lives, right?" he asks angrily.

"Perhaps we were. I'll admit that being with her those two months were the happiest of my life. However, I could not keep the darkness of my life from interfering with her life." I then draw in a deep breath. "When I learned that Lily was pregnant with you, I started to fear for you and your mother. While I admit freely that there was a part of me that was ecstatic to learn that she was carrying my child, there was a bigger part that made me sick with dread for you two. You see, I cannot get into the specifics with you, not until you are older, but I learned something that I stupidly relayed to another."

"What?" he asks, sounding semi-calm for once. "What was it? What'd you tell?"

"Not until you are older, Harry," I answer, frowning towards him. "I wish I could tell you, but I don't want to bring about that evil into your life."

"I already have evil in my life," he argues.

"Not this sort," I reply quietly. "I didn't want either you or your mother to be harmed because of sins from my past, so one night I decided that your mother was better off with James." I watch the boy's eyes narrow on me. "I thought James would keep her safe. I had changed it by deciding this, or so I thought." I know that I do not have the strength to tell Harry this next part by looking him in his mother's green eyes. So my eyes drop to the floor then. "I told your mother that I was done with her. I told her that I didn't want to be with her anymore. I even called her a particularly vulgar name. I then grabbed her by the arm and threw her out into the street, telling her that if she had any sense she'd go back to the ass she married. That I had no further use for her anymore," I admit quietly.

"Why? Why would you tell her that?" The anger has nearly left his voice as he speaks.

"Because I wanted her to go back to James," I answer, glancing up and looking my son in the eyes. "As long as the Dark Lord's acquaintances were still around, I could not be with her fully. I could not protect her and you, Harry. So I sent her back to James, thinking that he would be able to protect the both of you more than I ever could."

"If you loved her so much, why did you give her back? It can't just be because of protection."

"It is, though, Harry." I then sigh. "This part will make more sense when you are older, but for now take my word that I truly thought that you and your mother would be safer with James."

"Did he take her back?"

"Yes, he did. It was later revealed that he had not had an affair. He was sneaking off to visit his two childhood best friends in the middle of the night, reminiscing likely about old times."

"Didn't Mum ever try to learn his side of the story before, though?"

"I'm certain she wondered if it was true, but no she didn't. And before you ridiculously accuse me of keeping her a prisoner, she was free to leave whenever she wished and she was aware of that."

"You say she didn't love you, though. How do you know?"

"We were together only once during her stay. We slept beside each other at night, yes, but it was more out of just wanting to know someone was there than out of some sort of romantic interest."

"Why-why didn't you get me after they died? Why did I have to go to the Dursleys?"

"Because when I held you in my arms for the first time in that birthing room, I promised myself that I would protect you in whatever way I could. The Dark Lord was at the height of his power then. I could not just walk away and leave you and your mother in further danger than before."

"I don't understand. You were there with my mum the day I was born?"

"Yes, it was the Headmaster's idea. He forced your mother and father into allowing me to be present to witness your birth. Your mother nearly destroyed half of Dumbledore's office the way I hear it when he told her." I then sigh. "I do not come from a good family, Harry. My father was abusive, and I am still afraid to this day that I shall become him. I do not wish to harm you. So, I gave you away, thinking that Albus would place you with your godfather or even your father's other friend. Granted, the two each have their downsides, but you would have been loved and safe, relatively speaking."

"Why have you been treating me like crap all these years then?"

"I must keep my Slytherins thinking that I am on their side rather than Dumbledore's. It is a foolish reason of course, and one that I am going to have to attempt to rectify in the upcoming term."

"Why? Why do you have to put them above me?"

"There are some of them that I can reach to prevent them from making my mistake, Harry. For example, Draco, I believe you've met his father."

"Yeah, I met him."

Sighing, I decide to reveal the Malfoy's worst kept secret in the history of the world. "At the height of the war, Lucius Malfoy was close to the top in the Dark Lord's ranks."

"He served that monster?"

"Yes, alongside Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle's fathers," I respond. "Harry, I am trying to keep those boys from following in their fathers' footsteps. That is why I am harsh with the others. Well, partly why I am harsh," I amend. "I favor my own House because Slytherins are typically seen as the House of Evil. No doubt you yourself learned of the prejudice concerning the Slytherin House." I watch him slowly incline his head.

"Each Head of House favors his or her own House. It has just been the way for years. However, there is a deep seeded hatred among the other Houses for Slytherin. My coworkers attempt to remain impartial, but the prejudices slip in constantly. If a Slytherin and a group of Gryffindors were to get into an altercation, nine times out of ten the Slytherin would receive the harsher punishment. No matter if that Slytherin was attacked and harassed daily by the Gryffindors. Think back to that argument between Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley. Now, picture it happening in front of say Professor Flitwick. Who received the harsher punishment?"

"Malfoy," Harry answers. "But he would have deserved it. He called Hermione a slur."

"Oh, yes, I remember," I respond. "And what was my punishment of Mr. Malfoy?"

"Nothing, you didn't give him one."

"That you saw," I point out. "Mr. Malfoy in fact received detention with me where he wrote lines and scrubbed cauldrons for an entire week. You just didn't see that." I then sigh when I see the smirk of satisfaction on Harry's face. "You may believe that it was warranted, but you'd be surprise I'd think if you knew of Mr. Malfoy's true home life. I believe you saw how Lucius punished his house elf."

"He hit him with his cane."

"Yes, well, that house elf is not the only one to have ever had that cane touch his back."

"But—he always goes on about—you're making that up."

"I'd imagine if you spoke to Mr. Weasley's parents, they'd inform you all about purebloods."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Honestly, I haven't the slightest clue. I'm willfully breaking my confidence with my godson by telling you this. However, I suppose I am attempting to get you to trust me and others."

"If you think I'll start becoming friends with Malfoy, you're wrong."

"I am more so hoping that you will keep in mind his home life and perhaps warning you if there comes a time that Mr. Malfoy must remain with us for some time."

"Does that happen a lot?"

"No, but it depends on numerous factors," I answer. "However, I do happen to know that Draco did attempt to offer a branch of friendship to you once before."

"Yeah, but if what you were saying before is true, then he was just doing that so he and his dad could murder me and make their master happy."

"Mr. Malfoy does not share his father's views, Harry. Perhaps his arrogance, but not his views," I respond, staring at my son. Why on Earth am I trying to beat this Hippogriff into the ground? Those two boys are never going to get along. It would also make Draco an outcast of his own House. I then sigh as I remember Draco's words from our last session. That is why I am doing this. The boy is lonely, and I can see in my son's eyes that he is too. I then hold up a hand to summon the papers that return my full parental rights. "Read this." I watch his face to discern his mood as he reads the parchment.

"I don't understand. What does this mean?"

"I terminated my parental rights for you an hour after you were born. This document returns those rights to me, stating that I am your father in the eyes of the law again." I then sigh before drawing in a breath. "It means that you will never have to live with those wretched Muggles again, nor have to worry about being placed elsewhere. Though, it does come with some drawbacks."

"Like what?"

"Because of my past, the Ministry will likely claim that I forced your mother," I answer.

"I admit that I do not wish for it to come to that, though. I do not wish your mother's or your father's names to be dragged through the dirt like that."

"You call him 'my father,' but you know he isn't."

"While it was only for a short time, he did raise you and love you, Harry. He in fact likely has been more to a father to you than I ever have been. He at least didn't give you away."

"Would you do that again? Would you give me away like that again?"

"No. I will never give you away again. You are my son, my heir."

"Even if the Ministry told you to?" he asks, worry etching his face.

"I would fight them to my very last breath then to keep you by my side." I watch his face crumple slightly before he turns away. "I should never have given you up in the first time."

"And my mother?" he asks. "What about her?"

"Your aunt unfortunately is correct. Lily was happier with James than she ever was with me. We likely could have had joint custody of you. Granted, it would have been difficult, but we could have made it work." I watch him stare at me for a moment before he stands up, looking outraged. "It would not have been a happily ever after, though, Harry. She would have been miserable with me."

"You don't know that."

I don't respond. I just sit there, watching my son. We've come a long way since an hour earlier. Idly, I wonder how we are going to be in the morning. However, I sigh.

"No doubt you're hungry. I shall fix us something, while you get yourself settled in." I then stand, ignoring the cracking and popping of my old joints as I walk towards the hidden staircase. "This leads up to the bedrooms and upstairs bathroom. If you require anything, I shall be down here." I then turn and walk back, allowing him his space.

Once I reach the tiny kitchen, I hang my head as I hear my son's loud footfalls as he races up the rickety old steps, likely to flee from me. Truthfully, I don't blame him. He has gone through a life-changing ordeal. I have gone through a similar ordeal once before when I had learned that I had a perfectly healthy baby boy. Closing my eyes, I think of everything I've missed in his life: his first steps, his first words, his first case of accidental magic, and his reaction to his Hogwarts' letter. Perhaps we can start afresh again and get to know each other, really know each other. But first it's time to cook dinner.

Setting the steaming plates onto the table, I glance towards the sitting area. Harry still hasn't come down, and it's been at least an hour since he has gone up there. I wonder what the boy has found up there that has interested him so much. After all, I know for a fact that the boy hasn't tried to escape yet. My wards are still very much intact.

"Dinner is ready!" I call out, knowing he can hear me. However, when I hear no response, verbal or otherwise, I move towards the hidden stairs to find him. Since he has had the world that he knows completely shatter around him by my revelations earlier, I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and not tear him to shred. After all, I have a lot of making up to do with my son. "Harry?" I call out, glancing at the four closed doors. Revise that. There are three closed doors, not four. "Harry?" I repeat, pushing open the slightly cracked door. I then sigh as I find him sitting in the rocking chair with large tears streaming down his cheeks.

"What—" He swallows harshly before attempting to speak again. "What is all this?"

"It's a nursery," I simply respond, remaining in the doorway.

"Who's?" he asks, glancing up and catching my eyes.

"I think you are bright enough to know that answer, Harry." I watch him for a few moments before more tears fall as he holds himself a bit tighter. "I perhaps should have locked this door on second thought. Or at least told you not to go in here," I quietly say.

"Why?"

"Because it has only managed to upset you more," I plainly answer.

"No," he responds, shaking his head. "Why?" he asks, waving a hand at the toys and other miscellaneous objects. "Why would you collect all this stuff?"

"I suppose it was because I thought I would get over my stubbornness and pessimism and say 'screw it. I want my son' some day."

"But you didn't," he points out.

"Not until I nearly lost you with the basilisk fiasco last term, no," I agree somewhat.

"Why?"

"Miss Weasley informed the Headmaster how a basilisk tooth became embedded in your arm, requiring his familiar to shed tears for you. You likely would have died had it not been for Fawkes." I watch Harry's reaction, but he hides it well from me. "Therefore, the Headmaster believed it necessary that I be made aware of this near death."

"That's when you asked him to get your rights returned, right?"

"Yes. However, the Ministry does not appreciate that I have you again." I watch him open his mouth, so I hold up a hand to stop him. "Before you even ask me why, it is because of my past." I then sigh. "You, Granger, and Weasley all believed your first year that I tried to kill you, correct?" He nods. "You thought that because I seem to have an air of mystery, perhaps even darkness around me, correct?" He inclines his head again. "You three believed that I was attempting to hand the stone to the Dark Lord at the time, correct?" He nods once more. "And in your heart, you wonder if I am the reason that your parents are dead, correct?" He shakes his head. "Perhaps not now, but you did just this morning, correct?" He shakes his head again, causing me to sigh before I undo my left sleeve and push it upwards to bare my arm to him.

"What is that?" he asks quietly, staring curiously at my faded Dark Mark.

"A stain on my soul," I respond. I then point to it, wondering if I've gone too far with him. "This mark shows others that I once served the Dark Lord, willingly." I stand my ground when his green eyes glance up in shock. "I was sixteen when I was branded. I thought it would bring about a certain fear in others, but it only brought about destruction, pain, blood, and bodies. If I had the option to relive that night, I would have never went, Harry."

"You were one of His?" he asks barely above a whisper.

"I was."

"But you don't serve him anymore?"

"I have not served him since I was with your mother."

"She knew?"

"That I was one of his followers, yes, I believe she knew. She likely didn't want to believe it, though. I didn't want to believe it."

"You're not His now, though?"

"No. Though, I haven't a clue why I am entrusting you, a twelve-year-old, with that sort of knowledge. I have never been known for my ability to trust."

"Because of your dad," he responds quietly.

"Perhaps in part, yes, but I also trusted the Dark Lord when he claimed that I would be all-powerful and that others would bow before me." I then scoff. "Lies, they were all lies." When he glances at me, I shake my head. "I am not stating that I wish it were true now. I am semi content being a lowly Potions master at the supreme school of wizardry and witchcraft. It has its upside as opposed to being a follower of the Dark Lord."

"Because you don't have to kill anyone anymore?" he asks, strangely calm.

"Because I do not have to commit any more crimes," I reply with a sigh. "Some days it as if I was never a follower but always a Potions master at Hogwarts." I watch him nod slowly. "You have every right to scream at me, Harry."

"It won't do any good," he responds glumly.

"Perhaps not, but it would allow you to cease in hiding your emotions from me."

"Did you love us? Did you really love us? Or was this some sort of cheap ploy?"

I then sigh, drawing my wand. He is likely not going to understand it now, but it might do some good later when he does. Wordlessly, I cast a Patronus, feeling my heart constrict at the lovely ethereal doe standing between us. I watch the doe glance at both of us before walking slowly towards Harry. I hear the soft gasp from the boy as he recognizes the doe's eyes as his mother's and end the spell.

"How did you do that?" he asks with eyes full of wonder and awe.

"It's a defensive spell. It is typically used to ward one's self from Dementors, the guards of the Wizarding World's prison." I watch him nod slowly in understanding. "The animal it takes has some sort of meaning for the wizard or witch."

"So then the deer has some sort of meaning for you?"

"Yes, it does." I then sigh. "Your father's Patronus, the thing you just saw now, was a stag, while Lily's was a doe."

"And your Patronus is a doe like Mum's," he interrupts.

"Sometimes a wizard's love is not reciprocated. So that intense, unreciprocated love alters the wizard's Patronus to take the shape of his loved one," I explain.

"So your Patronus took Mum's shape," he states, making me incline my head. "Then does that mean since I love Mum lots too, that my Patronus, when I get it, will be a doe?"

"I would imagine you would have a stag like James," I reply.

"Why?"

"Because every time I brought up James, you fiercely defended him," I answer. "There is also the fact that you take after him in your ability to be a natural flier."

"But you're my real father," he points out.

"Yes, but you spent your first year with James, not me. You'd be surprised what sorts of things a child learns that first year."

"You don't serve Him anymore?"

"I do not."

"You won't send me back to the Dursleys if I become too much of a burden?"

"You will never be a burden to me, Harry. So you need not worry about my sending you back."

"You loved Mum?"

"Yes."

"And you love me?"

"I would think that this room attests for that fact, Harry," I drawl. After all, there are all sorts of toys in this room, including the handmade crib with runes carved into the wood beside him.

"I think," he starts to say, letting his voice trail off. Drawing in a breath, he starts to speak again. "I think I would have liked living here." He then glances at me with teary eyes. "With you, I mean."

I hesitantly cross the room, clearly unsure of myself. I can see in Harry's posture that he too is unsure of himself with me. I then stop a foot from him, letting him choose the next course of action. I close my eyes in relief as the boy steps forward before timidly embracing me.

"This seems so fast, doesn't it?" he mumbles against my chest a few minutes later.

"I admit that I estimated we would reach this stage in a couple of months after you had broken nearly everything in sight at least twice from the sheer fury of being related to the greasy bat," I reply. I feel him laugh against me with a familiar wetness soaking my chest from his shed tears. "However, this isn't the first time I've misjudged someone."

"You know, I think I always knew," he says quietly, hugging me tighter.

"I am afraid I don't follow your logic, Harry," I respond.

"Sometimes, well, I don't know how to describe it." He then sighs, tensing slightly a moment later as I apprehensively place a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. "At night, I'd remember a smell," he whispers. "At first I thought it was Mum's smell because it reminded me of fresh-cut flowers. But as I got older, I started to realize that it wasn't flowers. It was herbs as if someone had been cooking."

"And you smell it now?" I ask, glancing down at the twelve-year-old.

"No," he responds against my chest. "I mean, there's a hint of it, but it isn't as strong as it was before," he answers. "But then again sometimes when I was really sick, I'd hear a voice that I just knew was my dad. The Dursleys thought I was crazy for thinking that I could hear my dead father."

"What did this voice say?" I ask, wondering if it was James' words or mine.

"I am sorry, my son," he recites, burying his face further into my midsection. "I thought maybe Dad was apologizing for not being able to protect us."

"He was," I respond before grimacing at my blunder. "I mean, I was apologizing for that, but that I was giving you up also. I thought it would be better that way if I did."

"But it wasn't," he mumbles against me, crying again.

"No, you're right. It wasn't," I admit.

"Why do I remember that?"

"I likely left by accident some sort of imprint on your mind so you would. My full words to you were 'Know that I love you, and that I am sorry, my son. This is for the best, though." I feel him nod against me, painfully digging his nose into my midsection even more.

Yelping near our feet makes me glance down and scoff. I should have known she'd have finally woken.

She might be getting up there in age, but her hearing has always been remarkable.

"Whose dog is that?" Harry asks, pulling back from me to glance at the black lab.

That would be your dog. Had you lived with me, that is. I've been taking care of her for you."

"How old is she?"

"She's twelve, the same as you."

"So she's old then," he responds, just staring at her.

"So is your mangy mutt Snuffles," I point out. I nearly then roll my eyes when the mutt enters the room, glancing at both of us. "I take it by the poor condition of his coat that he is a stray?"

"He came up to me when I was weeding the garden a week ago."

"So he's a stray then," I reply with a sigh. "Well, we will likely have to get him looked over by a mediwizard." I then grimace as I catch the way that mutt is staring at my dog. I don't say it aloud, but I am definitely going to have that mangy thing neutered as soon as possible. "Remain here for a moment."

"Why?"

"I'm going to see if Norm, my mediwizard who takes care of Eb, can find some time to see your dog today." Harry gives me a strange look for a moment. "Oh, um, her name is Ebony," I answer before walking out of the room, leaving the two dogs to watch over my son.

My actual conversation with Norm doesn't take long. In fact, Norm says that he can fit in the mutt's appointment two minutes from now. I thank the mediwizard and walk back upstairs.

Without giving much warning, I stun the mutt. Harry leaps up, clearly outraged. "Dogs do not travel well by Floo," I explain, satisfying him for the moment but I can see the other question on his mind. "And your dog has a history of biting me so I needed to catch him off guard. I apologize, Harry, but he will be fine. Now, are you ready to accompany me to the vet?" He nods, glaring, and we depart.

Well, perhaps next time I give the boy some sort of warning before I stun his mutt. He is clearly still upset with me for doing so. However, it is the truth. Dogs do not travel well by Floo. I have the scars to prove it, too, from my one encounter with Eb. And Harry's mutt has bit me once before. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Talk to the mutt and explain my every action to it? I don't even do that for Eb, and she's been living with me for twelve years.

"I apologize, Harry," I say for the hundredth time it seems.

"He didn't mean to bite you," Harry argues.

"No, he likely did. He deemed me to be a threat and was trying to protect you," I counter. "I apologize for stunning your dog. Now, will you please sit?"

"Why can't we be in there? Mrs. Figg always was allowed in there where her cats were being checked over. What is your guy doing to him?"

"Sit down," I firmly say, staring at my child. He is clearly making the receptionist nervous. I then incline my head gratefully when he follows my instruction. "I asked Norm to check the dog out completely." I then draw in a breath, preparing myself for the childish outburst that is sure to come from my son. "And if Snuffles has not been fixed, then that I wished him to be," I respond.

"Fixed? Is something wrong with him?"

"I asked Norm to neuter him, Harry," I clarify. I watch the boy's eyes widen in shock.

"That man is cutting off my dog's j—"

"Yes," I interrupt. "Clearly, you are aware that males, especially male dogs, will try to—"

"Well, then spay Eb so she doesn't have puppies," he angrily retorts.

"She is," I respond. "However, the desire to procreate is likely in your dog's mind. And unlike you, I do not wish to walk into the sitting room one day and find Snuffles and Eb together." I notice his look of disgust before he turns away.

"Is it going to hurt Snuffles?"

"He'll likely be unconscious throughout the entire procedure," I answer.

"Why didn't you ask me? He's my dog."

"And I am the adult responsible for both you and Snuffles," I point out. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Norm approaching the waiting room door. "It would appear that Snuffles is finished," I say, standing noticing Harry follow suit.

"Ah, Severus, I, well, perhaps you and young Harry could come with me for a moment."

"Is something wrong with Snuffles?" Harry asks, noticing the pained expression on Norm's face.

"You could say that, Harry," Norm replies, tugging on his collar nervously.

I say nothing as we walk towards the operating room. When the door opens and I see the person on the table that Snuffles should be on, I glance towards Norm. Drawing my own wand, I join the others, pointing their wands at the man.

"I take it you've alerted the Aurors?" I ask, not taking my eyes off the man on the table.

"Who is that? Where's Snuffles?"

"That is Snuffles, Harry," I respond. "He's unconscious?"

"Oh, yes, when I realized that I was not dealing with a dog, I increased the dosage. He should be out for at least an hour."

"Who is that, sir?" Harry asks, glancing at the man before looking back at me.

"Sirius Black," I answer. "He was one of your father's friends. He murdered thirteen individuals, including another of your father's friends. He claimed that he was innocent," I say with a sneer. I desperately wish to murder this man, but not in front of Harry. So I hold back that tendency. "You can wake him, correct, Norm?"

"I could, but why would I, Severus? I mean, this is the notorious Sirius Black."

"I wish to know his reasoning," I answer.

"His reasoning for what?" asks Harry beside me.

"This man betrayed your parents, young Harry," Norm responds. "Well, so the story goes at least. No one really is certain if that is the truth anymore."

"What?" he says breathlessly. "Why?"

"That's what I would like to know." I then glance towards Harry. "He's been with you for a week, and he hasn't harmed you?"

"No, he just acted like any other old dog," Harry replies.

"Then it isn't you that he wants," I respond before sighing.

"What?"

"Harry, go into the other room with the others." I nearly sigh when the boy grabs my robes. "I won't," I answer in response to his unspoken question. I watch Harry nod slowly before following the others out of the room. "How long did the Aurors say they would be?"

"At least a half-hour," Norm responds quietly. "Do you want me to leave, too, Severus?"

"No." I then glance towards the mediwizard. I've known him since saving his life fourteen years earlier. I can still remember that day, begging the Dark Lord for the right to kill the blood traitor that stands before me. I can also remember helping the man escape by dosing him with an extra strength Sleeping Draught, leaving him in front of a Muggle hospital. "I want you to wake him."

After giving Norm my 'no, I'm not joking' look, I watch the man slowly counteract the general anesthesia. Keeping my wand trained on Sirius, I wait as he slowly regains consciousness. I can only imagine how this encounter is going to go. I then notice that Norm has his wand on Sirius too.

"Where … where am I?"

"You are in a veterinarian clinic," I drawl, nearly chuckling when the man tenses. "You see, Snuffles," I hiss, "I brought you here to be neutered." Sirius pales slightly. "Oh, don't worry, Black. You can't neuter an Animagus. Well, I suppose one could, but it'd be quite painful."

"Go to hell, Snape," snarls the crazed looking man.

"After you, Black," I hiss. "Just tell me why, though? Why would you betray your best friend?"

"I didn't betray James," he growls, glaring at me.

"You weren't their Secret Keeper then?"

"We changed it, thinking that rat Pettigrew wouldn't betray them," he answers, clearly upset.

"That's why you killed him? Because he allegedly—"

"He did, Snape! He betrayed them to that bastard you serve! But the rat was clever, you see," Sirius says, chuckling darkly. "He ran into an alleyway and faked his death, cutting off his finger so everyone would think I did it."

I stare at Black for a few moments. Azkaban clearly had done wonders for his sanity. However, he seems as if he's being honest. I then sigh. There are only a few ways to know for certain if he is telling the truth. I glance towards Norm before glancing back.

"So you're claiming that Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper and that he betrayed James to the Dark Lord?" Black glares but nods. "And that you are innocent in the deaths of the Muggles and that Pettigrew is still alive?" Again, he nods. "You'd understand of course if I wished to see for myself?"

"Go ahead, Snape! I'm telling the truth."

I nearly scoff in disbelief. I cannot believe that I want to do this. I mean, this man has attempted to murder me before. And here I am, wishing to enter his mind and view his memories. Though, I do owe a life debt to Potter, even if I still believe he only saved me to save his own skin.

Drawing in a breath, I enter Black's mind. The chaos that greets me nearly throws me for a moment before it settles, giving me some form of order. I find the desired memories and watch them. Sure enough, the son of a bitch is telling the truth about everything. I pull out of his mind and sigh.

"Dammit," I growl under my breath.

"See, Snape?"

"So I see," I reply. So much for my revenge, I think. "No doubt you overheard the news."

"About Harry?" he asks, glancing warily towards Norm. "James told Remus and me about that a long time ago. You see, Moony could smell you on him, and James knew that. I should care. Hell, I should break your damn nose again. But I can't. For one, I promised James that I wouldn't. For two, you're at least treating Harry better than those damn Muggles."

The door then opens behind us, and a group of Aurors enter the room. I glance towards the tall, bald Auror and sigh. Why must it always be me that these things happen to?

"Kingsley, a moment please," I say, motioning him away from the others. "He didn't do it."

"What?" the Auror says shocked.

"Black, he didn't kill Pettigrew."

"How do you know this, Severus?"

Wisely keeping my mouth shut, I just stare at the Auror. I can tell this is only upsetting the man. However, it's not as if I can go and tell him that I used Legilimency on Black. I'd be locked up quicker than Trelawney downs a bottle of sherry.

"Give him a dose of Veritaserum, Kingsley. You'll see he's telling the truth." I then glance at Black. "You will take it, won't you?" I sneer.

"Of course I will," he growls.

"You do realize that once this gets out, the Minister will want some answers."

"And you'll get them from Black, Kingsley," I reply. "Now, get him out of my sight."

"I'm not going back to Azkaban," Black growls.

"You're not. We're taking you somewhere else first," Kingsley responds, frowning. He then nods his head towards the others. "Thank you, Severus," he says as they escort Black, who is thankfully dressed now, out of the room.

I wave away the man's gratitude. I am quite satisfied that idiot Black has not thanked me either. It makes this whole fiasco less heartening that he hasn't. After all, I am not going to like the man ever. One does not tend to enjoy the company of his would-be killer. Even if the man isn't guilty in betraying Lily, he foolishly is guilty of attempting to settle the score against the man who has betrayed them.

Walking out of the room, I glance at Norm who only sighs and shakes his head. We've been through some things together. I know I can trust the man to remain quiet so certain people do not learn of this fiasco. Without saying another word, I leave and head over to my son.

"Sorry about Snuffles," I say for the lack of anything better. Harry doesn't respond. "No doubt you're hungry." He shrugs. "Well, I cooked some beef stew and rice for us. Do you enjoy that?"

"Can we just go home now?" he says quietly.

"Yes, Harry, we can go home." I then gently place a hand on his shoulder and apparate us home.

I softly chuckle as I watch my son from the doorway race around his room, packing everything in sight. I cannot believe it. It has been two months, and we haven't killed one another because of our stubbornness. We haven't reached the 'Dad, Son' stage yet, though, either, but there's always tomorrow. I then notice Harry stop with his back turned to me.

"You're doing it again," he says, not turning around.

"Is it some sort of crime to watch someone pack?" I respond. I have to force my face to remain neutral when he whirls around.

"Yes, but why are you watching me pack? I mean, don't you have things to pack, too?"

"Unlike you, I packed last night."

"Yeah, well, I had a certain essay that I had to redo last night for a certain person."

"Perhaps if you had given time to your studies during the term instead of gallivanting about the castle like you own the place, you'd have known the material by heart," I point out.

"I got it, sir," Harry responds with a sigh.

"Oh, and just what do you 'got,' Harry?" I ask, folding my arms before leaning against the doorway. This really is going to be interesting.

"I am to focus this year on my studies, not gallivant about the castle. Otherwise, I will find myself in the dungeons in the presences of you, sir. You wish me to study all the time and be like Hermione. If I do that, then there will be no issues," he answers.

"And?" quietly I prod.

"And if something bad occurs, I am not to run off like some foolish idiot and attempt to get myself killed at the earliest sign of trouble. Instead, I am to find an adult and tell him or her about my suspicions, namely you."

I repeat, "And?"

"And I am not to get myself into trouble this year. However, if I am involved in altercation, I am to defend myself with reasonable force."

"I don't believe I told you that last part," I respond, glancing at him.

"That's what you were implying, though."

"Fair enough," I concede. "Are you finished or do you require a few extra moments?"

"We'll be coming back here for Holiday break, right?"

"I believe I told you this last night and the night before that and the night before that," I respond. "Yes, Harry, we will be returning here for the Holidays. And if you wish it, I can see to putting up some sort of tree for Christmas. Your mother enjoyed decorating the tree." I then scoff. "Actually, she enjoyed everything about Christmas. She said it was the most magical time of the year, and that Muggles typically said so, too."

"Do you have any pictures of her?"

"I do not." I then quickly make a mental note to talk to Madam Pince before Christmas. There has to be pictures of Lily and James somewhere in the school's annuals. Perhaps my coworkers have some of photos of them. If I wish to go all out then, I shall even approach Mrs. Weasley. She might have some of Lily's old things. I then smirk slightly.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking about how much has changed," I respond, glancing at my son.

"Does it bother you?"

"No. It's the way it should be, Harry. A father should be with his son." I watch the soft smile make its way to his lips before he glances away. "However, I should admit to you that I might attempt to turn over a new leaf this year."

"What about, you know?" he asks, grimacing.

"Voldemort can shove his wand up his ass for all I care," I respond, wondering why I've just said that. "And it's not like the whole world doesn't already know. The moment I reclaimed my parental rights for you, I became an enemy, Harry."

"It's all going to change now, isn't it?"

"Yes, but perhaps it is for the better."

"So you're going to be nicer then?" he asks, folding his arms staring at me in disbelief.

"I can attempt it. And if anyone asks why I'm acting so strange, I can blame it on the fact that I am now a doting father of a thirteen-year-old Gryffindor."

"You're going to blame me?"

"Of course I am, Harry. I'm the Head of Slytherin. Before I regained my parental rights, I was a bastard." I then raise an eyebrow. "I made Hufflepuffs cry." My lips upturn as I hear Harry's laughter. "Now, well, now I'm going to be lucky if I scare the hell out of Longbottom. The boy likely will think I'm going to applaud him every time he doesn't melt a cauldron." I then scoff. "Well, that is quite the accomplishment, but still. You know what I mean." The boy is rolling on the floor dying from laughing so hard. "See, case in point," I drawl, pointing at him. "Even you aren't scared of me anymore."

"Face it, Dad," he says through fits of laughter.

My face immediately falls as I catch the word I've longed to hear. I stare at the boy with my mouth slightly open. He hasn't realized he has said it. And I'm definitely not going to point it out. After all, he has said it once now. He is going to say it again. I know he is.

"You're losing your touch," he says.

"Maybe," I answer. "Are you ready?" He nods, glancing at his trunk. I shrink it and watch him then stuff it into his jeans. "We should be on our way. I have some things to attend to when we arrive."

"All right," he responds, following me out of the room.

I grab a handful of Floo powder from the mantel and freeze the fire. The fireplace expands a moment later, allowing Harry to join me. I then throw down the powder, yelling our destination. We arrive a second later with my hand on his shoulder again. We drop our trunks off and quickly head to the Great Hall for the welcoming ceremony for the teachers.

"Severus," a wizard says cordially. "Hello, Harry. I'm Remus J. Lupin, your new DADA professor." He then glances back at me. "Interesting year we'll be having, don't you agree, Severus?"

"It'll certainly be something, Lupin," I say, noticing the familiar shaggy mutt by his side. I have my son. That is all that matters now. No sacrifice. No victory. And we shall be victorious in the end.