The snap of a quill breaking in half elicited another curse from the dark-haired man behind the scarred oak desk. He didn't think he was still this edgy, though it was to be expected after such a confrontation.

He flicked his wand at the broken quill irritably, banishing the quill to a container where broken quills have yet to be repaired and recharmed. He glared at the blank parchment in front of him, his mind completely devoid of any sort of inkling of how to begin. There never was any guidebook on how to scheme the betrayal of one's own.

Unable to concentrate, despite it having been merely two minutes after Dumbledore's departure, he moved off from his desk, heading towards the highly guarded liquor cabinet. This was one of the incidents that called for Ogden's finest.

He slipped out his wand and began undoing the various wards guarding the cabinet, grumbling at the sheer numbers of it. His liquor was saved for only the most desperate of situations, and the wards on the cabinet were there for that very reason, guarding their contents from, not the students, but Snape himself. The energy and time needed to undo the innumerable wards was the primary deterrent that kept Snape without alcohol most of the times. His disgust at his father's dependence on the substance only pushed him to take further precautions with himself.

Snape had only made it through the second layer of his numerous wards when the magical chime echoed through the spacious room. He frowned; he hadn't expected any visitors other than the Headmaster that morning. No other staff--and certainly not students--would risk the displeasure of the surly Potions Master by invading his privacy, on a Sunday morning no less.

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he casted another longing glance at the cabinet before reapplying all the spells he'd removed with a grumble. He fairly stomped his way towards the door, narrowing his eyes at the parchment hanging next to the door.

Granger, Hermione, it read in the curling script.

Snape paused in his steps, fixing his glance at the parchment. Surely not? The Gryffindor know-it-all, as insufferable as she is, had never once grace his quarters before, much less willingly knocking on his door.

And it had to be this day, of all the days in her six years, that she planned to visit him.

Putting on his most severe scowl, he strode towards the door and yanked it open. Surprised by the sudden appearance of Snape, the girl froze in the middle of her nervous pacing and looked up into the feared professor's face, gulping as she noted the displeasure. "G-good morning, Professor."

"Miss Granger."

He waited as the girl squirmed under his glare. When no further response came forward from the girl, he harrumphed irritably. The girl flinched slightly as he spat out, "Well?"

"Oh! Um well, sir, I was wondering if... that is, I thought it would be best to inform you of, well... I think, um..."

Snape shut his eyes against the aggravating stumbling words. "It seems that I had been sorely mistaken in assuming that with possession of a more than mediocre brain, you would be more capable of eloquent speech."

Granger swallowed convulsively, biting her lip. "S-sorry, sir." She flicked a cautious glance at Snape. "It's just, I'm not sure if..."

Merlin. "I see. If you came all the way down into the dungeons to spill your insecurities, then it is with utmost regret that I must inform you that I am in no way interested in what you have to share." Snape began to close the door, but the Granger girl stuck a hand against the door.

"What now, Granger?" Snape finally lost his cool demeanor and his voice rose ominously. "Speak or leave!"

Granger winced, and blurted out. "Professor, I think Harry's going to try to brew Memorio Subconsciotus."

**MS**

If there were any students in the dungeons that Sunday morning, they might have ogled at the way Professor flew across the hallways with a sixth year student in tow. Snape tore through the dungeons like a bat, peppering the bushy-haired girl with countless questions as they approached the Room of Requirement.

Right after the girl's confession, he'd leapt into action. Knowing the properties of the particular potion as he knew she did, not even a sliver of doubt crossed his mind that the girl might be using this as a prank. In the midst of his silent cursing, he'd sent a Patronus to Dumbledore as soon as he knew of Potter's location, at the very same moment grabbing a few potions he deemed necessary and launching himself out of his quarters towards Potter.

Thousands of possible outcomes of the scene that might greet them were rapidly flashing across his mind. He tried to recall all the research he had done on the potion, his mind calculating furiously. Three drops of Belladonna, two lacewing flies, a pinch of powdered bicorn horn, aconite and hellebore. All of which is toxic, reactive and highly unstable ingredients, mixed together to design a concoction powerful enough to dull conscious thoughts and awaken the subconscious.

That is, considering Potter had managed to pick out the right ingredients without mistaking one for another.

Whatever scene he might come upon, it was not going to be pretty.

His steps quickened imperceptibly at that thought. Growling irritably, he took a deep breath--as deep as possible when a person is sprinting--and banished the thought with difficulty; no point to mull over it until he'd arrived.

When--if--Potter recovers from whatever tragedy he brought upon himself, he will find himself scrubbing every inch of the castle with a toothbrush over and over again for the remaining term. 

He kept his thought on those lines as he emerged from the dungeons into the bright corridors. His eyes scanned the corridors in habit as he rushed through, keeping track of the bushy-haired girl who had followed his breakneck sprint with surprising ease. Snape was easily the tallest in the entire faculty, though he was not running at full speed.

Yet.

It was Sunday morning, and not many students were ambling mindlessly in the corridors yet at this unearthly hour--for the students, that is.  The handful of students that were present, though, parted instinctively , allowing Snape to pass unhindered, their expression uniformly shocked as they watched Snape running--running!-- towards them, the professor's deadly aura silencing each and every student in range.

He flew past the growing crowd, not even waiting for the staircases to stop completely before jumping onto the first step. There was sudden sense of profound familiarity in his current predicament, but he banished it--he could not have been a Potions Professor without a few potions accidents a year. However, no matter how hard he tried, the familiarity nagged at him, a memory dangling out of his grasp, taunting him about a Potions incident that wasn't quite the same as the others.

As he turned a corner, something in the growing crowd jumped out at him.

Red hair.

Merlin. He'd been through something like this before, almost twenty years ago.

The shocking realization almost stilled his motions. In fact, it did cause him to pause long enough for the surprised Granger girl to catch up with her professor. Memories of emotions flashed across his mind as he forced himself to continue moving, his graceful strides slower this time. Everything jumped into place, and suddenly, the odd panic made sense. It was simply confusion, between the boy and his mother, one too many similarities between the incidents. The fear, the wild-eyed sprint, the clamoring students, the adrenaline rush.

But most importantly, he struggled not to remember, the pair of eyes he had hoped to see, unharmed by pain and injuries. The day rose in front of his eyes, as clear as yesterday.

**MS**

"You're unharmed?" It came out a little too breathless.

"Sev, you came!"

The relief was evident in her voice despite his efforts to stifle it. "I... I just wanted to make sure Potter had his girlfriend intact lest he attack me in a bout of unjustified rage."

"I know you don't mean that, Severus."

"Do you?"

Utter silence reigned. Then, "Yes, Sev. You know I do."

Severus grunted, a tad too sarcastic."I do not know anything, apparently, when it comes to you."

Lily smiled at him. "Course you do."

"Then could you please explain to me what were you thinking when you were attempting to brew something like that? I believe I'd told you at least a hundred times, it's not worth the risk! But apparently you think you need another battle scar to show off to--"

"Sev, calm down. I'm fine now."

Severus couldn't help it. "Fine? Ending up in the infirmary with poison in your blood, a concussion, several cracked ribs and several hundred shards of glass in your skin, and you claim you're fine? Pomfrey had to call in St Mungo, Lily! You're not fine! You need Tissue-Knitting Potions, Pain Relievers, Blood Replenishing Potion, Skele-Gro and who knows how many antidotes more to counter your... condition! You're most certainly not fine!"

"You're the one who claimed I was unharmed just now," she pointed out casually. Seeing Severus spluttering expression, she chuckled. "I am fine, Sev. Really."

Severus managed to snort. "How so?"

"Well, you're here now, aren't you?"

**MS**

It still hurts. After all this time, it still hurts.

Snape forced himself to banish the long-forgotten memory. Now was not the time to mull over the past.

Ignoring the sudden hitch in his breath, he drew up his Occlumency shields and pushed everything behind his shields. He'd have to be able to focus on the task at hand; completely, given the boy's tendency to attract trouble. The memories will have to wait, preferably after the war.

The Room's door was slightly open when they finally rounded the corner. Snape froze.  Someone had gotten to Potter before him, and from the sounds of the slight bumping in the room, it was not one of the teachers.

Ignoring Granger, he loped across those last few steps and burst through the Room, his wand poised for attack.

For the second time in the same day, Snape froze, the Disarming charm half chanted.

Draco Malfoy was behind a smiling Potter, propping the raven-haired boy up by his elbows, both boys facing away from the door.

The blonde boy spun around at Snape's entrance, his expression morphing into an undignified horror that would have been comical if not for the circumstances. Snape's stomach plummeted oddly--Draco had had a change of heart. 

Snape watched as Draco tore his eyes away from him and focused on Potter, his eyes--if possible--widening again in response to what Potter was mumbling about. Draco turned back to Snape, looking suddenly lost instead of the triumph Snape had expected.

Before Snape could consider the implications of that, Potter spun around slowly to face the professor, still leaning heavily against Draco. He gasped, and before Snape's eyes, Potter's lips curled into a dazzling grin. His face brightened impossibly; his eyes, filled with inexplicable glee, raked greedily over Snape's form, finally settling on Snape's horrified expression.

Before Snape could recollect himself enough to snap at the teen, Potter--his emerald eyes fully focused on the shocked Potions Master--whispered happily.

"Daddy."