Rays of sunlight streamed in around the sides of the drawn curtains, creating pale streaks on the floor when Harry woke the next morning. He rolled over, checking the clock on his nightstand— it read half past eleven. With a jolt, Harry sat up and glanced around the room, nearly unable to believe that he'd slept in so late. This was definitely the latest Harry had slept in since coming to Prince Manor, though he probably shouldn't be surprised— he'd been exhausted from all those sleepless nights and his father must have given him a larger dose of Dreamless Sleep.

Pulling the covers back, Harry threw his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, stretching his arms up over his head until he heard a satisfying pop from his elbows. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so well rested. It was as if he could run endless laps around the manor or hike up a tall mountain or some other brilliant feat.

Harry ran a hand through his disheveled hair, making his way to the window. He pushed the curtains open, squinting when the blinding sunlight engulfed him as it spilled into the room. When his eyes adjusted, Harry settled on the window alcove, drawing his knees up and loosely wrapping his arms around them as he gazed out the window. It was a beautiful day— the sun was shining brightly against a blue and cloudless sky, and a few birds would occasionally flutter by, chirping their songs to each other. As he leaned against the cool glass, a rather foreign feeling of contentment settled within him, which was a welcomed difference to the past several days.

When his stomach gave a rather loud grumble, reminding him that he had missed dinner yesterday and breakfast this morning, Harry got up, picked out some clothes from his closet, and went to get dressed.

Just as he was about to head downstairs, Harry glanced back out the window and noticed his father down at the potions garden, appearing to be inspecting a rather vicious looking plant that looked like it could take your arm off if you got too close. He thought Snape looked somewhat odd dressed in his usual black frock coat with his infinite buttons and black trousers surrounded by a garden full of colorful plants. Harry wondered how his father wasn't suffering from a heat stroke wearing all that black during the summer. Then again, he didn't think he'd ever seen his father wearing anything else since coming to stay here. Did Snape even own any other clothes in his wardrobe?

As his father walked back towards the manor, he glanced up and seemed to have caught sight of Harry in the window, raising an eyebrow up at him. Harry gave a small smile at that as he watched Snape disappear from view, his father's words from yesterday coming back to him.

You are not, nor will you ever be, a burden to me... You are my son, Harry... You belong here, and absolutely nothing will change that.

It brought a warmth to his chest that rivaled the sunlight.

Harry had even thrown himself at Snape, and his father hadn't shoved him away in disgust. Shockingly, Snape had actually held him, even though Harry had nearly killed him just a few moments before. He couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him like that. Of course, Mrs. Weasley had comforted him in the infirmary after the third task in his fourth year and his friends sometimes threw themselves at him, but that was just different.

When another grumbled protest came from his empty stomach, Harry pulled away from the window and briefly checked himself in the mirror before heading out of his room.

His father was already seated at the table, a potions journal in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. As soon as Snape noticed Harry's presence, he set the book down.

"I was wondering if you were going to sleep through lunch as well," he said, his dark eyes giving Harry a brief once over. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Well rested for once," Harry replied with a small smile as he slipped into his seat at the table.

Like usual, their lunch appeared before them as soon when he sat down, and Harry felt his mouth water a bit as the wonderful scents hit him, feeling ravenous all of a sudden. There was a peaceful quietness that surrounded them as they tucked into their lunch, and Harry quite liked it, though it was sort of strange not hearing Kieran chattering away across the table from him.

"Did Kieran and his mother really leave?" Harry asked, after swallowing a mouthful of pasta.

"Yesterday," Snape confirmed, not looking up from the journal.

"I'm sorry you couldn't go with them..." said Harry, recalling the conversation from yesterday in this very room.

"Do not be," his father said firmly, closing the book with an audible snap. "Whether she likes it or not, I have two sons, not just one. She has no right telling me what to do in regards to you."

Harry smiled faintly, feeling that warmth blossoming in his chest again.

"And I can assure you, I had little desire to join them." Snape sat back in his chair then and turned his head to look towards the large windows with streaks of sunlight filtering in. "Now, considering it's a rather pleasant day out, perhaps you would like to go flying?"

"Can I?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too eager, but he was unable to suppress the hopeful smile that was breaking onto his face. "But I thought I wasn't allowed?"

"That is your last dose of nutrients potions," said Snape, gesturing at Harry's goblet of pumpkin juice. "And after having spent so much time in the lab recently, I do believe some fresh air would be beneficial."

"Brilliant!" Harry grinned, a the burst of excitement rushing through him at the thought of finally getting back on his broom.

The corners of his father's lips twitched upwards briefly, before he grew serious again, his arms folding across the table. "However, it is imperative that you remain within the wards," he said sternly. "I don't want to take any chances of the Dark Lord and his followers finding you."

Harry nodded his understanding and grabbed his goblet, downing the rest of his juice.

He was itching to get back on his broom, having not flown his Firebolt since that last Quidditch match before he had it confiscated by Umbridge. Over the last few weeks, Harry had seen his father flying with Kieran from his window, watching as they raced each other or tossed a Quaffle around. He couldn't help the envy that rose within him before he forced himself to look away. But still, Harry never stopped wondering what it was like to spend time with a parent like that.

Would Snape be willing to do the same with him? Should he just ask?

Harry bit his lip, poking tiny holes into his remaining pasta with his fork.

His father probably had more important things to do... Harry knew Snape had been rather preoccupied lately, brewing potions for the infirmary and writing his lesson plans. Surely, he wouldn't have time to waste on—

"Something on your mind, Harry?"

Harry startled, glancing up to see his father regarding him with a slightly raised brow. Well, this was his opportunity he supposed.

"Er... Would you go flying with me, sir?" Harry asked hesitantly, and when Snape didn't immediately respond, he quickly added, "But I completely understand if you're too busy—"

"Go fetch your broom," his father cut in, waving him off, "I will meet you outside."

"Yes, sir," Harry said with an excited smile as he stood from the table and went to retrieve his broom.

There was a warm, gentle breeze that ruffled Harry's hair as he strode out into the back garden, his Firebolt clutched in his hand. The sun was beating down on him, but it wasn't overly hot like Harry thought it would be. When he traveled far enough away from the manor, Harry positioned himself on his broom, taking a deep breath before he pushed off the ground and into the air. He had missed this feeling of freedom and weightlessness associated with flying. It never failed to lift his spirits, allowing him to momentarily forget about all his troubles and worries.

Flattening his body against his broom, Harry sped across the garden, diving, twisting, and spiraling around while the summer wind whipped through his hair and stung his face. He was careful not to go too far up, unsure of how high the wards reached, but he made sure he had enough height to perform all his tricks without fear of crashing into the ground. He had just leveled off from another steep dive when he noticed Snape standing near the entrance to the potions garden, seemingly observing him. Harry frowned and furrowed his brows when he noted his father scowling and the tense grip on his broom.

He wondered why that was, and his stomach suddenly tied itself into a knot.

Am I in trouble? Had I done something wrong and not realized it? 

He thought he'd been careful to stay within the wards...

Just as Harry was about to make his descent, Snape mounted his broom and flew to hover beside him instead. His features seemed to have already smoothed over from before, and Harry was just about to ask about that, but his father spoke first.

"What say you and I have a little race, shall we?"

"What?" Harry blurted, a bit caught off guard. Well that wasn't what he had been expecting his father to say.

Snape quirked an unkempt eyebrow, a hint of a smirk on his face as he said, "Afraid of a little challenge?"

Harry blinked, staring at his father for short moment before he shook himself, his mouth stretching into a grin. "Of course not, I was just wondering if you were."

"Very well then," Snape said, turning his broom towards the direction of the manor. "First one to make it around the manor and back, wins."

"You're on," Harry said, lining up his broom with his father's.

"On three," Snape announced, and Harry gripped his broom tighter, feeling a burst of adrenaline building within him.

"One..." his father began slowly, and before Harry could realize what was happening, Snape turned to give him a mischievous smirk and then sped off after a quickly muttered, "three."

"Hey!" Harry was almost blown back by his father's tailwind before coming to his senses and taking off after him.

That cheating—

Harry caught up quite easily; his father's broom being no match for his Firebolt. He smirked back at him before flattening himself further on his broom and speeding ahead. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry couldn't help but chuckle when he saw his father scowl and pretend to glare at him, though there was amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

His son did have a talent for flying, Severus could admit, as he hovered on his broom, watching Harry continuing to soar through the air.

They have been flying around the manor for a while now, and Severus had attempted to at least best the boy once in a race, despite knowing that his broom didn't stand the slightest chance against Harry's high quality racing broom. He did come very close one time, though he wasn't sure if that was just Harry taking pity on him. Eventually, he grudgingly admitted defeat and was now watching his son perform more of those daring maneuvers. Even though Harry was often going much too fast for Severus' liking, at least his son did seem to be controlling the broom with ease.

Severus had initially caught a glimpse of Harry from the large windows in his study as his son sped around the property, performing heart stopping aerial feats at breakneck speeds. He couldn't fathom what had gotten into the boy as he immediately grabbed his broom and hurried outside, about to call his son down and demand that he slow the hell down, but decided against it when he caught a glimpse of the look of pure contentment and joy on Harry's face. It was certainly the most carefree he had seen of Harry ever since the boy came to the manor, and Severus found he didn't have the heart to reprimand him. He would like to keep that expression on Harry's features for as long as possible after everything his son had been through recently.

Though Severus had lost count of the numerous times his heart leapt into his throat as he watched Harry dive towards the ground, mere inches from crashing into the earth before his son managed to gracefully pull up and level his broom. Severus had instinctively kept a hand on his wand, a cushioning charm on the tip of his tongue just in case. He'd thought about casting the charm over the entire garden, but even then, it wouldn't help lessen the impact if Harry was going that fast.

Kieran wasn't nearly as daring as Harry was on a broom, and Severus was immensely grateful for that— he didn't think his heart could withstand all the twists and flips if both his sons possessed this daredevil trait. He would likely keel over from heart failure before he even reached his forties.

After watching for a few more moments, Severus flew over to his potions garden and landed. He had planned to check up on his potions garden and harvest some of the ingredients. Just a few more batches needed to be brewed, then Severus would finally be finished with restocking the infirmary for the coming term.

He was in the process of inspecting a plant when he heard the sound of shoes softly crunching on grass behind him.

"Are those Hellebore plants, sir?"

Severus turned around at the sound of Harry's voice. His son appeared a bit breathless, his eyes bright and hair windswept, his broom clutched in his hands.

"They are," Severus replied, impressed that Harry had recognized it. Usually his students could only identify the ingredients after they were prepared for use. Severus knelt next to the plant and gestured for Harry to do the same. "These leaves are ready to be harvested and a syrup can be extracted from the flowers."

Harry set his broom down, then knelt beside him. "For the Draught of Peace, right?"

"Yes." Severus nodded.

"How are you going to extract the syrup?" his son asked, looking curiously at the closed flower.

"Like this." Severus gently stroked the underside of a petal with a gloved finger for a few moments until the flower slowly opened, revealing a shimmering blue drop of syrup resting on the tip of the stigma. He then pulled a vial from one of his many robe pockets and collected the drop into it.

"Can I try?" Harry asked after a moment.

"Of course." Severus banished both their brooms back to their rightful places and conjured another pair of gloves. He handed the gloves to Harry and explained the correct way to make the flower open and how to collect the leaves.

"Am I doing this right? It's not opening..." Harry said, frowning down at the flower he'd been trying to coax into opening for the past five minutes.

"Keep trying, it will open eventually. Some are more stubborn than others," Severus said.

Harry nodded, a determined look crossing his features. And it was times like these that reminded Severus of just how much of Lily was still alive in their son. Come to think of it, they were always her expressions that would appear on Harry's face. The way Harry's brows would furrow in concentration or the habit of biting his lip when he was nervous— it was all Lily. Severus had seen it in the lab as well, in those brief moments when his son's lips would curl into that same soft smile, his emerald eyes bright after having successfully brewed a perfect potion.

"Finally! Took it long enough," Harry muttered as the petals began to slowly open. He turned to look at Severus with a satisfied smile, and Severus nodded in approval, handing him the vial to collect the syrup.

At least Harry hadn't become frustrated or discouraged like Kieran had when he'd asked to help in the garden before. Kieran became bored and disinterested rather quickly, and that was where his two sons differed, Severus supposed. He had the impression that Kieran was merely trying to please him, instead of actually being interested in the subject. Though when Kieran put his mind into the work, the boy usually produced fairly decent potions. Above average compared to the thick headed students he taught every year.

Severus set Harry to collecting from the rest of the Hellebore plants while he focused on subduing the Chinese chomping cabbages that were still munching viciously on some carrots he'd left for them earlier.

Once they collected everything that Severus needed, they made their way inside and down to the potions lab with baskets full of ingredients. Once all the freshly picked ingredients were set into jars, Severus flicked his wand and all the jars organized themselves onto the shelves.

"Go on and have a shower, then you can take a break before dinner," Severus told Harry as he began setting up his work space, intending to brew a quick batch of Draught of Peace before dinner.

Harry nodded and made to leave, but paused just short of the door. He turned around, green eyes shining and small smile on his face.

"Thank you for flying with me today, sir."

That night, Harry was curled up on the sofa, relaxing with a charms book open on his lap, though he wasn't reading it. His thoughts were elsewhere as he gazed out the window, watching the tiny gleaming stars above instead.

He couldn't help replaying the day's activities over in his mind. Today was probably one of the best days he'd had in a long time. It had been brilliant flying with his father and helping him collect potion ingredients. Harry never realized there was this much to potions, and he found it interesting learning about the different ways to harvest certain ingredients.

Perhaps this was what it was like to spend time with a parent...

A knock on his door drew Harry from his thoughts, and he turned to see Snape entering.

"This a well written essay, Harry," His father said, dropping the rolled up parchment onto Harry's desk.

"Really?" Harry said with a soft smile, still unused to the praise. "Thank you, sir."

This assignment was the last Harry needed to finish before term started, and he had put it off because his father happened to be the professor who taught the subject and he wanted to write it well. Snape had insisted that he proofread it, and the first draft of it was sent back by his father with plenty of suggestions to expand on the topic.

"What are you reading?" Snape asked, glancing at the book in Harry's lap.

"Oh, it's just a charms book I found in the library," Harry replied, shutting the book and setting it aside. "It's rather interesting— I didn't know there were so many charms you can conceal yourself with..."

He trailed off when he glanced up and saw his father giving him a peculiar look, a gleam in his eyes that Harry couldn't decipher before they fixated on the book.

"Your mother gave me this book. This subject had always been fascinating to her," his father said in a soft tone, pausing for a brief moment before continuing, "In fact, the first time she tried casting a glamour in our third year, she ended up with no eyebrows for a week."

"Really?" Harry stared at the book as if he was just seeing it for the first time. There was a fluttering in his chest at hearing this little tidbit about his mother, and a sudden longing to know more filled him. He really didn't know much about his mother, other than that she was an uncommonly kind and gifted witch, and that he had inherited her eyes. Everyone always seemed to talk about James...

"Can you tell me more about her?" he asked, glancing back up at his father. "I don't know much about her really..."

Snape didn't answer for several moments, and just as Harry was about to retract his question, his father turned and abruptly swept out of the room. Harry stared after him in confusion, but after a few minutes, his father returned with an old, black rectangular box, just a bit larger than the length of his hand. Snape made his way around the sofa, and took a seat next to Harry, settling the box in his lap. It had a thick layer of dust coating the top, as if it had been left forgotten on a shelf for a long period of time. Harry could faintly make out something carved on the corner of the lid— Lily.

Harry inched closer to his father, his heart jumping to his throat as he peered curiously into the box. Inside contained some photographs and a small collection of random things that might not have meant much if he didn't know they were somehow associated with his mother.

"I haven't looked at these in many years," his father murmured, taking out a photo with two figures moving in it.

He handed the photo to Harry, who took it slowly, his eyes widening as he gazed down at a young girl and boy, sitting cross legged under a large oak tree in what appeared to be a Muggle garden. The girl's lips quirked into a tiny smile as she regarded the boy next to her, who had his head bent over an open book on his lap, a curtain of black hair partially concealing his face. Harry's chest tightened and he swallowed hard when the girl turned to the camera and waved happily to him, one hand trying to tuck a few strands of vibrant red hair behind her ears as a gentle breeze teased it into her eyes.

"This was taken before our first year at Hogwarts," his father said in a quiet voice.

"When did you two meet?" Harry asked, his eyes still drinking in the image as it replayed.

"We had lived close to each other as children," Snape told him. "I was the one who told her she was a witch, which she initially took as an insult." Harry cracked a small smile and glanced up at him. There was a faraway look in his father's dark eyes as he continued, "She was able to float off swings after jumping from great heights and animate flowers in the palm of her hand."

Then Snape shook his head, and his expression darkened slightly. "Of course, Petunia was quite upset that she could not do the same, and became envious of Lily's abilities. She even wrote a letter to Dumbledore once, asking if she could attend Hogwarts with her sister."

Harry blinked, his jaw nearly dropping to the floor. "She wanted to go to Hogwarts?" he asked, not quite able to believe such a thing... Petunia absolutely loathed magic and anything to do with it. She and Vernon had thrown a fit every time Harry performed a bit of accidental magic when he was little. It was inconceivable to think that there had ever been a time when Petunia actually wanted to be magical.

"She changed her mind on the day Lily was supposed to leave, however, claiming that Lily was abnormal and repeatedly calling her a freak."

Harry frowned, knowing how his mother must have felt. "She really called her that?"

His father nodded, a dark contemptuous look crossing his features as he muttered, "Some things never change, it seems."

Harry couldn't agree more with that. He looked back down at the picture again and asked, "Where was this?"

"In her parent's back garden," Snape said softly, a fond look appearing briefly on his features. "They were the kindest Muggles I have ever met; I was always welcome in their home."

"What happened to them?" Harry asked quietly. "Aunt Petunia's never mentioned them before."

In fact, he couldn't even remember her saying anything about them, not even to Dudley. He briefly wondered what it would have been like if his grandparents had raised him instead of the Dursleys. They certainly seemed to have accepted that they had a witch in the family.

"I'm not certain, however, I believe they passed away before you were born," Snape replied solemnly.

"Oh," Harry whispered, then looked up at his father. "What about your parents?"

Snape's features darkened. "They could never hold a candle to her parents."

Harry could have swore he heard some underlying bitterness in his father's tone, and wondered about that, but he didn't ask as the man pulled out two more photographs from the box.

One was a polaroid depicting teenage versions of his parents. They were settled underneath a large tree with the Black Lake and Hogwarts in the background. It was the same spot that Harry had sat under many times, doing homework or studying with Ron and Hermione. In the picture, Lily would nudge Snape's arm every so often, trying to get his attention while she smiled at the camera. Snape would briefly look up with a slight scowl at her before turning away, his nose once again buried in a book.

"I never enjoyed having my photo taken," his father said. "Lily had charmed that blasted camera to follow us around that day, trying to get a good picture."

He handed the other photo to Harry. "This was the only time I had allowed her to take a proper photo."

Harry gazed down at the two teenagers now standing next to each other. Snape stood a bit awkwardly, lips twitching into a slightly uncomfortable smile while Lily smiled brightly, green eyes glowing with obvious joy, her arm moving to wrap around him as she leaned comfortably into his side.

On the bottom of the photo, there were words written in a neat and loopy handwriting, almost like Hermione's.

I love this one of us, Sev!

Harry smiled softly, gently tracing the inked words with his finger, thinking that only his mother could have gotten away with calling Snape, Sev.

After replacing the photos back in the box, Harry noticed a small rolled up piece of parchment. He lifted it out of the box, carefully unfurling it. It appeared to be a drawing of someone brewing at a worktable. Some squiggly lines that Harry assumed represented the potion fumes were drawn rising slowly from the bubbling cauldrons. Upon closer inspection, Harry recognized Snape as the subject of the drawing, though it was a rather crude drawing of the real thing.

"She had drawn that picture of me in fourth year," his father said, lips twitching very slightly. "I believe she may have unintentionally exaggerated one of my undesirable features."

Harry gave a soft chuckle, realizing that his mother had indeed drawn Snape's nose larger than normal.

His father then gently lifted what looked like a Muggle snow globe from the corner of the box and handed it over to Harry, who held it carefully. He had seen Aunt Petunia displaying many of these trinkets on the mantle above the fireplace during the holidays, but unlike the Muggle counterpart, this snow globe didn't seem to need to be shaken for the snow to continue falling. There were two kids inside, continuously pulling a sled to the top of a rather steep hill and then sliding down together.

"Your mother made this," his father said reverently. "She gifted this to me for Christmas in our third year."

"Wow," Harry breathed, amazed by the magic. "Is that you and Mum in there?"

"It is," Snape said, nodding. "She was very gifted at charms."

"It's brilliant," Harry whispered as he watched his parents sledding down the hill again. He could see smiles on their faces as they glided speedily down the slope. He felt as if he could have watched them for hours, but after a few more minutes of gazing into the snow globe, Harry gently set it back down into the box.

The last item was a turquoise ribbon that had been hidden in the corner by the snow globe.

"She always had her hair tied up with a ribbon during potion classes. It used to drive her mad whenever the fumes made her hair frizzy," his father said.

Harry rubbed the smooth fabric between his forefinger and thumb, trying to imagine his mother tying her hair up with it.

"Lily had a natural talent for potions," Snape continued. "She would consistently be at top of the class."

"Really?" Harry was a bit surprised and also pleased to hear of this new tidbit of information. He smiled crookedly up at his father. "She did better than you?"

There was a tiny smile on Snape's usually stoic features. "It was always between the two of us that fought for the top spot."

"I guess I didn't really inherit that talent," Harry said softly, lowering his eyes back to the ribbon in his hand.

"You have been making considerable progress in our potion lessons recently," his father said, a faint note of pride in his voice.

Harry cracked a small smile. "I've been finding it more interesting lately. It's sort of like cooking I suppose, but more precise and dangerous."

"Indeed," said Snape.

They lapsed into silence for a while as Harry placed the ribbon back into the box and returned his gaze to the pictures of his mother smiling up at him again.

Ever since he received that letter from his mother, Harry had wondered how his mother and Snape got together, but now, it seemed rather obvious. They had known each other since they were young, and the way his father spoke of her... and the way she had written about him in the letter... Harry briefly imagined what it would have been like if he had grown up with her and Snape, and a sudden wave of grief swept over him.

"I wish I got to know her," Harry whispered, his chest unbelievably tight. "The only memory I have of her is when she was murdered..."

If only Trelawney didn't make that stupid prophecy... He hated Voldemort even more now— not for marking him, but for taking his mother away before he ever had the chance to know her. Harry would give anything to have just one happy memory of his mother. All he remembered were her screams and pleads to spare his life.

Snape seemed to stiffen and didn't respond for a while until Harry felt a warm hand on his knee.

"I wish you did as well," his father murmured, his dark eyes brighter than usual. "You would have experienced her fiery temper and overprotectiveness for all those dangerous stunts you pulled over the years." The corners of his lips quirked ever so slightly, before he gave a sad sigh. "She would have never let you out of her sight."

Harry couldn't help but give a small smile at that.

"You remind me so much of her," Snape said softly, after a long pause. "You're more like her than you know, Harry."

Somehow, Hary's chest seemed to constrict even more at that.

"Do you still love..." Harry began, but trailed off, lowering his eyes and biting the inside of his cheek. He didn't know what compelled him to ask, but then the memory of his father, Clarice, and Kieran in Diagon Alley flashed through his mind. He just felt the need to know... They had seemed like they fancied each other... And Harry didn't know how long his father had known Clarice, but he assumed they've known each other for a long time as well, considering they had Kieran together...

"Expecto Patronum."

Harry whipped his head up as a burst of silver light erupted out of the tip of his father's wand, illuminating the entire room to the point where it was almost blinding. He squinted at it until it took a shape, forming into a shining silvery doe that cantered gracefully once around the room before coming to a stop directly in front of him. He looked into those translucent eyes, feeling a strange sense of familiarity with the silver creature as it stared steadily back at him.

"She's beautiful," Harry murmured, reaching forward as the doe bowed its head and nuzzled against his hand.

"It was your mother's," his father said softly, his dark eyes glittering. It was like looking at a night sky full of stars.

Harry felt a lump forming in his throat, his chest aching as he leaned slightly against his father.

That's why he felt as if the Patronus was familiar. It was like she was still here, watching over them. Didn't he read somewhere that it was rare for two people to have the same Patronus... She must be his happiest memory...

Harry felt a strong arm wrap around his shoulder, gently pulling him closer into his father's side.

They watched silently as the doe seemed to nod in approval, then it turned and galloped off out the window, vanishing into the starry darkness.

"You must have really loved her..." Harry whispered. It was barely audible, yet Snape still seemed to hear it.

"I always will," his father said, his grip tightening around Harry. And after a moment's pause, he murmured, "Even more so, knowing she gave me you."

Harry gave a watery smile and leaned further into the embrace, his chest tight yet his heart seemed to soar within it.

Severus was settled in a chair next to Harry's bed, listening to his son's even breathing after briefly helping him organize and clear his mind. He had initially intended to begin Harry's Occlumency lessons tonight, but after the last hour, his own emotions were in a state of disarray.

He sighed heavily as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands— he hadn't planned on reminiscing tonight, having pad locked those memories away so long ago.

I wish I got to know her, Harry had said.

Severus' heart clenched uncomfortably— their son would never know how full of life Lily was, or how much joy she could spread to everyone around her. Harry would never be able to hear Lily's sweet laughter or see her bright smile that could light up a room full of darkness. And after everything that Harry went through over the years, from those damn Muggles to the Dark Lord, Severus knew Lily would have fought tooth and nail to protect their son if she were here. She would have cursed Petunia and her despicable whale of a husband for the way they treated Harry. And Lily wouldn't have hesitated in hexing Severus as well for being so cruel to their son these past few years.

After rubbing his eyes, Severus leaned back in his chair, glancing at the box of Lily's possessions he had set on Harry's nightstand beside a dark red covered book. There was something sticking out of it that caught Severus' attention. When he opened the book, what he saw inside caused his breath to catch in his throat.

It was a photo album, but the pictures displayed on the first page were pictures of Lily and baby Harry, and himself.

Severus gazed down at the photos, drawing in a slightly trembling breath as he watched the interactions of the people in them.

Everyone in these photos seemed so... content.

He was holding Harry in a rocking chair as they both slept soundly... He was bouncing Harry on his knee as the baby giggled happily... In another, he was making ridiculous motions with the spoon as he attempted to feed Harry in a high chair.

It was like looking at an alternative version of himself...

Then it struck him— the letter from Lily... and the vial of...

He hadn't looked at them yet— it was about time he did.

Setting the album back on the nightstand and giving one more glance at Harry to make sure his son was sleeping peacefully, Severus left and quickly made his way to his study. With a swift flick of his wand, he undid the wards on the drawer then carefully withdrew the vial of swirling silvery-white memories he'd left there.

After retrieving his Pensieve from the cabinet near his desk, Severus uncorked the vial and slowly tipped the silvery contents into it, where they swirled and shimmered brightly.

He stared down at the basin for a moment, feeling a bit apprehensive over what he was about to witness.

Taking a deep breath and not wanting to prolong this any further, Severus bent forward, but before he could make contact with the silvery substance, an alarm signaling a Floo call sounded.

"Severus?" It was Poppy's voice, sounding a bit breathless and frantic. "Severus, are you there?"

Severus straightened and took a few steps toward the fireplace. "What is it, Poppy?"

"Oh, Severus!" she exclaimed when she saw him. "Something has happened to Albus, I need your help. Please come quickly."