Harry felt he was happy enough to conjure a hundred Patronuses.

Dressing in a rush, he buttoned his shirt and slipped on his new Gryffindor vest. Fussing with his tie, Harry clumsily grabbed his robes. He'd gotten used to Lily reading from a textbook each night, and had to put away his Potions book (which he'd previously fallen asleep with) before running to catch up with Ron – his first real friend.

After the best month of his life, Harry could hardly believe Hogwarts was just as amazing. He couldn't sit with his mum during meals or be tucked into bed by her at night, but Lily was still there. Every morning and night, he could look over at his mother and know she wasn't dead. She'd come back for him. It filled his heart with more love and hope than Harry knew existed.

And then there was his father. Harry tried to greet him during the Sorting Ceremony, and again throughout the following week, but hadn't received much response. Lily mentioned Severus might take time to get used to and probably won't be very sociable.

Harry was just eager to properly meet and get to know his dad, regardless of required secrecy or the whispers he'd overheard in the Gryffindor common room.

He was a boy shoved and locked into a cupboard without food or comfort. Then Hagrid showed up and revealed that magic was real, correcting lies told by the Dursleys. The “freaky” orphan now has a home where his parents taught magic. He had his own bed, belongings, and even friends. He had a mum and a dad at this new place of warmth and wonder – something he'd reminded himself of at least a dozen times since the train ride.

Harry was almost convinced Uncle Vernon had killed him and this was Heaven.

He was so excited, Harry didn't care he'd shown up late to Transfiguration on his first day. Until he passed his mum in the corridor and realised something else emerged from his new situation; he had someone to disappoint.

Lily hadn't been angry with him all month, not properly, and Harry knew he couldn't risk that happening or else she'd change her mind. If he did something wrong, as he had an unfair tendency to do, then the dream would end.

She also needed his help with his dad, though they hadn't discussed how yet – what if Severus was disappointed too?

'Harry?' Ron waved a hand in his face, startling him. 'You all right?'

'I'm fine, Ron.' Harry nodded, finishing his breakfast. 'Just looking forward to Potions.'

'Why?' His friend grimaced. 'Fred said Professor Snape is nasty, always taking points from Gryffindors and giving detentions to scrub cauldrons for hours.'

Harry couldn't explain. He'd memorised his schedule, counting down each day then hour until his first Potions lesson. His first DADA class would be later that same afternoon. Wednesday was his favourite and it'd barely begun.

The bell rang and Harry flew from his seat. Ron shook his head, amused as Harry rushed from the Great Hall. He had a vague idea where to go, as Lily gave Harry tips for navigating Hogwarts, but had to slow so Ron wasn't left behind.

Harry moved through the cold, dungeon classroom. He sat somewhere in the middle with heavy relief, getting out his book and quill to prepare.

A potion, brewed by his father, brought his mother back – it was on Harry's mind a lot. He knew it was called the “Draught of Living Death” and was already complicated to make on its own, without modifications.

His parents were good at Potions; Harry hoped he had a fair chance at doing well in the class. His textbook was mostly instructions, but Lily bought extra Potions books that Harry had already read through twice. He was anxious to brew his first potion, wishing his mum let him practise in her lab.

The door banged open; Harry nearly spilled his ink in fright.

Dipping his quill and poising it over a page, Harry's gaze darted to his father. Severus marched in with such authority and strength Harry was envious of; no one would dare bully or ignore someone like that. It was hard to believe they were related.

'You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,' Severus said. 'I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper on death.'

Harry grinned, steadying his handwriting as he took notes. Hermione nudged him, and he looked over to see his dad glaring at him.

Quickly setting his quill aside, Harry waited to hear what happened next.

'Ah, yes,' Severus said. 'Harry Potter. Our new celebrity.'

Harry frowned, wondering if that's the sourness his mum warned about. Severus must be having a rough day or something, and that's why he'd heard Gryffindors complain a lot. He didn't like it, but reminded himself his dad didn't know him yet – maybe it would be different for them, as if the man would just know Harry's his son. He refused to acknowledge that Petunia, who managed to hate everything about Harry, was also a blood relative.

He had to believe his mum knew Severus Snape better than anyone else.

'Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?' Severus fixed him with a stern look.

Harry blinked at the question, trying to remember if that was ever mentioned in his books.

Hermione's hand shot into the air, almost knocking his glasses askew.

'I don't know, sir,' Harry said.

'Clearly, fame isn't everything,' Severus sneered. 'Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?'

'Oh!' Harry grinned with relief, understanding Hermione's eagerness. 'That's a stone from a goat's stomach, sir.'

'Yes, indeed.' Severus' eyes narrowed. 'And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?'

'Only the names,' Harry answered, straightening. 'They're the same plant, sir. Also called aconite, I think.'

'You think?' Severus challenged.

'Yes.' Harry nodded confidently. 'Its aconite.'

'Interesting.' He eyed Harry carefully, then begun the lesson without further comment.

'Sorry, Hermione,' Harry whispered, as she lowered her hand. 'Maybe he'll ask you next time?'

Harry thoroughly read the instructions twice. He carefully gathered ingredients, afraid to get even the smallest detail wrong. He could feel his dad watching him, but resisted looking over his shoulder. Harry arranged each ingredient in order of use.

He re-read the first step and steadied his hands.

'Snake fangs,' Harry whispered, counting six into his mortar.

Meanwhile, Severus swept around the room – only Draco Malfoy was safe from the Professor’s criticism. He seemed to ignore Harry completely, but the boy knew that wasn't true. He allowed a brief pause to memorise the soothing and direct sound of his father's voice.

His parents were no longer an undefined part of Harry's imagination.

By the time he added horned slugs to his potion, green smoke issued from what was left of Seamus' cauldron. Having noticed Neville's anxiety, Harry reacted fast enough to yank the other boy's robes. Neville mumbled his thanks, relieved to be saved from harm.

Jerking his own hand away from the hissing blob, Harry flinched when Severus appeared in front of their desk.

'Idiot boy!' Severus snapped at Neville, waving his wand to vanish the mess. 'I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?'

He then rounded on Harry and Ron.

'I'm sorry!' Harry yelped instinctively. 'I didn't know fast enough.'

'Then perhaps a point from Gryffindor will remind you to pay attention,' Severus said.

Harry ducked his head, reeling in anger. He nodded forcefully and resumed his work. Squinting when his glasses fogged up, Harry slipped them into his robes pocket. He had to get used to not wearing them.

'Don't you need those?' Ron asked quietly, as their Professor lingered nearby like a swooping menace.

'No,' Harry said, distracted. 'My eyes were fixed with a potion. I just like wearing them sometimes.'

He made sure to not repeat Neville's mistake when adding his own porcupine quills. Stirring, Harry couldn't help but smile; his potion was the exact colour and consistency the textbook said it should be.

Sampling some to be graded, Harry peered closely at the stoppered vial. It was his first potion and he hadn't messed it up. He wished he could keep some to show his mum, but hoped she'd believe he did well.

Looking to his dad for approval, Harry was surprised by the intense stare as if Severus realised something important. His heart quickened at the thought, but Harry squashed down hope.

'I'm finished, sir.' Harry carefully placed his vial on the Professor's desk. 'And I wondered if I might ask you something?'

'Go on.' Severus nodded.

'Well, I was wondering...' Harry hesitated, making sure to meet his father's gaze. 'What would you get by adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'

'A sleeping potion so powerful it's known as the Draught of Living Death,' Severus answered, an odd expression passing over his face.

'Oh.' Harry's eyes widened. 'And...It's a hard potion to make, isn't it? I mean, we wouldn't make that in class – would we?'

'Not until sixth year, should anyone in this room receive grades high enough to enter my NEWT class.' Severus narrowed eyes at him, lacking anger this time. 'What's your interest in such a potion, Potter?'

'Oh, nothing.' Harry blushed, looking away. 'It just sounds really interesting. Um, I better clean up. Thanks, sir.'

He hurried back to his desk, clearing away the mess he'd made and returned any unused ingredients. Harry tried to ignore the look Ron kept shooting him. When the bell rang, Harry gathered his books but didn't leave.

His dad continued watching him.

Harry turned slowly, taking in as much of the room as he could see. There were countless jars of slimy things, shelves of equipment and stored ingredients, and piles of spare cauldrons. He wanted to spend more time there, wishing he could ask without giving away the truth. Potions gave him a family, but were much more interesting than he'd anticipated.

Harry doubted anyone would want him hanging around a lot though - not even his dad. He'd been careful to give his mum plenty of space so she wouldn't get sick of him.

'Potter!' Severus snapped. 'Quit dawdling. Class is dismissed.'

'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.' Harry grinned widely at his father, who looked rather disturbed by the expressed happiness. 'Thank you.'

With a parting glance, Harry dashed from the dungeons to make his way upstairs. His first lesson with his dad went well, and he was just as excited to find out what Defence Against the Dark Arts would to be like.