After the third knock, Harry decided that Snape was definitely not in his quarters, and set off in the direction of the professor’s classroom, which seemed to be the only other place he would possibly be in the middle of the day.

Since stumbling upon the mirror the night before, the boy could not get the images he had seen in its reflection out of his head, and he really needed to talk to somebody about it.

His parents were dead. He knew that.

What he didn’t know was how they could have possibly been staring back at him from inside of the mirror.

Professor Snape would know, Harry had concluded.

The door to the potions lab was slightly ajar, but Harry hesitated outside, hearing voices from within.

 “Now Severus–” Dumbledore’s voice.

 “Do not try to placate me, Albus,” came Snape’s response. “I know full well what you are trying to do, and I can assure you that it will not work.”

 “You are overreacting, my boy.”

 “No I am not. I told you in no uncertain terms that my guestroom was not going to become a bedroom for the boy, and you went against my wishes,” Snape snapped.

Harry froze, realising that he was the current topic of conversation.

 “You also said that you could not become his father,” Dumbledore responded, calmly.

 “Ah, so you were listening,” the potions master drawled. “I do believe you have just contradicted your own argument, headmaster.”

 “Not at all Severus, on the contrary, that is entirely my point,” the older wizard told him. “When we talked that day, I merely suggested that you acted as a mentor for Harry. It was you who used the word ‘father’–”

 “Enough!” Snape hissed. “I am not the child’s father! Potter had a father, and in case you have forgotten, he was an insidious and unrelenting bully. I am not inclined to take his place, and I will not be manipulated into doing so by you!”

Harry’s breath hitched in his throat.

 “That is a shame, Severus. As I thought perhaps you had begun to care for the boy at last…” Dumbledore sighed.

 “You are mistaken. As I have previously indicated, I have – up until now – tolerated Potter’s presence in the hope that he may lose interest and leave me in peace,” Snape told him. “I neither want nor need a child, Albus – especially the offshoot of James Potter.”

Dumbledore went to respond, but Harry didn’t hear it. He had already heard enough.

Turning on his heel, he fled.

OOOOOOO

When Harry reached the boy’s dormitory, he threw himself into his bed, pulling the curtains shut despite the fact he was alone in the tower.

Burrowing himself beneath the covers, Harry screwed his eyes tight shut against the tears that threatened to escape from them.

So what if Snape didn’t want him? No body had ever wanted him – why should Hogwarts’ strictest teacher be any different?

He’d gotten on just fine for the past 11 years without an adult to look out for him or even give him the time of day.

Finally catching his breath, Harry rubbed the tears from his eyes, angrily.

He was stupid to cry, and he had been stupid to think… what? What had he thought? That Professor Snape had grown to care for him? That perhaps this was how it felt to belong to somebody?

No. It had been a mistake.

Professor Snape didn’t want him around, he had simply been putting up with him. He hadn’t wanted his guestroom to become Harry’s bedroom.

And he certainly didn’t want to be Harry’s father.

He never would be.

Exhaling, Harry turned onto his back, removing the covers from his head and staring up at the solid oak panel atop the four poster bed.

Had it perhaps felt that way, if only for a little while?

Had he come to think of Professor Snape as some kind of… father figure?

Shaking his head, Harry tried to push the thoughts out of his mind.

It didn’t matter now. None of it was real.

When sleep finally came that evening, Harry did not dream of his dark man.

OOOOOOO