Snape's bad mood had evaporated after the satisfying exchange with Lucius, so it was with something vaguely resembling good humor that he met with the Order the next evening. They were blessedly without Lupin's company thanks to the full moon, thus there was only one figure at the meeting (save the Headmaster) who inspired a significant degree of Snape's antipathy.

Nymphadora Tonks was seated innocently across the table from him.

Restraining himself from glowering at the idiotic woman was an active effort. And when the Headmaster requested he elaborate upon the incident with Lucius Malfoy over the holidays for the benefit of the Order (the official story held Snape's abode as a 'safe house' for the boy), Snape made sure to refute the Headmaster's fleeting concerns over the nature of Lucius's interest in Harry.

"After all," Severus said softly, a lethal smile curling across his lips as he turned his black gaze to meet that of Nymphadora Tonks, "Even Lucius Malfoy is not depraved enough to take a prurient interest in a grieving teenager. What sort of sick individual would do that?"

He smiled cruelly at her until she blanched and averted her eyes. Satisfied, he turned his attention away again. Apart from the sharp blue eyes of the Headmaster, and the perpetually suspicious eye of Alastor Moody, the rest were oblivious to the silent exchange.

He felt Tonks watching him as he summarized his most recent meeting with the Dark Lord, and turned just in time to catch the worry in her expression before she looked away.

Yes, I know what you did, he thought viciously.

Did she even realize that the boy had convinced himself he was in love with her? He was certain the idiot girl had not thought through the consequences of her physical intimacy with Harry.

For Merlin's sake, Harry had just lost the closest thing to family he'd ever known, and he'd lived the majority of his life without anything resembling human affection. How could he have embarked on a healthy relationship at that time, much less one involving sexual intimacy with a woman of such greater experience?

It was simply foolish of her. And utterly reckless. Even had this not involved Snape's own progeny, he would despise her for it. Toying with a young man's emotions, utterly heedless of consequences… It was cruel.

As Kingsley Shacklebolt launched into a report on the happenings at the ministry of magic- nothing he himself hadn't already heard- Severus found himself thinking of his night with Lily, when he'd tried to kiss her.

Snape was rather surprised by the sharp pang he felt, remembering how she'd turned her face from his.

He hadn't even realized why she wouldn't let him kiss her until he'd looked up into her face as he climaxed. Her hand was clamped over her mouth, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. She had immediately shoved him to the side, run to the bathroom, and retched into the toilet. The sound of her vomiting drifted into the bedroom.

James Potter could have humiliated him every day for several millennia, and he would never have felt so much like Snivellus as he had with her disgust echoing in his ears.

Lily had not sought him out because she wanted to see Severus. She'd just wanted to hurt Potter by doing the most degrading thing she could imagine- fucking Snivellus He hadn't even realized she saw him in that wretched light until she finished with him.

And honestly, Severus had never seen himself that way until he realized Lily did. Lily, who nobly and misguidedly tried to defend him in school. Whom he'd followed with his eyes even as he assured himself of the wrongness of it. Who seemed to disagree with the others who asserted he was scum.

It was a lie all along. She was just as callous as the rest of them, and she'd hit him where it hurt.

He hated her.

And he hated this woman, choosing to so carelessly travel in Lily's footsteps.

Snape observed Nymphadora Tonks with a cold, assessing gaze. There would not be a second generation of his family manipulated and used. He would make certain of it.

From her flustered reaction to his comment, though, he suspected with a dark satisfaction that great exertion on his part might prove unnecessary. Perhaps, if things went smoothly, she could be separated from Harry permanently with only a minimal amount of damage.

The sooner this woman was out of his son's life, the better.

* * *

Harry's scar throbbed like a jackhammer. Coupled with the terrible anxiety dancing in his stomach, he was in a terrible state for playing Quidditch. The Gryffindors around him continually shot him encouraging smiles, and it made Harry's heart sink with a dark dread. It had been so long since he'd played; two practices with the team hardly made up for a year of inactivity. And he could already feel the eyes on him, hundreds of people watching. There was nowhere he could escape them.

He heard Madame Hooch shout, "Mount your brooms please!"

The anxiety in his stomach flared into something resembling real fear as he clambered onto his Firebolt. His eyes strayed to Remus in the stand, fervently hoping this wouldn’t prove a disaster-

The high pitch of her whistle tore him from his fears, and Harry kicked off into the air.

They're staring at me… I can't do this… I don't want to do this… he thought as he rose swiftly into the air.

Yet something happened as he rose, as he caught sight of the bludgers, the flash of scarlet robes swishing through the air. His anxiety over the onlookers dissolved. Lupin, Snape, and Voldemort vanished from his thoughts. His sharp gaze swept around the pitch, and an odd, exultant thrill he'd nearly forgotten surged through him. Even the burning of his scar became a minor annoyance at the back of his thoughts.

He was playing Quidditch again. He was flying again.

How could he have ever avoided this?

With a blissful feeling in his heart, Harry looped-the-loops. He couldn't fight his grin when he spotted the Snitch, glinting on the far end of the pitch, and he took off in hot pursuit.

* * *

Snape was sitting in the staff Quidditch stand, glaring resentfully at his most recent nemesis. Three days had not cooled his fury at Lupin for usurping his place in convincing Harry to play.

"He looks so proud of himself," Snape groused. "Bloody werewolf."

"You can only see the back of his head, Severus," Minerva replied, sounding as though she didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. "You have no idea what he looks like."

"You should have seen him," Snape said angrily, still glaring at Lupin's back. "I am the one responsible for making Potter play again, and he wishes to take all the credit. I was the one who facilitated Harry's change of mind. He merely told the boy how happy he was, and clearly he now believes he has single-handedly propelled the boy back into the game."

"You sound as though you've thought about this quite a bit," Minerva noted.

Snape shot her an angry look, but the infernal woman pressed on.

"Severus, I don't believe you're lending Remus enough credit," she continued reprovingly. "You may have rendered Harry's life thoroughly unpleasant while he refused to play, but Remus was the one who encouraged him. Remus wanted him to play, and Harry knew it. He responds positively when he's well-treated."

"What do you think my motivation was?" Snape demanded thinly. "I, too, wanted to see the young idiot play. That's why I pressured him. If he's too foolish to see that-"

"Did you tell him that?" McGonagall demanded. "Manipulating the boy is not going to win his confidence. With your history, if you're not honest about your motives, he'll always read the worst into them."

"It doesn't matter to me one way or another what he thinks about my actions," Snape sneered.

"Then why are we having this conversation?" Minerva countered.

Snape turned to retort, but she was already rising to her feet, threatening to leave the narrow range of his impromptu silencing spell.

"You need to examine your actions, Severus," she informed him sternly. "Sort yourself out, because I'm not even certain you know what you've trying to achieve with him. Just remember that repeated detentions have never yet won a teenager's heart."

"I don't want-" Snape began, but she'd already stepped away from him. He watched with quiet resentment as she seated herself next to the Headmaster, clearly no longer of a tolerant disposition towards Severus.

She knows nothing, he told himself fiercely. The woman had no children, she knew nothing about Severus and even less about Harry. Who did she think she was…

He almost slumped in his seat, well-aware he was out of his depth.

His eyes drifted again with bitter envy to the back of Lupin's head.

Lupin's sitting in the front row, Snape thought inanely. He felt a fresh surge of hostility; the werewolf had obviously strategically chosen one of the front seats so the boy would see him. And funny, how he was in the same position on the bench as Snape, only several rows in front of him. If Harry's eyes drifted in their direction, he would automatically see Lupin, and not Snape.

Almost as if he hopes to overshadow me, he realized, with some shock at the werewolf's sheer cunning.

Gritting his teeth, Snape lurched to his feet and started down the stairs, pausing only by a surprised Remus Lupin.

"Is that seat occupied?" Snape asked with strained civility, hoping Lupin didn't hear the malice dripping from his words.

Remus blinked up at him in some surprise, and then offered Severus a pleasant smile. "Of course not. Please, sit."

He stared at Snape in some shock for a good twenty seconds after he'd taken the seat next to Lupin, and Severus sent him a vicious look that seemed to further confuse Lupin.

"What choice seating, Lupin," he growled. "A very favorable vantage point, wouldn't you say?"

Lupin stared at him with an expression that resembled confusion, then nodded. "Quite a good view, I agree." He chuckled. "A bit closer to the bludgers than I usually prefer."

Aha! Snape thought triumphantly, having caught Lupin's revealing slip of the tongue. He had admitted this was anomalous from his usual habits. Lupin had as good as owned up to his scheming.

Snape was still gloating bitterly as the whistle signaled the commencement of the match. His attention riveted back and forth between the werewolf- now watching Harry with that strange, conflicted look on his face- and his son.

For all the boy's resistance to playing again, on the various occasions that Harry flashed by their stand, he appeared to be wildly happy.

And although he did frighteningly resemble James Potter, Snape could see now a certain natural grace to Harry's flying that the former had never possessed. Snape felt particularly smug when Harry pulled off a complicated move just short of a Wronski Feint. James Potter would never have been able to execute that. Odds were against any son of James Potter performing it, either.

But his son could.

It was only twenty minutes into the game when Harry darted by the Ravenclaw seeker and deftly grabbed the snitch, veering to the right just in time to avoid an ugly collision with the Hufflepuff stands.

As the stadium erupted in cheering, an abrupt movement at Snape's side caught his attention. He turned sharply to see Lupin bolting to his feet and into the aisle. He had only a moment to catch the distraught expression twisting the man's face before he darted up the stairs, disappearing into the crowd.

That's it, Snape thought angrily. That confirms that he knows something.

Snape turned his attention back to the field, to Harry just now emerging from the horde of exultant teammates. The boy's eyes immediately riveted to the empty seat next to Severus, and he saw dismay fill his expression.

And then they shifted to him like two green glaciers, and Harry very pointedly rubbed his victory in Snape's face by planting a kiss on the snitch in his hand before sweeping away on his broom with a look of smug triumph.

Cocky little brat, Snape thought. He didn't find it as irritating as usual, though.

* * *

"Hey, Snape!"

He turned sourly to see Harry jog away from his teammates, running up to him with flushed cheeks and glowing eyes.

"Your plan didn't work," Harry announced breathlessly.

"Oh?" Snape asked dourly, trying to figure out just what plan this boy was talking about.

"You thought it would be terrible for me, right- playing Quidditch again when I didn't want to," Harry said in a quick, breathless tone. "Well- you couldn't have been more wrong! Guess what? I loved it. I'm glad to be playing again."

He grinned wildly at Snape, as though his animosity had been forgotten in the face of this triumph.

"It's all thanks to you, Snape, and next week we are so going to kick Slytherin's ass," Harry added loudly.

"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape said automatically, "for language and an apalling display of wishful thinking."

Harry let out a whoop of laughter, and spun away from him, still high on his victory. "Whatever you say, sir. Just remember- I won. Your plan failed."

He could have been referring to the game, or to the perceived conflict between the two of them. Snape was merely pleased that Harry had acknowledged his central role in forcing his return to Quidditch.

Me, NOT Lupin.

Minerva's words echoed in his mind, and Severus knew what he should say something...

I only told them because I wished to see you play again.

But something inside him froze at the prospect of uttering those words. How would the boy respond? With a belligerent demand for an explanation? With scorn? Anything spoken honestly could be an opening for some brutal rebuff, and Snape did not trust Harry enough to give him the power to refuse an olive branch.

So he sneered.

"I couldn't care less whether or not you-" He stopped, then, watching Harry's attention drift away, all to aware that he'd been quickly veering to the opposite extreme of what he should be doing, saying. And from the boy's complete indifference, he was clearly feeding right into his son's perceptions of him.

Leave. Walk away, his mind urged him. Say no more. There was no way to win this situation, no way to navigate a safe course.

He summoned as neutral a sentiment as he could.

"I enjoyed the match," Snape said lamely. "Your… participation was a factor in that enjoyment."

He almost hoped the boy wouldn't hear him and would simply continue to the changing rooms, but Harry's gaze swung back to him in surprise. He stared at Snape searchingly, uncertain whether he'd heard him properly.

"And if you enjoyed yourself too," Snape added, slightly more self-assured, "I shall not begrudge you that."

Harry's expression soured. "Gee, thanks Snape. I'm so glad you don't mind that I'm happy."

Hiking his broomstick up onto his shoulder, he whirled around and ran to catch up with his teammates. Snape stared after him in annoyance and some dismay, trying to figure out just why he'd hit a nerve.

* * *

He discovered Lupin in his office, shakily downing a cup of tea.

"An impressive display earlier," Snape noted drolly, "I suppose you had a good reason for your urgent flight?"

Lupin raised haunted eyes to Severus's.

"I just-" Lupin paused, drawing an unsteady breath. "He looks so much like James when he's playing. I can almost forget…" He raked his hand through his hair. "It's hard, Severus. I just couldn't stand to watch any longer."

Snape felt himself stiffen at the statement.

The expression on Lupin's face when he left, the strange looks he'd been giving Harry, his obvious attempts to outmaneuver Severus… They'd taunted Severus all the way from the Quidditch Pitch back into the Great Hall.

Lupin knew about Harry. A few minutes ago, he'd been almost positive. Now he was certain. The damn werewolf was as good as admitting it.

He knew about Harry, and he was having trouble coming to terms with the fact that he wasn't the son of James Potter.

It was damn well time the mangy werewolf ceased this foolish game of dancing around the issue.

"Do not mistake me for a fool, Lupin," snarled Snape. "I know exactly what's going on in that thick-witted brain of yours!"

Lupin looked up from where he'd been staring gloomily into his teacup. "What on earth-"

"I speak of Harry!" Snape spat. "Do you think I'm blind? I've seen the way you've been looking at him!"

Lupin's expression crumpled.

"Am I so transparent?" he asked sadly.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You admit it, then. You admit these events have shifted your feelings-"

Lupin sighed heavily, and then ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what there is to admit, Severus. You seem to have me all figured out." The werewolf looked troubled. "Did Harry notice?"

Snape stirred uneasily, wondering exactly how Harry would cope if he found out about Lupin's unease with his true identity.

"Did he perceive your fragile emotional state? No. And you should be glad of it. I doubt he'd invest much faith in you again if he knew of your current sentiments regarding him."

"Good," Lupin said tiredly, rubbing his forehead. "I don't want to hurt him."

Snape scowled, hating just how weak this man truly was. He had no discipline over his emotions. Lupin clearly wanted to accept the boy for who he was, and simply couldn't bring himself to do so.

Funny, he'd never taken Lupin for a typical Marauder, to hate a boy simply because his father was Snivellus.

Well… to hell with Lupin, and to hell with his reverence for James Potter!

"I suggest you get over it, Lupin," Snape said coldly. "Your dearly departed friend is gone. All you will accomplish by holding a grudge on his behalf is further injury upon an already traumatized teenager."

"I know that," Lupin insisted, looking at Snape hollowly. "But I can't help it. Every time I see Harry… I think of him, and it hurts me, Severus..." he choked, and pressed his curled-up fist to his mouth, trying to fight back his emotions, while Snape looked on contemptuously. "The sight of Harry tears that wound open, and it's like I've lost my best friend all over again!"

Snape scoffed. "It's foolish to allow your sentimentality for a dead man override your feelings for a boy you profess to care about."

"It's not like that, Severus. I love Harry," Lupin protested. "But I loved him, too. Harry's a good kid… but I'm just so angry with him, and I can't shake that off like it means nothing."

The exchange had moved beyond attacking Harry for his blood relation to Snape. Lupin's discontent was now directed at the boy himself. Snape was surprised to find himself still defending the boy.

"As little as I think of you, Lupin, I wouldn't have taken you for the type to blame a boy for something he has no power over."

"I shouldn't," Lupin agreed softly, expression wrought with self-condemnation. "And I keep trying to rationalize the situation. He's a teenager. Others are responsible. He can't help what's happened. But… it's just not working. I can't reason my feelings away. And I've tried- believe me, I've tried. I'm still trying."

Lupin gazed off into the distance, a haunted look on his face.

"But I miss Sirius so much. And I can't help thinking that if Harry hadn't been such a damned idiot, he would still be here!"

Snape fell into a stunned silence.

"But I'm trying, Severus," Lupin added wearily, sending him a half-hearted smile. "I owe that much to James."