Harry felt a prickling on the back of his neck, and raised his eyes to meet Snape's dark gaze. Again.

Even for Snape, the level of disdain and dislike in the expression was staggering. Harry looked back at his plate, thankful the 'A' on his Potions OWL had barred him from NEWT Potions. He didn't have to deal with Snape's vindictive comments in class anymore, nor did he seep points like a walking hemorrhage from Gryffindor's hourglass.

And no, he couldn't become an auror now, but it was not like that mattered in the long run. Not since he'd learned of the prophecy.

Students were chattering and laughing around him. Neville was speaking in confidence to Hermione, and Ron was arguing with Seamus over the Chudley Cannons. Harry sat in silence, as was his custom lately, content to lose himself in his own thoughts rather than force words from his unwilling lips. When he was drawn from his reverie by yet another vicious glare from Snape, he occupied himself with stabbing at his shepard's pie with his fork, a litany of faces running though his mind-- Umbridge's, Snape's, Voldemort's, Dumbledore's, his father's. An image of his father hexing a young Snape flashed through his mind. He stabbed the pie again. Or was it his own face he was seeing? They did look so very much alike.

Ron noticed this with a frown.

"I know the crust is a little dry," he said in a muffled voice, his mouth full of pie, "But no need to kill the poor thing."

Harry smirked at him, and, suddenly self-conscious, set the fork gently down beside his plate.

"Snape's glaring at you," Ron mentioned irritably, glowering at Snape on his friend's behalf. "What's his problem lately? I heard he skipped all of yesterday's classes. Too bad he couldn't do that when we were still in them, eh?"

Hermione perked to attention across from them and glanced across the Great Hall to see what they were talking about. She returned her attention to Harry with a troubled look on her face. "Harry, did you do something? He's staring at you." Her tone was rife with disapproval.

"No," he replied honestly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable having Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Snape all staring at him at once. What could he possibly have done? He spent all his free time in his dorm room. His grades were all passing, if mediocre. He wasn't playing Quidditch or getting into fights with Slytherins. He hadn't broken the rules once this year, strange as it was. Snape had no reason to take issue with him now. He never even saw the man anymore!

Great, now Seamus and Dean were looking his way. And a couple of students at the Ravenclaw table, for some reason... But they might have been looking at someone behind him. Harry felt like his skin was itchy; it was uncomfortable having the eyes directed his way. He should have been used to it by now-- the Sorting Feast had certainly been hell, with all the first-years 'ooh-ing' and 'aah-ing' at the sound of his name-- but these last two months he'd made a sincere and concerted effort to shrink into the scenery, and he liked to think he'd made some progress.

The teachers had been very delicate with him after the loss of Sirius. When it became apparent he did not wish to speak in class, they refrained from calling on him. Without Snape to make his life a living hell in Potions, he didn't have any true nemesis who singled him out and drew attention to him. He had yet to go to Hogsmeade, he hadn't tried out for Quidditch despite the lifting of his ban, and he spent most of his free time in the library or in his dorm room. His presence at the school was as minimized as he could make it. He'd become accustomed to the lack of attention. Now, all these eyes! He wanted to crawl out of his skin.

"Well, well, would you look at that?" Ron said smugly.

Harry followed his gaze against his better judgment, resting his eyes upon Snape, now in a quiet, vehement conversation with Dumbledore. Snape looked like he'd just sucked on a lemon. Dumbledore's face was stark and concerned, and slightly angry.

"You reckon he's in trouble with Dumbledore?" Ron mused.

Harry was staring at the Headmaster's shaken countenance, wondering just what they could be saying that rattled the older wizard's composure. Is something happening with the Death Eaters? Voldemort? Harry wondered idly, reaching out to sip his pumpkin juice. He knew from the worried look that stole over Hermione's expression that the uncharacteristically intense exchange between their Headmaster and Potions Master was cause for concern, but Harry couldn't bring himself to be too worried. He'd learned his lesson last year, not to intervene when it wasn't his place. He'd only screw things up and get more people hurt.

He always did.

Snape abruptly rose from the Head Table and stood there tall and stiff for one moment, like some black tower gleaming over the horizon. His lips were twisted in a snarl, his expression glinting with something like defiance. Dumbledore shook his head. Snape ignored him and stiffly marched around the table, away from the Headmaster, who for his part stared after him worriedly.

Dumbledore shifted his gaze to Harry.

Harry shuddered under yet another set of eyes, and his gaze darted wildly around for the fastest route out of this press of people. Before he could form a solid escape plan, a tall form with black, billowing robes bore swiftly down upon the Gryffindor table. Harry could hear muffled cries of surprise and horror as Snape descended upon the students like a giant bat. For his part, Harry jumped to his feet and made for a hasty retreat-- when Snape's sudden grip on his shoulder halted him.

"Stay a moment, Potter," came the cold, imperious voice.

Harry froze, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. He still held a goblet half-filled with pumpkin juice, and his hand tightened convulsively around it as though it could portkey him from this man's presence.

"Come," Snape said shortly.

Harry dragged his feet as Snape ushered the unwilling boy out the door, down an endless corridor, and into one of the empty dungeons. He thrust Harry into the first chair available, and then lowered himself across from the boy. Those cold, black eyes bore into his, and he could hear Snape mutter a silencing charm. He realized after the man's eyes flickered down contemptuously that he'd carried the goblet of juice all the way from the Great Hall. Harry made a show of taking a defiant sip

Snape's lip curled. "We may speak freely here. And when I say 'we', I mean that I will speak, and for once in your life, you will remain quiet and listen." He leaned back to survey Harry coolly, tracing the thin line of his mouth with his finger. "What I tell you cannot leave this room. I will speak only briefly about this, for I have no wish to prolong our contact any more than necessary. I've counted myself quite fortunate in not having to endure your presence in any of my classes this year, and this development will change nothing."

Harry took a deep swig from his goblet to show Snape he wasn't rattled. "Fine. Get on with it."

Snape glared at him, black eyes glittering oddly. "Potter-- I had sex with your mother sixteen years ago. You are the product of our union. In rudimentary language-- you are my son."

Harry swallowed his pumpkin juice the wrong way, and started coughing.

"I'm no more thrilled about it than you are," Snape continued dryly.

Harry was still choking on the juice, and Snape rose from his seat to slap the boy on the back, hard. The liquid spewed from his mouth and spattered in a wet stain across the dungeon floor.

"Lovely display," Snape said coldly, eyeing the mess with disdain before muttering a cleansing charm. "You've clearly inherited your mother's grace."

No longer choking, Harry simply gaped at him, mouth bobbing open and closed like that of a fish.

"Well?" Snape demanded tersely. "Have you anything to say? That facial expression is vacant even for you."

"Is this some sort of joke?" Harry wheezed.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Yes, Potter, for I have nothing more productive to do with my time than tell ridiculous lies to insolent brats."

Harry stared at him, appalled. "I don't believe you. Dumbledore's going to--"

Snape waved him silent, eager to end this little interview quickly. "The Headmaster would have you remain ignorant of our connection until the end of your days. I've chosen to tell you now so you will not discover this unfortunate genetic relationship by some mischance in the future and take it upon yourself to seek me out. I would not take kindly to your contacting me... Unless you require a kidney, for instance, which I might be willing to supply, provided we have a reciprocal agreement with regards to medical circumstances."

"A kidney?" Harry echoed blankly.

"Or blood, as you required two months ago to counter your poisoning," Snape continued. Harry stared dumbly at him. Snape sighed. "Which you clearly don't remember."

"The only time I've been in the hospital wing recently was when I had that really bad flu," he said carefully, wondering if he was in the hospital wing right now and experiencing some terrifying hallucination.

"Use your brain, Potter!" Snape said harshly. "When was the last time a flu gave you convulsions or intestinal bleeding? Any idiot would know he'd been poisoned!"

Oh God, he hoped he was in the hospital wing. This was a nightmare.

* * *

Snape began to wonder if perhaps he'd been a tad hasty. He was not an impulsive man; he'd spent a restless night trying to sleep, pondering his future actions. The more time that passed, the angrier he'd become, both with the Headmaster, the late Lily Potter, and strangely enough, with the late James Potter.

He was the one who had impregnated the other man's wife, so he supposed in this instance his fury with James Potter was completely irrational. However, that did not stop him from gnashing his teeth as he thought of his former tormentor, feeling as though Potter were laughing at him from somewhere beyond the grave. Oh, how he wished James were still alive to see this. How he wished he could tell him to his face that he'd been raising the son of Severus Snape. He desperately wanted to rob the man of the satisfaction he must have felt, sacrificing his life for a son he loved, when it was not his son at all. If he could steal those last glorious moments away from the Gryffindor's life, he would be a happy man.

As things were, he'd been betrayed by the Headmaster, thwarted by the woman he'd loved for the thirteen minutes it took to reach a climax, and trampled by a society that proclaimed Potter's son a hero when it was actually Snape's bastard who stopped the Dark Lord.

He spent the next day at lunch, half slumped with exhaustion, glaring at the boy from across the Great Hall. The creature with James Potter's face darted fleeting glances his way. What a hateful face that was. He simply loathed this boy. How could this be his son? The reality and the appearance of it simply would not reconcile in his head.

"Severus, I wish you would not do that," the Headmaster remarked softly as he slid into the seat next to Snape.

Snape bristled, and refused to look at him. "Do not presume to tell me what to do, Headmaster. Your words carry no weight on this subject."

Dumbledore sighed from beside him. "It wasn't an order, it was a request," he said in that infuriatingly gentle tone. "You're making him uncomfortable, glaring at him like that. Others are beginning to notice, too."

"To hell with the others," Snape snarled, turning a hateful glare at the older man. He lowered his voice. "And to hell with you, too. I will stare if I please. He's my son. Do you get that? My son. And I will do as I wish!"

Dumbledore's expression cooled. "I take it, then, that you intend to tell him?"

Well, no. No, he didn't, but Dumbledore seemed displeased by the notion, so Snape allowed himself a queer, unsettling smile. "That's my business, Headmaster. If I take any action, it will be my prerogative."

"Do not toy with him, Severus," Dumbledore warned him, his tone suddenly cold. "He's been through enough."

Snape made a face of mock sympathy, and spoke in a voice dripping with venom, "Yes, it must be trying to be raised an orphan. Whom shall we blame for that?"

Impatience crept into Dumbledore's expression. "You would never have taken him, Severus. I know you." He reached out and snatched one of Snape's hands in his old, gnarled claw, resisting the younger man's attempts to pull away. "You were devastated after your time with Voldemort. How could you have raised a child? You were not even taking care of yourself!"

Snape felt a brief flash of unease, recalling that period after the Dark Lord's fall when his purpose in life seemed spent, when guilt had consumed his every waking thought, each and every one of his sins playing themselves over and over in vivid nightmares. When food tasted sour, and disassociative potions were the only thing that propelled him through the day. He was furious with the Headmaster for invoking his memories of that time as allies. How dare he! Manipulative old coot!

Snape yanked his hand from the older man's grip; a surge of dislike and anger propelled him to his feet. My son. Mine, you bastard, his mind raged at the Headmaster. It should have been my choice back then. And by Merlin, I'll show you that it is now!

Having read Snape's intention, and aware that they were now drawing some unwanted attention, Dumbledore shook his head, silently imploring him to back down. With one final defiant glare at the Headmaster, Snape turned away. This was his decision. There was nothing the Headmaster could do about it. It was his to make, as it always should have been.

Yet now that Potter sat across from him, stunned, pondering the fact that no flu had induced those convulsions he'd suffered earlier in the school year, Snape suddenly realized what he'd just done. In seizing control of the situation, he'd acknowledged Potter as his son-- in the biological, shared blood-only sense-- but as his son, nonetheless. The boy he'd been so pleased to be rid of was now bound to him for life.

A moment of terror washed though him when it occurred to him the boy might throw himself into Snape's arms, crying about how dreadfully happy he was to finally have a father. He imagined having to pry grubby little hands from his shoulders, ejecting a hurt puppy-faced version of James Potter from his room.

Potter surprised him, though. He gazed at Snape without visible emotion for a long moment.

"Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

"Yes, Potter," Snape said with the slightest sneer, wondering at the boy's reaction.

"I can't say I believe you," Potter told him. "I'm going to talk to Professor Dumbledore."

"Do anything you wish," Snape replied in a tone that said he could not care less. "Just get out of my sight."

With one last odd glance at him, Potter left.

Severus could not shake the unsettling feeling he'd gone about this the wrong way.