Snape's mood grew steadily worse as rumors began to circulate about the replacement DADA teacher. He broke his long impasse with Dumbledore and prowled into the Headmaster's office, glowering at any person, place, or thing unfortunate enough to catch his eyes.

"I heard a very disquieting rumor today, Headmaster," he announced as he sat himself down.

Dumbledore did not look the least bit surprised. "Yes, I expect you have. Lemon drop?"

Snape glared at the dish he proffered, then with a filthy look at Dumbledore, grabbed one of the sweets and crunched it viciously between his teeth.

Mild amusement glinted in the older wizard's eyes. "Now, if this is the rumor I think it is, I can confirm it is no rumor at all. Remus Lupin will be returning to teach Professor Meeran's classes." At Snape's furious look, he continued, "The parents will hardly object when he's the best candidate available on such short notice. The students still regard him as their best defense instructor, and really, Severus, he is the only one with the experience necessary to take over midyear. I trust he will orient himself quickly upon arrival."

"And when will that be?" Snape's voice was tight and strained.

"He'll transfer his residence here during the winter holiday." Dumbledore watched Snape thoughtfully. "Surely you understand my reasons for hiring him."

Snape's black eyes flashed angrily. "Oh, I do, Headmaster." A bitter smile stretched across his lips. "Forgive me if I find the timing slightly suspicious."

"Surely, Severus," he said in a teasing tone, eyes twinkling, "you're not going to read ulterior motives into everything I do now."

"Only if I think the situation warrants it," Snape replied harshly, unwilling to let the Headmaster treat their most recent dispute in such a light manner. "You must admit, it is very coincidental you bring back the last of the Marauders shortly after I discover James Potter's child is actually my son."

"Remus Lupin will teach here because he is the most qualified candidate," Dumbledore said in a severe tone. "I won't deny that Professor Lupin has a certain connection to Harry, but you mustn't begrudge him that." He glanced at Snape pointedly over his spectacles. "Especially when the boy's father has expressed no interest in cultivating a relationship."

"Yes, and I'm sure he's crying into his pillow every night over it," Snape returned sourly.

That seemed to strike a chord in the older wizard. Dumbledore looked at something in the distance, his eyes troubled. "No, I don't expect he is," he admitted quietly, almost to himself. "I'd feel less concerned if he were. He hasn't coped well with losing Sirius."

Snape tasted something bitter at the back of his throat at the thought of that one. Of all the Marauders, Sirius Black was the one he'd held most in contempt, and it was Black whose death he'd fantasized regularly about during those awful years at Hogwarts. He'd once thought Black's demise would put an end to his inner turmoil, but if anything, it had grown worse each day since. He still hated Black, but now, he was hating a dead man he could no longer hurt.

In truth, he almost wished Black were still alive. He could deliver one more insult, one more taunt. He'd have a chance to cast the blistering boils and watch his fine skin erupt, or he could slip him a potion that left him impotent. He could tell Sirius Black to his face that his beloved Godson was not actually the son of James Potter. He could see Black's face melt in dismay at realizing James Potter had no legacy in this world. Or better yet, he could hear Black attest to how much he cared about the boy, regardless of his bloodline, and watch him grovel for continued rights to Harry. It was a parent's prerogative, after all, under every wizarding law, to appoint the Godfather, and Snape could appoint someone else. Someone Black hated.

These fanciful thoughts flashed through his mind in mere moments, and he found Dumbledore still gazing at him, waiting for Severus to nod his head and stoically accept Remus Lupin back into the school, to approve of yet another crony of James Potter's dancing into Hogwarts and taking the reigns of Snape's students. Of Snape's son.

"Very well. I see I have no say in this," he said. "But I won't stay around over the holidays to watch him claim his new position."

"That is your choice, Severus. Where will you go?" Dumbledore's tone was conversational.

Again, he was struck by the magnitude of the Headmaster's betrayal. After everything the Marauders had done to him, the hell they'd put him through, the fact that they, as much as anyone, had driven him into the arms of the Dark Lord... Dumbledore had given them his son. Potter, Black, and even Lupin had a stronger claim on Snape's flesh and blood than he himself did.

By Merlin, that was enough to drive a man to madness.

And that madness lay behind his next words: "I'll go to the family's northern properties. With my son."

Dumbledore looked startled for a whole second before his clear blue eyes were again impassive.

"What do you hope to gain from this?"

"Come now, Headmaster," Snape said, and deliberately parroted back Dumbledore's own words: "Surely you're not going to read ulterior motives into everything I do."

Dumbledore leaned back to regard him; his eyes no longer twinkled. "I will, indeed... Because you do have ulterior motives." He raised an aged finger to his lips thoughtfully. "Is this about Lupin, or is this about me?"

You, Snape's treacherous thoughts answered. But he did not surrender a millimeter with his reply. "Perhaps it's about me."

"About you..." Dumbledore looked doubtful, but he nodded nonetheless. "Perhaps, Severus, it's time for it to be about him."

Snape didn't need to ask who 'he' was. "But isn't everything about the precious Boy-Who-Lived?" He smiled coldly. "He's certainly convinced of it."

"You don't understand him at all, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "And I won't let you hurt him."

"You have no choice," Snape sneered. "If you refuse my request, I will go to the ministry and officially claim him as my son. I will gain custody, and you will lose your spy in the Dark Lord's inner circle."

Shock washed over Dumbledore's face. "Severus--"

Snape refused to back down. "I will no longer allow you to circumvent my will! He may be your precious Boy-Who-Lived, but he is my blood. If I wish to take him, you will allow me, or so help me, I'll make you. "

Dumbledore's expression hardened. "That will be unnecessary, Severus. I'll release Mr. Potter to your custody for the holidays, but should you spend the entire time treating him... as you do," a flicker of distaste passed over Dumbledore's expression, "I will be very unhappy."

Something about the tone of the older wizard's pronouncement sent a chill up Snape's spine, and he gazed at Dumbledore through narrowed eyes, feeling strangely on edge as though he were in front of the slitted, red gaze of his other master. A dozen suppositions swirled through his head at once, but in the end, they all settled upon one conclusion-- Dumbledore was angry because he truly cared about Harry Potter.

No... He loved him.

Snape felt irrationally jealous of his son. Harry Potter held a place in Dumbledore's heart that Snape himself had never claimed, no matter how desperately he'd once needed it. Had that boy been the target during the Shrieking Shack incident, Severus had no doubt the offenders would have been expelled rather than severely reprimanded.

For some reason, the aged headmaster loved Harry Potter like he'd never loved the young Severus Snape.

Snape rose from his seat, still prickling with that unpleasant envy and anger. "Very well," he said with a slight dip of his head. "I'll try my best with the brat." There was a vague, hollow ache within him. Somewhere, somehow, he felt like he'd been robbed.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said softly, relief in his blue eyes. Relief.

Severus looked away, unable to bear the sight.

* * *

Harry sat in his empty dorm room long after the other students had cleared out, his Transfiguration textbook spread open on his lap. He stared blindly at the pages; the words made little sense right now.

It was funny how he'd spent the entire term avoiding company, yet now that the term was over, he was aching with loneliness. The Weasleys had invited him on their trip (courtesy of the prospering Fred and George), but Harry had declined. He wouldn't endanger them with his presence, and he didn't want to be an intruder on the first Christmas they could afford to celebrate as they wished. He doubted Dumbledore would let him, anyway.

His mind strayed to Grimmauld Place. He supposed he could go there; he'd spent weeks with his run of the house in the summer as Sirius's will made its way through the courts. The place felt horribly empty. Even after Nymphadora Tonks began keeping him company, he was constantly reminded of how desperately he missed Sirius.

Perhaps Grimmauld Place would be better now that Remus had returned from... wherever the hell he had been all those months.

He reached down and flipped to the next page of the textbook, feeling a small flutter in his stomach as he recalled the rumors he'd heard. Remus might be the new DADA Professor. He hadn't seen Lupin since that day at the train station. It was unsettling that he hadn't heard from him. Early on Harry had entertained some vague notion they'd commiserate together, but now he wasn't sure of anything. Why hadn't Remus answered him, or even sent a brief acknowledgement in response to his letters?

A few possibilities occurred to Harry as to why... But he did not wish to contemplate them. He didn't think he could stand it.

Too painful. Too close.

He gave up on the Transfiguration textbook and tossed it carelessly onto the bed, resolving to think on more pleasant subjects. He had a promise in writing that Tonks was going to visit him, maybe spirit him away for a few days over the holidays. Her auror duties kept her busy and allowed for no winter vacation time (dark wizards had little respect for school holidays, after all), but she'd seemed fairly certain she could take a few sick days to keep him company.

Harry felt immediately happier as his thoughts turned to the young auror. She was the only one who seemed to understand after Sirius's death, and the only member of the Order that didn't treat Harry like a recalcitrant child. His thoughts turned back to those last few days in Grimmauld Place, alone with Tonks, and he felt his cheeks color. His gaze unconsciously drifted over to her still-open letter, wondering if that had just been an anomaly or if she really...

"Shit!"

Harry tumbled off the bed in shock when Snape's black form appeared in the doorway.

"Watch your language, Potter," Snape said coldly, stepping in uninvited and shutting the door behind him with a kick of his black boot.

"Professor Snape!" He was aghast. "What-- why--"

Snape. Black greasy hair, enormous, hooked nose, and disdainful sneer. In Gryffindor.

In Harry's room.

He could swear he'd had a nightmare about this, once.

"I'm pleased you've learned my name over the course of six years," Snape remarked snidely, observing him through narrowed eyes. "I'll clearly have to re-evaluate my opinion of your mental capabilities."

Harry recovered from his shock. "What the hell are you doing here, Snape?"

"I'm collecting you for the holidays," Snape replied. A cold, sadistic smile spread across his face at Harry's horrified expression. "So get packed, Potter."

Harry gaped at him a moment more, then laughed wildly. "Are you insane? I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"According to the Headmaster, you are."

"No one told me anything about this," Harry said desperately.

Snape smirked cruelly. "Yes, that was my job, wasn't it? I suppose it must have slipped my mind." Ignoring Harry for a moment, he waved his wand and barked a curt, "Pack!"

Harry was too stunned to react as his treacherous belongings soared up through the air and into his chest. Another flick of the wand and the chest latched shut.

Snape glanced disdainfully around the room once more with a sweep of his black eyes. "That appears to be sufficient. Now move, Potter. I don't have all day."

"I told you," Harry said in a hard voice, with a sudden rush of determination. "I am not going with you."

Snape glared at him. "Well, your belongings are. Accio wand!" Harry's grasping hand just missed his wand. Snape grabbed it and held the wand between two fingers, wiggling it tauntingly. "As is your wand."

"But I'm not!" Harry insisted. "I don't even know what the hell you're doing. You hate me. Why would you ever want to spend the holidays with me?"

"I thought that was obvious, Potter," Snape said with a malevolent glitter to his eyes. "I'm sick of looking at a miniature James Potter, and finally I have an excuse to do something about it." He raised an eyebrow. "Two weeks is more than enough time to figure out how to break that glamour, wouldn't you say?"

"What!?" Harry looked with distaste over the Potion Master's sallow complexion, hooked nose, and lank, greasy hair. "No way," he said, suddenly nervous. "I like the way I look."

"I can't imagine why," Snape noted dryly, looking over Harry's messy hair and scrawny frame with equal distaste.

Well, to hell with Snape!

"I'm not saying I'm anything special," he replied defensively, "but I certainly don't want to look like you!"

He expected Snape to be angry. However, a merciless smile stretched across the other man's lips, revealing his uneven, yellowing teeth in all their glory.

"Well then, it's a pity you have no say in the matter, son." He leaned forward menacingly to glare straight into Harry's eyes. "And I warn you," he added softly. "The nose and hair? They're hereditary."