1996

Dad. Severus froze, his breath catching in his chest at the word and then his thoughts were reeling back to James’ innocent jibe, fifteen years ago.

“Severus, for the love of Merlin, do you have to do that in here?”

Severus raised his black eyebrow at James’ annoyed question. “You have an office, you do realize,” Severus returned. James glowered at him. Severus didn’t even pause as he continued plying quill to parchment, the steady scratch, scratch, making the corners of James’ mouth turn down even further.

Severus knew perfectly well what had James in such a foul temper and he smiled to himself as he enjoyed the memory of James’ anger at the mutt this afternoon. And Black’s confusion and the wonderfully hurt look on his face when James had snapped at him for insulting Severus. Severus stifled the urge to let his smirk touch his lips. James was still directing his glare at Severus every few minutes as it was; no need to anger the Gryffindor any further.

“Sev.” His wife’s musical voice had Severus looking up from his parchment and stilling his quill. James heaved a sigh of relief at the interruption. Lily noticed immediately, as she shifted Harry to her other hip and eyed the two men. “James, you’re not still upset about Sirius, are you?” she asked, concern touching her emerald eyes.

James flushed and turned back to his own parchment. “No,” he lied and Severus made a small noise. James’ eyes flashed back up to the Potions Master and Severus allowed himself a small smirk this time. The expression made James roll his eyes before he turned back to his work.

Lily just shook her head at the two men and turned to her husband. “Harry wants you to read him a story before bedtime…don’t you, Harry?” she asked the little boy. Harry smiled and reached for Severus.

“Daddy,” Harry demanded as he reached out for Severus. Severus stood immediately and took the little boy in his arms, reaching out automatically to smooth down the boy’s ceaselessly messy hair.

“Are you ready for bed, Harry?” Severus asked his little son. Harry shook his head at the suggestion, his lips puckering in a frown.

“Daddy will read you a story,” Lily promised the child and Harry smiled toothily up his father, while Severus gave Lily a slight frown, as he always did when she referred to him that way.

But before he could react appropriately, James cut in, “You really better get used to it, Severus. One of these days, it’ll probably just be Dad,” his tone highly amused at Severus’ chagrin.

Dad? It was a foreign word to Severus, who had called his own father nothing but father... or more often, sir. But it wasn’t as though Tobias had ever done anything to warrant emulation. And, judging by the way Lily was grinning between her husband and son, Severus couldn’t help but feeling that perhaps Dad might suit his son quite nicely.

…One of these days, it’ll probably just be Dad. James of course could have had no idea just how this day would have come and Severus, feeling as though he could no longer breathe, turned slowly, carefully erecting his shields so his face would not betray even a hint of his near-panic as he searched for what to say. And even when Severus was finally facing his son, still words eluded him.

Harry was shifting nervously, his feet fairly dancing as he stood there, waiting for Severus to respond. What was he supposed to say? How could he explain to Harry how much he had missed the word, though back then it had been Daddy?

Severus wanted to tell Harry again that he could address him however he chose but he was certain that would make his son even more anxious than he had been all day as he had struggled with what to call him. And it wasn’t lost on Severus that Harry had chosen Dad first and had only added on Father as he saw how the first had affected the him.

And Harry was still staring at him. Damn. Severus had to tread carefully. His son was much more fragile than even he could have dreamed of. Best not to tamper too much with their somewhat tenuous peace. Holding his features as smoothly as he could, Severus said carefully, “The first will suffice.” And then he awaited judgment.

xxxxx

Snape slowly turned around and Harry, feeling incredibly foolish, shifted from foot to foot as he waited for the man to say something. Anything.

But Snape was staring, just staring and Harry was about to just retract the entire idiotic attempt when his father said stiffly, “The first will suffice.”

The first? Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself laughing. Snape couldn’t even bring himself to say the word! Harry couldn’t stop his lips from twitching madly though as his father continued to watch him, the stiffness slowly draining from Snape’s angular face.

“All right,” Harry agreed nonchalantly, keeping the laughter firmly at bay. He pushed his hands into his pockets for good measure, trying to demonstrate how easy the whole exchange had been. His father, it seemed, was not fooled.

After a quiet minute, he said gruffly, “I am gratified that you found courage enough.”

Harry stared at him. “Oh. Well, er…sure,” he offered, not knowing what else to say.

Snape inclined his head. “We should be going before your friends began to wonder if I’ve resorted to testing Muggle tortures on you,” he told him, his voice lilting a bit with what Harry was beginning to recognize as humour.

He smiled. “All right, but I still want to know why I can’t go anywhere alone,” he reminded his father pointedly and Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Surely you realize that the Dark Lord is quite desperate to see you again.”

Harry nodded. “He’s been after me for years, though. I’ve been alone before,” he said with a shrug.

His father firmed his lips. “Albus has very different ideas than I do about how best to keep you safe.”

Harry blinked. “So, then…this is you’re idea?”

Snape scowled at Harry’s choice of words. “It is not an idea,” his father scathed. “Every one of the Dark Lord’s followers has orders to find a way to get their hands on you. You are well protected within the castle’s walls but I do not wish to trust even its security. There is more than one Death Eater’s child who would be pleased to hand you over to Voldemort.”

Harry started at his father’s use of Voldemort’s name, and his father gave him a pointed look as if to say, “See, I can be just as enlightened as your little friends,” though Harry was pretty sure the likelihood of Snape actually thinking that was dismally low.

Harry turned his thoughts from the surprise he felt and asked the obvious question, “So the Slytherins have orders too?”

“Do not be naive. Not all Slytherins are the children of Death Eaters.” Harry paused to consider that; it did of course make sense. Just as not all Gryffindors were honorable. Peter Pettigrew certainly hadn’t been.

“But, do the others-”

“I do not know.” Snape’s voice was full of regret and Harry’s insides pinched.

“You can’t know everything,” he tried to reassure his father. Snape’s upper lips curled slightly.

“I am surprised however to hear you acknowledge as much,” he said coolly.

Harry shrugged, not all bothered by Snape’s light barb. “Most of the things I don’t know, I could know, if someone would just tell me,” he returned and he was surprised when his father glanced away.

“Harry,” Snape said quietly when he was looking at Harry again. “I do realize that you do need to be included more than you have been in the past…” at Harry’s eager look, Snape held up a hand, “…but, whether you want to admit or not, you are still a child. Some decisions will have to be made for you,” Snape finished and Harry glared up at him.

“I’m not a child. I’ve done-”

But Snape interrupted him again. “Yes,” he agreed, “you have accomplished more in your life than any young man ought to, but that does not make you an adult. More importantly though, there are some things that you just can’t do.”

Harry, trying to listen carefully to his father’s words, didn’t rise again to anger. “You keep saying that…” he began, “you and Remus and Dumbledore. But, even if I can’t do whatever it is you three are doing, you could still tell me and maybe I could help somehow.” The argument was very reasonable, Harry thought. But, Snape had the gall to raise a scornful brow.

“You forget, Harry that I have watched you for five years, rushing off at any sign of trouble, without thought to anything else,” Snape informed him, looking both annoyed and amused, though how he could, Harry really had no idea.

And Harry wondered if Snape had realized he had just given him a very important clue. Well, even if he hadn’t, he was clued in quickly as Harry smiled in spite of himself. His father leaned in toward him again and he said threateningly, “Which is a pattern, you will not be continuing.”

Harry swallowed, wondering how Snape could switch so swiftly from amused to menacing. “Erm…okay,” Harry hurriedly assured the man.

Snape pulled back and after eying Harry assessingly, said, “I am quite serious, Harry.”

“Yeah…I sort of got that,” Harry told him smartly, though he was smiling.

“Make sure you do not forget it,” his father stressed, still glaring at him and Harry laughed.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not likely to let me.”

“No, I am not,” his father assured him, his eyes shadowing once again, but this time, Harry was convinced the pain he saw in those obsidian eyes was not caused by anything he had done.

------

After they had stepped through Snape’s office Floo, his father grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him back from his attempt to open the door. Harry looked up questioningly and Snape pointed silently to a small round orb on his desk; it was glowing brightly red.

Not bothering to explain, Snape used his wand to tap the orb gently. The red mist dissipated and then the shapes of three people began to form. Ginny, Ron and Hermione were standing around the frogs that Harry had not finished gutting, and Harry grinned at the suspicious looks on their faces as they stared down at the dead animals, as though they were wondering if a transfigured Harry could be among the pile.

“It seems your friends are early,” Snape intoned and Harry glanced up nervously at his father.

“You’re not going to make me finish those frogs, are you?” It would be just like Snape to do just that, after he’d banished his friends from the room, of course.

“Are you going to be erecting any more Privacy Spells in public?” his father returned, rather snidely to Harry’s ears.

Harry opened his mouth to argue that it hadn’t really been in public but since that would likely get him nowhere, he asked instead, “How did you even know about that?”

“I have my ways,” his father said mysteriously and Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes that time.

“Am I going to be able to do anything without you knowing about it?” he complained and Snape peered down at him.

“I would not advise doing anything you would not wish me to know about.”

Harry’s cheeks burned as he thought about all the time he’d spent with Ginny, the two of them all but plastered together by a Sticking Charm. Ignoring Harry’s embarrassment, Snape strode to his office door and jerked it open. Harry followed, wishing he could sink through the floor. The feeling was made worse at Ginny’s wide grin. Hermione smiled as well, though Ron’s expression was more like a scowl.

Ginny’s smile faltered though as soon as she noticed Harry’s deep flush. She narrowed her eyes and turned to Snape.

Before she could even open her mouth, Snape informed her, “You may rest assured that there is no need for your ire.”

Ginny, looking surprised that Snape would address her without bellowing or sneering, turned to Harry for confirmation. He nodded. Unconvinced, the redhead turned back to Snape. “Then why are you making him disembowel frogs?” she demanded. “This wasn’t supposed to be a real detention,” she reminded him tartly.

“Perhaps you should ask Harry,” Snape suggested mildly and then turned away to return to his desk, and the four Gryffindors watched mesmerized, as the Potions Master’s robes billowed around him, and Harry knew a frivolous urge to ask his father just how the hell he did that.

And then Harry’s friends were staring at him instead, most likely in amazement that the cold Potions Master had just called their friend Harry. He shrugged, hoping Ron and Hermione would quit staring at him. He’d had enough of just being looked at today.

Hermione finally whispered to Harry, “Well, Harry?”

As she was obviously referring to the frog gutting, Harry shrugged. “Privacy Spell,” he explained and then wished he hadn’t. Ron turned to glare at Snape.

“Unless you wish to finish the task, Mr. Weasley, I suggest you find another expression.” Ron’s face immediately snapped out of its glower and he turned back to Harry.

“Still a git, I see,” he noted quietly.

Harry cringed, knowing that his father would have been able to hear Ron’s slur. But, when no further comment came from Snape, Harry just shrugged, not wanting to insult his father…at least not in front of him.

“Ronald,” Hermione hissed and then darted a quick glance towards Snape’s desk. Snape was back to marking essays and didn’t seem to be paying any attention to Harry or his friends.

Harry couldn’t figure out how or even if he should say goodbye to his father, so he settled for simply telling his friends, “We better get going,” to which Ron and Hermione nodded eagerly.

Ginny, however was watching Harry and then she turned abruptly back to Snape. “Goodbye, Professor,” she said confidently and Harry wished he could kiss her as Snape looked up.

“Ms. Weasley,” he acknowledged.

Gathering his courage again, though it was much easier now that Ginny had already started. “See you later,” Harry rushed out and his father nodded.

“I will see you Tuesday evening,” he told him and then added, “You will need to go to the Headmaster’s office. Professor McGonagall will escort you.”

Right. Remus would be gone. Harry had almost forgotten about that and now all his worries came rushing back. His father’s voice startled him out of his concerns though, as Snape said in a hard tone, “I expect you to keep our earlier conversation private.”

Harry’s stomach flipped at his father’s words. There was no way he could promise not to tell his friends about everything, especially about Draco. Ron and Hermione had been with him every step for five years, and now Ginny...well, he certainly wasn’t about to keep this from her. And really, Snape had no right to ask him to. And Harry was certain it was only his general dislike of everything Gryffindor that would even make this an issue.

But as Harry didn’t think it would be the best idea to offer up any of these excuses in front of his friends, he just nodded, even though he knew he would fare no better once Snape found out about the blatant lie. Well he would just have to make sure his father didn’t find out, Harry told himself. It was as simple as that.

With that thought firmly ensconced in his brain, he turned at Snape’s nod of dismissal and left with his friends. “We need to go somewhere private,” Harry told them as soon as they were well clear of his father’s classroom.

------

Hermione had been predictably reluctant for Harry to go against his father’s wishes and even Ginny vacillated, but after Ron’s rather startling argument that neither of them would have hesitated to defy their parents if they thought it necessary, both girls had given in. Hermione even put up the Silencing Spell this time, after Harry had explained that Snape had somehow known about the one he’d done, and he had hoped fervently that his father wouldn’t be able to detect Hermione’s as well.

Flitwick filled in for Remus on Monday, in both the classroom and in the D.A. group. Harry and the other members were astonished at just how powerful the tiny little Professor was. Flitwick, absurdly pleased at their praise, had demonstrated a magnificent Crushing Jinx amidst the oohs and ahhs of the students. Even Harry, who had at first been resentful of Flitwick for taking Remus’ place, had been impressed.

Tuesday found Harry back in Potions class, with a much subdued Malfoy. Harry, feeling distinctly uncomfortable after Saturday’s revelations, couldn’t even bring himself to find anything to be annoyed at the Slytherin for. Harry even found himself going out of his way to make sure he didn’t annoy Malfoy, quickly adding ingredients as soon as Malfoy looked at him and dicing the slimy grubs before Malfoy could. It seemed a wasted effort however, as the silent Slytherin boy didn’t even seem to notice; he was too busy staring at things unseen.

By the end of class, Malfoy looked thoroughly depressed and Harry felt a rush of pity for the other boy as he watched him leaving the classroom with his two usual companions. Harry knew exactly how that felt, at least…the constant presence of his friends. Come to think of it, Harry knew the threat of torture and death by Voldemort’s hand as well.

Harry, completely lost to his thoughts hadn’t noticed the nearly empty classroom until Ron hissed impatiently from the door, “Harry!” Harry looked up. Ron made a ‘come on’ motion with his head and Harry scrambled to stuff his belongings into his sack; without meaning to, he caught Snape’s eye.

His father was studying him, as though the man was trying to determine something and with a lurch, Harry remembered his mild deception on Saturday. Regretting it, though much too late, Harry turned quickly from his father’s now almost calculating expression and hurried to join Ron and Hermione by the door, wishing fervently that he didn’t have to see his father again this evening.

“How could he possibly know?” Hermione wondered as Harry and his friends worked on their homework in the library after dinner.

Harry shrugged. “Who knows, but he seems to know everything I’m doing,” he muttered over the essay Flitwick had assigned for D.A.D.A.

“Some sort of Surveillance Charm?” Ron guessed but Hermione shook her head.

“I’ve never heard of one,” she told them, as if that settled the matter.

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” Harry told his friend grouchily, overly nervous about the possibility of a confrontation with Snape later. Hermione lifted a lofty brow and turned back to one of her ever-present books. Harry tried to ignore Ron’s reproachful glare, but finally sighed and offered, “Sorry, Hermione.”

Hermione glanced up again, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Well, you did have a point,” she conceded and then followed with, “Do you want me to see if I can find anything about a Surveillance Charm?” her eyes lighting now with renewed fervor. Harry chuckled as he nodded.

Ron, looking much happier with Harry’s apology asked, “How many frogs do you think he’ll make you gut this time?”

Harry shook his head resignedly. “He’ll probably make it mice this time.”

Hermione made a face and Ron grinned. “Better you than me, mate.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry grumbled, thinking it was going to become very tiresome having a Professor for a father.

“Maybe he doesn’t even know,” Ginny put in, obviously hoping to soothe Harry’s worry but he shook his head.

“Well if he doesn’t, he’s got something else on his mind and that’s probably even worse.”

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall’s impatient voice interrupted, and the four Gryffindors looked up at their head of house. Harry almost groaned. But, he stood up anyway, knowing there was not going to be a way avoid seeing his father. Harry gathered his things together. McGonagall turned away, expecting Harry to follow. And, after a kiss to Ginny, he did.

“Good luck, mate!” Ron called after him, chortling unnecessarily until Harry heard a muffled, “Oomph,” as his friend was likely elbowed in the ribs by Hermione. Harry grinned.

When Harry and McGonagall reached the imposing Gargoyle, she stopped abruptly and demanded, “Is he mistreating you?”

Taken aback, Harry stammered, “What…what do you mean?”

The Professor waved her fingers pointedly toward the Headmaster’s office, indicating that Snape was waiting for them. “I will not stand by and let him-”

“No, Professor,” Harry interrupted quickly. “It’s alright. He hasn’t done anything.”

McGonagall however, looked unconvinced. She didn’t say anything more though as she gave the password to the Gargoyle and then ushered Harry onto the stairs.

When they reached the door, McGonagall pushed it open and stepped into the Headmaster’s office. Snape was waiting for them. McGonagall marched up to Snape, a look of determination on her face. “I hope you are treating Harry well,” she snapped at the Potions Master, who raised an eyebrow at her rather imperious tone.

Then he glanced at Harry. “Has he suggested otherwise?” he asked the Deputy Headmistress icily.

“I didn’t!” Harry exclaimed from over by the heavy door, wanting to end that theory immediately.

McGonagall paid no attention to Harry. “You know as well as I do, Severus Snape, that your behavior toward Harry has been abominable over the past five years. I cannot believe that even certain revelations could change that so easily.”

His father’s face had gone ghostly pale and Harry felt sick.

“Professor, please don’t…” Harry pleaded, his voice strained, but his Head of House cut him off, still glaring at Snape.

“You will do well to remember that I am still Harry’s Head of House and I will not tolerate any more of your mistreatment of the boy.” McGonagall’s voice was very cold. “Especially as Albus is not here to undermine my efforts in that regard.” It was silent in the room, as her threat hung ominously over the trio.

His eyes were chips of black ice as Snape replied in a dangerously low voice, “And, while you have been his Head of House, Harry has been in almost constant danger. You failed as soundly in your responsibilities as I have in mine. And, you, Minerva, will keep in mind that as Harry’s father, my authority supersedes yours.”

“Your authority?” McGonagall sputtered, and Harry sucked in a breath as he watched the two Professors staring each other down.

“Yes, my authority, Minerva. And I will not tolerate any more of your scurrilous accusations that I am mistreating my son in any way.”

McGonagall’s face betrayed her surprise and then she narrowed her eyes very slightly as she assessed Harry’s father. “As long as you give me no reason to make such accusations,” she agreed finally, her voice like steel.

After a beat, Snape inclined his head. “There will be no reason for concern,” he assured her stiffly.

Apparently not completely satisfied, McGonagall turned to Harry. “You know where to find me, should you need me.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Erm…yes, ma’am,” he murmured, avoiding eye contact with both of the adults.

McGonagall left swiftly though Harry didn’t know if she’d looked again at Snape as he was staring firmly at Fawkes’ empty perch. He heard the door close behind her and only then did Harry chance a glance up at his father.

Snape was staring at him, his face without expression. Harry wanted to say something to erase McGonagall’s cruel words. But even as harsh as they had been, it didn’t change their truthfulness. But the years of hurt had already been acknowledged and Snape had even apologized, albeit in the privacy of their minds. Harry was far from over all that had passed between them but neither was he going to purposely cause his father pain by re-hashing it.

“I didn’t say anything,” was all Harry could come up with, and even he could hear how lame that sounded.

“Her point is valid, nonetheless,” Snape replied quietly, holding Harry’s gaze.

Harry shrugged, keeping his tone studiously light. “So was yours,” he reasoned. “McGonagall wouldn’t exactly win the Head of House award,” he quipped with a forced smile.

“She has had little support.” Harry felt a rush of confusion. Why was his father defending McGonagall? “You should not dismiss her so easily,” Snape continued at Harry’s quizzical look, even though Snape shouldn’t have been able to know what Harry had been thinking.

He stared at his father. The man certainly was an enigma. Was he actually telling him to continue to rely on another adult? Well, it was just McGonagall. Harry doubted he’d get the same advice regarding Remus. As Snape was still gazing at him, Harry nodded, letting his father know he’d heard and understood.

“Harry,” his father began softly, his eyes intent, but Harry shook his head hurriedly, not wanting to continue this conversation as he was beginning to feel as though the walls were pressing in on him.

“I have a lot of homework,” he told his father. “We should probably get started,” he suggested, beginning toward the Floo.

“We will practice here tonight,” Snape stopped him, his voice sounding somewhat normal again. Harry turned back to his father.

“Why?” he asked curiously.

“The Headmaster will be coming later. I need to speak with him briefly.” Harry perked up at this bit of news.

“Is Remus coming too?” Harry asked hopefully.

“No.”

Trying to hide his disappointment, Harry only nodded. And then, he prepared himself for his father’s testing.

“Ready,” he told his father.

Snape nodded and they began. The flames seemed thinner, sparser than Harry remembered from their last lesson, but as it had been a week since they’d last practiced, Harry couldn’t be sure. He turned his attention to strengthening his own shields as the flames began to lick closer to his storm.

Instinctively, Harry guided his storm to push against the fire inside his mind and as he did, he felt their unusual weakness. They felt almost without substance and Harry shoved. The flames flickered briefly and Harry saw Malfoy, sitting with Snape in the Potions Classroom.

“Potter hates me,” the blonde boy was saying angrily.

And Snape was telling him, “Then you’d best find a way to remedy that.”

With a great roar of his flames, Snape forced the scene back down into his own mind and with a might heave, Harry was back in Dumbledore’s office, breathing heavily as he stared at his father.

“You’ve been trying to force Malfoy to be nice to me?” Harry asked incredulously.

“I would hardly use the term ‘force’,” his father said vaguely as he steadied his own breathing.

“Well, I would,” Harry clarified after he’d taking a few slow breaths. “We’ve hated each other for years,” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” Snape said, gazing at Harry with a strange expression. “Much as James and I did.”

Well at least now Harry understood the expression. He cocked a challenging brow at his father though and asked sarcastically, “What, you want me father Pansy’s baby and then conceal it from everybody except Malfoy?” and then he waited for the rebuke, but Snape surprised him yet again.

He narrowed his eyes. “I would not suggest a bond between you and Ms. Parkinson, no. I do not believe your Ms. Weasley would approve in any case, as it seems you are far more likely to father a litter of Weasleys than Parkinsons,” he said smoothly.

Harry’s face burned scarlet. Before he could stammer out a response, Snape said coolly, “Which is another topic we will need to discuss, rather soon I should think.”

Merlin...

If Snape was trying to tell him he wanted to talk about sex with him…well, Harry would just head straight to Voldemort and his entire army of murderous Death Eaters right now. Too embarrassed to even attempt a response, Harry just stared at his father, his mind going over every possible interaction Snape might have seen between him and Ginny, if the man did indeed have some sort of Surveillance Charm. Bloody Hell.

“Raise your shields,” his father commanded, swiftly changing the subject, but as Harry was quickly becoming used to his father’s abrupt mannerisms, he obeyed. He forced especially, all thoughts of Ginny deep below his shields, testing the storm vigorously after his thoughts were safely Occluded

Snape’s efforts were relentless; his flames raged mercilessly against Harry’s dark storm. But Harry’s shield had grown stronger with each session and as he was practicing daily this time around, his father’s shields were beginning to be tested as well, even after Snape had gotten over the earlier distraction that had caused his weakened state; his father’s shield was stronger than ever. Harry was no longer just a student of Occlumency. His Dementor Storm was quickly becoming a force to be reckoned with.

As Snape broke off contact with Harry’s mind after a particularly long struggle, and Harry watched his father working to get his breathing back under control, he couldn’t help but feel a feel a bit smug. Soon enough, even Voldemort, would not be able to get through his shields.

Snape noticed Harry’s look and informed him condescendingly, “Your overconfidence will only undermine your efforts.”

Harry frowned. “I’m not overconfident,” he objected.

“Were you not just thinking how easily you will best the Dark Lord?”

“Not exactly,” Harry hedged.

Without warning, Snape raised his wand. “Defend yourself!” he hissed and Harry scrambled to erect his shields, only just managing before his father’s flames could overtake his storm.

Damn you, Harry raged silently and he could have sworn he could sense the vibration of laughter from the flames, taunting him with gentle flicks against his gathered cloud. Show me what you can do then, Harry, the flames called to him.

Shoring up his hasty shields, Harry fought. He fought for control of his memories, battling as though it really was Voldemort this time, as if it really counted. And it did, in a way; Harry was determined to show his father he was strong enough.

Storm and Flame raged, clashing mightily, each passing minute bringing weakness and then strength again to one side or the other. But there was no acrimony in this war, no real anger, not anymore. This was pure skill, two minds pitted against one another in common combat, each one hoping that Harry would be victor.

But that wouldn’t be the case this time. Harry, growing weaker as they dueled, finally succumbed, his cloud ripping soundlessly, though not enough to bring up Harry’s deeply buried memories. Harry slammed back to the present.

“Damn you,” Harry gasped as he stumbled back, out loud this time, though there was no heat in the words and his father’s eyes glinted in quick amusement.

“As it was you who was consumed in flames, I believe you are the one who is damned.”

Harry smirked at his father, who raised an appreciative eyebrow.

“Well done,” he congratulated him sincerely and Harry’s insides glowed.

“Thanks,” he said happily, pleased at the unexpected compliment. “Should we try it again?” he asked eagerly, but Snape shook his head.

“That will be enough for tonight. You should not overtax yourself.”

“You just don’t want to go out on a loss,” Harry accused with a grin.

His raised his eyebrow again. “I suspect one day soon, I will….however until that time, it may be in your best interest to bury your more deceitful exploits further beneath your shields.” And with that simple suggestion, the warm glow disappeared.

Harry fumbled for a reply, knowing exactly what Snape was referring to. Finding no suitable response, he could only shrug.

“Clever however, asking Ms. Granger for a Silencing Spell,” Snape mocked as he peered at Harry through hooded eyes.

“If you’re gonna yell at me about everything you find while you’re Legilimizing me, we might as well just stop now,” Harry suggested, refusing to rise to his father’s jibe.

“You would prefer the Dark Lord to find your mind?” his father asked, as though he really was interested in the answer.

“No, but I don’t want you browsing around in there either,” Harry pointed out, to which his father favored him with a cool look.

“Perhaps you should simply stop doing things I would not approve of,” he advised prudently.

“Well, that’s about as likely as you taking points from Slytherin,” Harry retorted.

“Then you will need to ensure I do not break through again,” Snape said simply, his non-response an acquiescence of the impossibility of Harry’s points scenario. Harry rolled his eyes. Everything was so black and white with Snape. “But as I do know about your egregious lack of judgment,” his father continue, “I see know reason why you should not face the consequences.”

Harry looked up warily at his father, having expected this.

“A detention I think,” he father decided and Harry was almost sure the man was smirking, as he continued, “…with Filch. I’m sure he can find some toilets that need cleaning.”

“I’m not cleaning toilets,” Harry protested, finally allowing his ire to show. “Not for that!”

“Not for lying? Or not for your disobedience?” Snape inquired, with his old sneer back in place.

Disobedience. The word sounded very strange coming from Snape’s lips, Harry decided as he glared. “I didn’t exactly lie and you didn’t really tell me not to tell them…only that you expected me not to.” He figured it couldn’t hurt to rationalize a bit.

“My intent was clear,” his father growled, his eyes widening slightly at Harry’s audacity.

“No it wasn’t,” Harry tried to deny, which only made his father’s face darken. And then Dumbledore’s Floo roared to life. Harry turned toward the fireplace, relieved at the Headmaster’s timely interruption.

And then Harry stopped breathing. It seemed his father had been wrong. Because there was Remus, lying bloodied and absolutely unmoving, in Dumbledore’s arms.