Severus opened Harry's door a crack early the next morning and peered in, before he went up to check on Albus. The boy was still asleep, and Severus was pleased to see it. For the first time, for a long time, it seemed as though Harry had had a settled night. As Severus backed out of his room he admitted that it was the beginning of a new era. He actually felt relieved that Harry Potter had had a pain free, uninterrupted sleep. So this is what it felt like to be a father...worrying about the simple things, like whether your child slept well or not.

Of course, the uninterrupted night had also been a relief for him...no summons from the Dark Lord or Matron McGonagall. True, it was only seven AM, but Severus had always managed on very little sleep. He functioned perfectly well with four or five hours a night.

However, it appeared that Harry, if left well alone, was quite content to wallow in bed indefinitely, and though he would not tolerate the established teenage habit of sleeping till midday on a normal basis, for the moment at least, Severus didn't mind. The boy had had a rough trot lately. It was only about two weeks since he had recovered from the effects of the poisoning, and since he had regained consciousness, he had had four or five episodes of severe scar pain and headaches. Albus had told Severus that the connection between Harry and the Dark Lord had intensified alarmingly since the Dark Lord had been reborn. It was a wonder the kid even functioned.

Severus huffed a self-disgusted breath when he remembered that he couldn't have cared less how much the boy suffered mere weeks ago. Well, maybe he was being a little hard on himself. He wouldn't have wanted Harry to die as a result of his indisposition. He wouldn't have been able to stand the thought of Lily's censure, apart from anything else. Severus knew that even without their filial connection coming to light, Lily would have relied on him to help keep her son safe.

The only interest Severus had had in Harry's sufferings before the poisoning had been purely clinical, but now that he had seen the effects of these scar pain episodes first hand, he could not help but be affected by them. He thought that even if the discovery of their relationship had not been made, he would have been hard pressed to remain above it all.

When his own dark mark burned, the pain could become excruciating if the Dark Lord was in a particularly foul mood. But he had chosen to be branded; he had no-one to blame but himself for his occasional suffering; Harry had not asked for any of this. This had all been determined by fate and Harry was the unfortunate vessel that fate had decided to unleash this particular nightmare upon. Besides, Severus was able to occlude and block the worst of his pain. Harry had no such talent.

When Severus entered Albus's room, it was to find an amazingly chipper old man who seemed to be further down the road to recovery than Severus could have envisioned, considering the horrific injury he had suffered as a result of one of the darkest of curses. Albus was sitting up, propped by an extravagant amount of pillows, reading a long length of parchment. His glasses were propped on the edge of his nose and as far as Severus could tell, they were completely superfluous to needs because Albus was looking over the top of them.

As soon as Severus stepped into the room, Albus looked up and smiled, dropping the parchment and pushing the glasses further up his nose. He put his finger to his lips in a shushing motion and pointed across the other side of the room. Minerva was sound asleep in one of Albus's signature armchairs. She looked as comfortable as if she were in a bed because Albus-Severus knew it had been Albus, because Minerva would have considered it as nothing less than dereliction of duty to fall asleep on the job-had charmed the chair to recline. Minerva would have been dozing lightly, covered by a tartan rug and Albus would have turned the doze into a deep sleep by turning her chair into a bed.

Severus raised his eyebrow as he approached the bed and pulled out his wand. "You are so dead, old man," he said quietly.

"You underestimate me, Severus," said Albus, smiling like a loon. "As soon as she shows signs of awakening, I will set the chair to rights. She will think she fell asleep without any assistance from me."

Severus shook his head as he moved his wand in intricate circles over Albus's hand and then moved it slowly up his arm.

Albus endured his attentions with the impatience of the perpetually healthy. "I am entirely fine, Severus. Your potion, was perfection itself. But I would have expected nothing less. I am whole again, thanks to your potion and my spell." Severus transferred his attentions to Albus's vital organs, ensuring that the curse had not affected the approximately one hundred and fifty year old heart, liver and brain. The brain definitely didn't need any assistance to set it along the road to decline.

Decline for Albus Dumbledore was a very short journey indeed as far as his long suffering potions master was concerned. Severus finally put his wand away.

"There, I told you so, my boy," said Albus complacently. "As good as new."

"'No, Albus. I would say it is perhaps as good as your other one and a half century old hand. It is certainly not as good as new."

Albus chuckled again as Severus perched on the edge of the chair near the bed. "Which begs the question, why is it as good as your other hand, when the time span between when you put that bloody ring on and when I got the potion down your throat should have been long enough to kill you."

"I told you my..."

"There is no specific counter curse, Albus. I know. You stopped the curse in its tracks. How?"

Albus leaned over and picked up the wand on the bedside table and held it in front of Severus's face. Severus looked from the wand to Albus's twinkling eyes. He rolled his own eyes.

"Fine," he said through clenched teeth, as he regained his feet. "Keep your little secrets, old man. But if you have found a counter for this horrific curse, Albus, you are morally obliged..."

"If I had done any such thing, Severus, do you think I would keep it to myself?"

Severus glared for a moment and then he shook his head. "Then how?"

"Severus, you will learn all in good time, I promise you."

‘Profoundly irritated, Severus glared harder. Then he bit out, "If I tell you to stay in bed for at least a day, I suppose you will ignore me?"

Albus tilted his head to the side and looked suitably regretful when he said, "Severus, I am well enough. I promise not to do anything too strenuous."

‘Then I won't waste my breath and order you to stay in bed!"

"Excellent. I would hate to disobey my healer."

Severus threw a final glare before stalking to the door. The whole of this conversation had taken place in barely more than a whisper, but now Severus raised his voice to a normal volume.

"Just so you know, I'll be taking Harry back to the Burrow today, so can you open the floo connection from my rooms, please."

Shhh!" hissed Albus, flapping his uninjured hand, but it was too late; Minerva had awoken. She was one of those rare beings who was instantly alert as soon as they opened their eyes.

"I'll see you this evening, Albus," Severus said in an even louder voice and then, "Good morning, Minerva. Your patient awaits you, and I would prefer he stay in bed today." And throwing a smirk at a very disgruntled headmaster, Severus left the room.

Just as it had the day before, Minerva's strident tone accompanied a grinning Severus down the stairs and into the floo.

8888

Severus had just ordered breakfast from the kitchens when Harry stumbled out of his bedroom. Severus ‘s first instinct was to send him back to shower and dress, before he ate, but as he had found himself doing quite a lot lately, he bit his tongue and seated himself opposite the sleep dishevelled teen in his T-shirt and loose, low slung pyjama pants.

"Mornin'," said Harry around a wide yawn which he made little effort to cover.

"Good morning," answered Severus, in a long suffering voice, helping himself to a plate of eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes. "I gather you slept well?"

"Yeah," answered Harry, sounding slightly surprised as he loaded a plate with a weeks worth of animal fat. Severus cringed at the amount of bacon Harry was planning to consume. He doubted very much he would meet his aim, however. "I did! I haven't slept that well since before Si...since before the Department of Mysteries."

Severus glanced up, but Harry kept his face down as he began to eat. Severus noted that the little bit of skin he could see beneath the thick, untidy hair had paled a little. Harry was still profoundly affected by the death of Black. Ignoring the slip, Severus poured a glass of golden pumpkin juice and pushed it across the table before preparing two cups of tea and adding milk to dilute Harry's to the strength Severus had come to know he liked.

He knew that any platitudes he could come out with would be insincere at best, and so, it was best to remain quiet on the subject of Black. If Harry needed to talk through his grief, there was always Lupin who would be happy to listen. The werewolf would be sympathy itself.

Breakfast proceeded in silence and it was fifteen minutes later when Severus sat back, replete and with his customary second cup of tea in his hand. He watched as Harry put his knife and fork together, leaving at least a third of what he had served himself. Severus had known that the boy's eyes had been bigger than his belly.

Harry drained his cup and placed it back in its saucer. Severus pushed the teapot a little closer, but Harry shook his head and sat back. Severus studied the young face opposite him. The hair was its usual bird's nest and there was a fine shadow of stubble adorning Harry's jaw line and upper lip. But there was a bit more colour in the high cheeks today and Harry's eyes were clear and bright-their resemblance to Lily's even more striking now that they were not shadowed with illness or pain, or sleep deprivation. The full effects of the alcohol seemed to have worn off and there didn't appear to be any traces left of the cold. Colds and flu rarely lasted long for those with magical blood-nowhere near as long as they did for muggles. The potions available to ease the symptoms made the whole period of illness even shorter. Severus could never remember being laid low with flu for more than two days.

"You appear well today," said Severus. He dipped his head towards Harry's plate. "And considering that that is the most food I have seen you eat at one sitting, I take it that you are feeling much better."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I feel good today." He lightly rubbed the scar on his forehead. "Even this is hardly tingling. Your other boss must be taking a rest from murder and mayhem."

"No doubt," said Severus, thinking of the horrors of two nights ago. "How long have you had constant sensation in your scar?"

Harry shrugged. "Pretty much from when Pettigrew performed the spell that created that hideous body he chose for himself," he said matter-of-factly. "I didn't realise for a while because he wasn't as openly active as he is now. The main thing was me seeing him in my dreams obsessing over the prophecy. For a long time, I kept on seeing the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries. But the dreams got more and more detailed as the year went on. Dumbledore said that the more Vold..." Severus glared at Harry.

"Err...I mean the Dark Lord." Harry rolled his eyes. "The Dark Lord! He's no more a Lord than I am."

"All the same, Potter...Harry, I would prefer you stick to..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know! You have to stay in a mindset. But can't you see what a pretentious twat he is, dubbing himself ‘Lord Voldemort'?"

"I don't wish to discuss this..."

"You do know that his name's an anagram, don't you?" Severus looked surprised and despite himself, he was curious to know what Harry was talking about. He cocked his head to one side in a gesture that said Harry should continue.

"Yeah," said Harry. "His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle...Tom Riddle after his Muggle father, Marvolo after his wizard grandfather. Anyway, Tom Marvolo Riddle becomes, ‘I am Lord Voldemort'."

Severus was sitting side on to the table with his elbow resting on the white tablecloth and his face resting on his open palm. "He's a halfblood?" he said in a soft, slightly confused voice. "How, in the name of Merlin, do you know all of this? Did Dumbledore tell you?"

‘Riddle told me."

Severus's hand fell back onto the table with a thump. This was getting more and more fantastic "Riddle told you?" Harry nodded, pleased to be able to shock the generally unflappable potions master.

"When precisely did this conversation take place? Severus asked, unable to completely hide his scepticism. "Did he feel the need to convey this information to you in one of your visions? I am sure there wasn't time when you encountered each other at the Ministry."

Harry's face became set and he lowered his gaze to the remains of his greasy breakfast. "No," he said softly. "Chatting wasn't high on his list of priorities. He did talk to me, he just didn't require a response." Harry swallowed, refusing to look up, the memory of just what had happened mere weeks ago freezing his vocal cords for the moment.

"So what did he say?" asked Severus in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

"Not much," croaked Harry. "It amounted to, ‘I have nothing more to say to you, Potter. You have irked me too often, for too long.'" Harry shrugged as though he was talking of nothing more significant than losing a quidditch match, and it was Severus's turn for his face to become set in an expressionless mask.

"I'd be dead if Dumbledore hadn't arrived because I just stood there, totally gormless while Voldemort fired the killing curse at me...again. Dumbledore blocked it by charming part of the statue of Magical Brethren to jump in front of me."

There was silence for a full two minutes. Harry had picked up his fork and was scraping the tines through the layer of grease on his plate. Severus watched the aimless movement, his thoughts in turmoil; he had had no idea that the killing curse had been aimed at Harry again...for the third time if his calculations were correct. He had only been aware of the possession at the Ministry that had almost killed Harry-according to Dumbledore-and had ultimately had such a devastating effect on the Dark Lord, laying him low for at least two weeks.

"Anyway," continued Harry in a slightly stronger voice, as if he had not just related a near death experience to the father whom, not so very long ago, may have wished Harry had gotten a little more of a comeuppance than he had. "Tom Riddle told me himself about his ancestry and how he changed his name...or at least the memory of himself from the diary told me, down in the Chamber of Secrets."

Severus just stared at Harry, totally lost for words. As unbelievable as the story was, it didn't occur to Severus to disbelieve Harry. The more spectacular any story relating to Harry Potter was, the more likely it was to be true. Severus knew this boy had faced more danger-much of it actually here in the supposed safety of Hogwarts-than any other child of his age that Severus knew of.

But apart from the horrors in the graveyard at Little Hangleton; some of the details of which he had learned from a crowing Lucius Malfoy, Severus had never heard the finer details of Harry's other adventures. He just knew the bare bones of the business with Quirrel and the Philosopher's Stone, the rescue of Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets, and what had happened at the Ministry of Magic in June.

Harry dropped the fork down onto his plate with a ringing clatter before jumping to his feet. "I need to have a shower," he said shortly and he disappeared into his bedroom and shut the door.

Severus sighed and raised his hand to his forehead, rubbing the tension away as best he could with his fingertips. How in the hell was he going to connect with this kid?

8888

When Harry re-entered the lounge/dining room three quarters of an hour later, Severus was standing at his large desk going through some sheets of parchment. He looked up at a freshly showered Harry whose hair was still so wet, the neck and shoulders of his T-shirt were sopping.

"You do know what towels are for?" Severus drawled as he lowered his gaze to his task again.

"If I leave it wet, it doesn't stick up as much," explained Harry, walking over to the desk and looking down at the parchment.

"Oh, well thank Merlin you have such an effective strategy to cope with that particular problem." The drawl was even more pronounced and Harry's eyes snapped to Severus's face. Harry thought he saw a quickly suppressed smirk adorn the thin lips.

"What's all this?" asked Harry, indicating the closely written sheets of parchment.

"Work," said Severus succinctly. "I'll be taking you back to the Weasley's in a few minutes."

Harry glanced up again. Severus had separated about eight sheets of the thick parchment from the rest of the pile. He opened a drawer in the desk and placed the remaining sheets within before locking the drawer with a charm.

Harry followed Severus into the lab and hoisted himself onto the same bench he had sat upon yesterday. Severus ignored Harry's presence as he stalked around gathering together containers full of potion ingredients and checking the three separate cauldrons that were already simmering away.

"I can help you if you'd like," said Harry after several minutes of busy silence. Severus glanced at him sceptically and then went back to his task.

"You want to help me brew potions?"

Harry bristled. "Yeah, well, I'm not as big a dunderhead as you might think, you know. Whenever I was trying to brew in your classes, I was working under a massive handicap, wouldn't you say?"

Severus didn't rise to the bait. "A good potioneer should be able to brew under any and all conditions, no matter how adverse they may be."

"Really? Then how come the Slytherins didn't have to work under the same kinds of adverse conditions? And don't you think that statement would only hold true for an experienced potioneer? Everyone has to learn." Severus remained silent as he separated several stems of some kind of dried herb from a much larger bunch. Harry studied the purplish stems, with their small furry looking leaves, but he couldn't recognise what they were.

And then Severus spoke and Harry forgot trying to recall if he had ever seen the herb in the green houses or an illustration of it in his text books. "I concede you have a valid point, Harry. Your potions lessons up to now have not exactly been a haven of learning." Severus replaced the remaining stems of the unknown herb in a large glass jar and resealed it.

"Before term starts, I promise that I will allow you to do some brewing, but not today. I do not wish you to assist me with what I have to do today."

"Why not?" asked Harry quickly.

"Mainly because I said so, but specifically because some of what I brew is dangerous, and what I am doing today falls into that category."

Harry's brow furrowed. He scanned the carefully laid out collection of plant and animal ingredients and though he recognised some of them, most were a mystery to him. He glanced up at Severus, whose face was set as he held the half dozen or so stems of the unknown plant in a tight grip and sliced them into even, inch long lengths. All of a sudden all of the items on the table, combined with Snape's set face and his refusal to let Harry help him brew seemed to add up to something sinister.

"You're going to brew a poison, aren't you?" accused Harry in a tight voice, jumping down from the bench and standing with his fists clenched

Severus paused in his task for a fraction of a second-little more than a blink of an eye-but Harry saw it, as well as the twitching nerve in his jaw.

"You're brewing for that maniac, and I'm guessing that it's not a pimple remedy."

Severus ignored the scathing tone, but it was very hard not to drop his knife and give the idiot Gryffindor who had suddenly re-emerged, a sizeable chunk of his mind. This was the incarnation of Harry that Severus knew he was going to have the most trouble dealing with. He knew that the idiot Gryffindor was going to rear its foolish head far too often and because of that, his and Harry's relationship would never be smooth sailing.

In his ‘fool's rush in where angel's fear to tread' persona, Harry was one hundred percent James, and Severus had never been able to come to terms with his cousin's freewheeling antics. He had never been able to do anything about James, but he was in a position to make a difference with Harry.

"Do you do this sort of thing often?" asked Harry, his eyes narrowed accusingly.

Severus bit his tongue and scraped the sections of purple coloured stems into a glass dish. Then he spelled his hands clean of all traces of sap from the succulent plant. When Harry opened his foolish mouth and said, "so how many muggles is this lot going to kill..." Severus grabbed Harry hard around his bicep and forcibly marched him from the lab.

Harry didn't struggle until they had crossed the threshold, then he wrenched his arm free and put several yards distance between himself and the angry wizard who was glowering at him as if he had caught him out and about after curfew. His, "don't manhandle me!" was ignored.

Severus advanced again and bent forward to thrust his face close to Harry's. "Even if you have never before put your brain into gear before you open your mouth, I suggest that you get into the habit pretty damn quickly, because I can't abide idiocy for idiocy's sake." Severus was livid and Harry backed up a step, but his eyes remained stormy.

"What I do is of absolutely no concern of yours, Potter, unless I decide to share it with you. Do you understand me?"

"How can you do it?" yelled Harry, very red in the face. "How can you calmly brew a potion that you know may very well cause the deaths of God knows how many muggles?"

"You have no concept of just how important my position as a spy is to our side," hissed Severus through clenched teeth. "And to keep my cover it is necessary..."

"No advantage is worth the deaths of innocent people! Do you even think about those who might die because of you? Do you think about the families that are left behind, or the parents who have to witness their child die because he or she was in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

Snape looked as though he might hit Harry. But with an enormous effort, he spun away and put the length of the sofa between himself and his teenage tormentor. With his back to Harry, Severus squeezed the bridge of his nose hard. He hoped the pain of that would counter his fury at this sanctimonious little bastard.

Harry eyed Snape's rigid back with some trepidation. After several very uncomfortable seconds, his shoulders drooped a little as his brain finally caught up with his mouth. His temper had run away with him again and what little sense he had just flew out the window whenever anger overtook him.

Hadn't he learned enough about Snape over the last few weeks to know that nothing was as it seemed. If Snape was brewing for Voldemort, Harry was sure that the poison would be so fast acting, it would probably save the poor victims from terrible suffering at the hands of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. How could he have accused the man of being so callous? Harry knew that Snape had a job to do, he really did. A spy was a vital link between the Order of the Phoenix and Voldemort. Terrible things still happened-Harry knew that it was imperative that not all of Voldemort's plans be foiled because then he would know for sure that he had a traitor in his ranks. And as Severus was the one who straddled both camps, he would be the most likely suspect. Harry knew Voldemort would act first and ask questions later, and he didn't want to even think about what the evil git would do to a traitor. That was why Harry couldn't help worrying when Snape was summoned.

He opened his mouth to say all of this by way of an apology, but Snape had spun back around and was talking in a tightly controlled voice. "I would advice that you collect whatever you wish to take to the Weasleys that isn't already there. You will be leaving for the Burrow in no more than five minutes."

When Harry opened his mouth, Severus held up a hand and spoke in a voice rigid with hard won self control. "And I suggest you do it without opening your mouth and spewing more venom." He pointed towards Harry's bedroom. "I will see you back here in five minutes."

And with that, Severus stalked into his own room and closed the door quietly. Harry would have preferred him to slam it; that would have just indicated fury. This quiet restraint indicated something much deeper. Harry stared at the impenetrable barrier of that thick slab of timber before he turned and sloped to his own bedroom where he threw himself down on his bed. He pulled the pillow out from under his head and clamped it to his face. He let loose with a scream of frustration that was muffled by its feather and cotton barrier.

When would he ever learn to keep his big mouth shut? Everything had been going along nice and steadily. Snape or Dad or whoever in the hell the man was had stuck to his word. He was obviously putting in more of an effort to date than Harry, and considering that he had spent most of the last five years hating Harry and giving him a hard time, the task of trying to build some kind of relationship couldn't be easy.

But, the man was definitely trying!

And what had he, Harry done? Everything he could think of to stuff it all up. He had cracked it for a sad when Snape had reverted to type to keep up appearances in front of Remus, and he had stormed out. Then he had compounded that by wiping himself off so badly with a whole bottle of mead, he had needed some serious nursing back to health. And had his new father busted his chops for that? No, he had explained what the consequences could have been and why it wasn't a good idea for him to loose control like that.

And then, after being the very definition of restraint, Severus had given Harry a gift that must have been quite precious to himself because it had been a gift from his own mother. And what had Harry done then? He had paid Snape back for that terrible transgression by accusing him of being an unfeeling monster and murderer.

Harry dragged his pillow out from under his head and flung it across the room where it hit the door with a soft whump. He sat up and adjusted his glasses which had dug into his nose as a result of being attacked by a pillow. He looked around the room vaguely. There wasn't really anything that he needed to take to the Burrow with him, except...

Harry leaned across to his bedside table and picked up the metal container Snape had given him for his shrunken broom. He ran his fingers over the determined seeker etched into the lid. It really was a lovely thing and a really thoughtful gift. Harry always worried about his Firebolt when it was shrunken and stored in his trunk. He had always wrapped it in a T-shirt and placed it carefully amongst all his clothes so that it was well protected. And now he had this. Did he really deserve it though? Harry knew that he didn't. People weren't usually rewarded for bad behaviour.

Harry heard Snape's door opening and he jumped to his feet, thrusting the metal box into his pocket. He had to put this right before he was sent away. He raced into his bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He turned on the tap and sluiced water over his hair, which was sticking up in its usual fashion, regardless of the fact that it wasn't all that long ago that he had had a shower. It was a pointless attempt to flatten it, and he didn't know why he was even bothering, because unlike Uncle Vernon, Snape didn't go on and on about his hair. In fact, of late, he hadn't gone on about much of anything at all, really.

After managing to do nothing more useful than wetting the neck and shoulders of his tee-shirt again, Harry raced back through his room, nearly breaking his neck as his foot caught the corner of the rug. He flung the door open and practically stumbled into the dining room.

Severus looked up from where he was standing putting his travelling cloak on. Harry's heart sank. The anger seemed to have dissipated from the forbiddingly blank face but the lack of emotion was somehow worse than the earlier fury.

"Are you ready?" Snape asked, his voice as emotionless as his face.

Harry nodded. He was aware of crossing the room but his feet were moving independently of his brain. Severus swept past Harry and reached for the floo powder.

"I'm sorry!" Harry said in a rush. Severus's hand hovered in midair for a second, but then he grasped the stem of the bronze goblet and lifted it down from the mantelpiece.

"Your apology is duly noted," he said, still in that expressionless voice. He dipped his hand into the container but Harry wrapped his fingers around the strong wrist before Severus could throw the powder onto the fire.

"But not accepted, right?" said Harry flatly, staring into the fathomless black eyes above him.

Severus sighed. What did he say to the boy when his every instinct demanded that he say ‘no, your apology isn't accepted'. It would be so easy to return to the role of hateful and hated potions professor, protagonist to Harry Idiotic Gryffindor Potter. He wasn't any good at this father business. He had known that he wouldn't be. A father should be able to forgive his sixteen year old son mouthing off at him. Kid's mouthed off all the time. It was their job to keep their parents in a state of suppressed anger.

And then Severus thought of Lily. Lily, who had always been patience itself. Lily who had remained his friend no matter what garbage he had served up to her. That made his beautiful friend, the girl he had loved from the moment he had first seen her, a much better person than he was...or would ever be.

Lily's patience and beautiful nature had also overcome her aversion of one of the greatest practical jokers and trouble makers that Hogwarts had ever seen within its hallowed halls, and actually married him. As far as Severus was concerned, that took as much tolerance as it did love.

Lily Evans had always been known for her beautiful nature. She had many friends, all of whom seemed to bask in the aura of tranquillity that radiated from her. But Severus doubted that even Lily wouldn't be pulling out some of her beautiful hair if she was here to see some of the antics of her son, and listen to some of his more colourful diatribes.

Severus Snape had never been accused of being a patient man. So, how was he going to cope with this often foolish and always opinionated boy? He had thought that he would be able to. He had been prepared to be the bigger man, but now he didn't know if he was going to be able to succeed in his self-appointed task.

"Sir," prodded Harry, his voice hesitant.

Severus took some of the floo powder before reaching up and replacing the goblet. A fine trickle of glittery green powder trickled down from his fingers.

‘I suggest that you spend the time at the Weasleys thinking long and hard about what you want, Harry," said Severus, not really responding to Harry's question. Time apart from me might enable you to ponder the future with me as your father. You don't appear to be willing to separate the past from the present.

"It's difficult for me to adhere to the precepts of behaviour that I've set myself where you are concerned when you keep on doing everything you can to hijack my good intentions.

Harry swallowed-hard, and Severus watched his Adam's apple bob up and down. Harry opened his mouth again to say ‘I'm sorry', but then closed it, the words unuttered. He turned away and stared at the yellow flames that seemed to be waiting for its offering of floo powder. His vision was slightly blurry and he blinked rapidly several times to clear the excess moisture that seemed to have welled up in his eyes.

Severus clamped his lips together determined to ignore the slumped shoulders and averted face. He knew Harry was upset, but the boy had to really decide what he wanted. And as long as he didn't wholly trust Severus, it seemed unlikely that he would ever be able to accept him as his father. He reached past Harry and threw the floo powder into the flames.

"After you," said Severus.

Harry turned to face his father again. "So...are you kicking me out?"