It was less than ten minutes before the first knock came. “Good evening, Severus,” Minerva said calmly, stepping past him into the room.

“Do come in,” Snape said sarcastically, bracing himself for what was sure to be a noisy tirade.

“I trust you have explained the error of his ways to Mr Potter?” she asked.

“Indeed.”

“And he remains generally intact?” she continued.

Severus rolled his eyes. “Potter! Reassure your Head of House that you are still among the living,” he called out.

“H’lo, Professor McGonagall.” The reply floated out of the back bedroom and came – Snape was pleasantly surprised to note – in tones of extreme melancholy.

McGonagall nodded briskly. “Good work, Severus.”

Snape goggled. “I beg your pardon?” he managed to gasp out.

“Your reaction made it extremely unlikely that any other student will ever be foolhardy enough to emulate Mr Potter’s prank,” she explained. “We can hardly have students flying through the halls on broomsticks. Now then,” she changed the subject while Snape was still blinking in surprise, “about Mr Potter’s punishment...”

Ah. Good. This is what he was prepared for. “Since the other little idiots obviously cannot resist teasing The Boy Who Lived,” Snape said, sarcasm dripping off the title, “and Potter is too proud to ignore a dare, he is not to re-enter his dormitory until his behavior improves.”

“Yes, yes,” Minerva waved her hand impatiently. “I’m not here about that.”

“You’re not?” Snape paused in mid-rant. “Oh. Well, if it’s about my disciplining Potter in the Great Hall,” he began, recapturing his belligerence.

“Severus, try to concentrate,” McGonagall sounded exasperated. “I am hardly going to interfere between a parent and child over a single, well-deserved slap on the bottom.”

Snape shook his head, trying to clear his ears. He could not possibly have heard McGonagall say what he thought she had said.

“No, I am here about something important.” She eyed him meaningfully. At his look of utter confusion, she sighed. “His broomstick, Severus. For how long did you confiscate it?”

Snape managed not to snort. It wouldn’t be good for his image. “Quidditch.” He really should have known.

“Exactly,” she nodded, pleased that he had finally caught on. “As Harry’s Head of House, I must insist that if he is removed from his dormitory, then he is permitted to continue playing Quidditch as a means of maintaining his ties to Gryffindor.”

“And the upcoming game against Ravenclaw has nothing to do with it,” Snape observed drily.

McGonagall merely raised an eyebrow at him. “Well?”

“Oh, all right,” Snape gave in with poor grace. It wasn’t like he wanted to be annoyed by the little wretch moping about his quarters, whinging about missing his games and moaning about wanting his broom back. Both professors ignored the muffled cheer from the back bedroom. “I will also allow him to go to classes and take his meals with the other students, but he is not to enter the Tower until he has shown that he truly regrets his actions.”

McGonagall nodded once, crisply. “Understood. Good night, Mr Potter,” she called as she made her way to the door.

“ ‘Night, Professor!” Harry called back, his tones significantly happier than before. Snape huffed in annoyance.

Before much longer, Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Hagrid had each come by, urging Snape to be merciful towards the miscreant. To Snape’s surprise, Dumbledore didn’t attempt to overrule him on the issue of punishment, but he did encourage Severus to “give young Harry things to do to show he is earning your trust, my boy, and thus earning his way back to his friends in his House.” Snape had grudgingly agreed to this – there was no reason not to do so and it made the Headmaster happy.

No sooner had the parade of faculty ceased than the student one began. Unsurprisingly, Ron and Hermione were the first.

“Erm, h’lo, Professor,” Ron gulped, looking up at the saturnine countenance. “We – uh – just thought… well…”

“We just wanted to make sure you and Harry were all right,” Hermione put in swiftly.

Snape sneered. At least the know-it-all had the wit to pretend she was concerned about both of them. “Your classmate is not being stretched on the rack, if that is what you are asking.”

Hermione blushed. “We never thought he was, Professor,” she protested unconvincingly. “We – we just were worried. About both of you,” she insisted.

Snape rolled his eyes. He would never get rid of them until Potter demonstrated he had not been beaten senseless. “Potter! Reassure your friends.”

“I’m okay, guys,” came the pitiful call from the bedroom. “H-honest…” Snape was impressed. That had almost sounded like a hiccupping sob.

“That was really ace flying, mate!” Ron couldn’t help bursting out at the sound of Harry's voice. “The whole team is dead jealous and that last dive over the ‘Puffs’ table was just wicked! You – OW!” Ron broke off with a yell as a glaring Hermione punched him solidly in the arm.

At his best friend’s cry of pain, Harry came charging out of his room, suspecting the worst. “Da! Did you just smack him?” he demanded hotly.

He screeched to a halt upon seeing Ron nursing his arm, not his backside, but before he could say anything else, Hermione had erupted like Vesuvius. “Harry James Potter! What were you thinking! Did you lose your mind? What kind of an idiotic stunt was that? Taking a dare? Are you five years old? How can you –“ she shouted, advancing on him.

Harry’s eyes widened in fear and he started scrambling backwards. “Her-Hermione! I’m being p-punished! I can’t talk to you!” He broke off with a squawk as her hand shot out and grabbed a handful of his shirt.

“You will listen to me, Harry Potter!” she snapped, sounding almost as scary as his guardian. “If you EVER do something like that again, I will kill you!”

Harry gulped and nodded vigorously. After one last glare, Hermione turned him loose, and he shot back to the safety of his room. “Come, Ronald,” she ordered, turning on her heel.

Ron knew better than to argue. He hurried out the door before Hermione could turn her fearsome temper on him (again). Hermione started to follow him, only to be detained by Professor Snape’s hand on her shoulder. Surprised, she looked up at him.

“Miss Granger, while I appreciate your sentiments,” he said sternly, “I would suggest you recall that you are not Mr Potter’s mother, but rather his friend. Obnoxious know-it-alls may be tolerated for their scholastic assistance, but vituperative shrews will quickly find themselves friendless. Your intellect may be formidable, but your social development leaves much to be desired. You must learn that just because you are right in no way means that other people will welcome your advice, censure, or interference. Quite the opposite in fact. Making other people feel stupid or small is a foolish approach, and if you do not wish to be damned as an unpleasant, albeit brilliant, witch, you must pay more attention to showing respect to your peers. I am in no way disputing your opinion of Mr Potter’s latest stunt, but I am more than capable of convincing him of his error in judgment. He does not need you to act as a parent, Miss Granger, nor are you well-suited to the role. You have already proven yourself to be a brave and loyal friend. I suggest you work on being a supportive and sympathetic one as well.” And with that, he pushed her out the door and closed it firmly behind her.

Hermione stood, her mouth open and her eyes bright with tears. Her thoughts were in utter turmoil. He had called her an “obnoxious know-it-all”! But he’d also called her a “brave and loyal friend”, not to mention "brilliant". She wasn’t sure whether to burst into tears of mortification or joy.

Ron’s worried face loomed in front of her. “Uh, are you okay, ‘Mione?”

Hermione sniffled piteously. “D-do you think I’m a shrew, Ron? Or a know-it-all?”

“Erm…” Ron’s eyes darted wildly in search of some escape. His worst fears were realized as Hermione burst into tears and threw herself at him.

“I’m sorry!” she wailed into his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have hit you! I’m sorry! I don’t mean to be so bossy.”

“Errrrr, well, it’s just ‘cause you’re so smart, ‘Mione,” Ron said, patting her back awkwardly. “ ‘S no wonder the rest of us drive you mental.” He swallowed hard. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so uncomfortable in his entire life. “You – you just have to remember t’be more, um, patient.”

“You think I’m smart?” Hermione asked hopefully.

“Well, yeah!” Ron rolled his eyes. “An’ you’re brave too,” he added generously. “Kickin’ You Know Who like that? Blimey! I couldn't've done that in a million years.”

Hermione’s eyes were now shining with adoration, not tears. No one else (besides her parents) had ever said such nice things to her. “Oh, Ron!”

“Errrrrm, you better now?” he asked hopefully, rather unsettled by the look in the girl’s eye.

She nodded and took his hand. “Uh huh.”

Ron turned pink. He wasn’t really sure he wanted to hold hands with a girl – not yet anyway – but his arm still ached a bit and he figured it was safer not to object. “Well, um, let’s go then.”

She nodded happily.

Ron and Hermione's pilgrimage to Snape's quarters was closely followed by visits from Wood, Jones and Percy, Flint, and even Draco and Neville – a pairing Snape would not have expected. “We were studying Herbology and Neville wanted to – erm – ask a Potions question,” Draco explained to his Head unconvincingly, while the Gryffindor craned his head to see down the hall towards Harry's room.

Snape sighed. Hopefully the boys would learn more guile before much longer. “Mr Potter is confined to his room. His organs have not been used in any potion. He will rejoin the student body at breakfast. Now, do you have any other questions, Mr Longbottom?”

“No, sir,” Neville admitted, redfaced.

“Good. Mr Malfoy?”

“No, sir,” Draco said sheepishly.

“Then good night.”

Snape closed the door behind them and took a deep breath. The next several minutes would not be pleasant, but he knew he couldn’t shirk his duty.

“Potter.” He stood at the boy’s open doorway. He had been careful not to lock or in any other way beyond verbal instruction confine the child, lest Harry be reminded of his time in the Dursleys’ cupboard.

Harry looked up and gulped. He had hoped against hope that his professor might not have noticed his slip, but it was obvious from Snape’s expression that he had. Harry dropped his gaze and cursed himself. Stupid! You are so STUPID, Harry! How could you have done that?

So, okay, he might have occasionally thought of his professor by that term (well, rather more than occasionally), but he had never, ever planned to use it to the man’s face. It was just that after today’s conversation with his godfather, he had been thinking more and more about it. And then he’d gotten so upset hearing Ron’s yelp and thinking that his guardian had given his mate a swat for expressing admiration for Harry’s stunt… It had just slipped out.

He knew it was the ultimate impudence to call his professor that. Professor Snape had shown enormous generosity in agreeing to be his guardian and then agreeing to keep him rather than making him go live with his godfather, when it was clear that’s what Padfoot expected. Plenty of people would have been happy to get shut of an unexpected ward at the first opportunity, but when Harry said he didn’t want to go with Sirius, Snape hadn't once argued. He'd just agreed to keep Harry. And how did Harry repay his generosity? By being so presumptuous as to call him “Da”, as though Snape would want some freaky orphan calling him that.

Harry knew perfectly well that his professor cared for him – it was obvious in everything the man did – but that didn’t give him the right to address the man in such terms. He had clearly overstepped the bounds of propriety. Even his godfather didn’t want Harry calling him by a family title like “Uncle”, and who could blame him? Who would want to pretend to be related to him by anything other than a deliberately assumed obligation? It was one thing to nobly accept the burden of caring for an orphan, quite another to have anyone think you were actually related by blood to such a freak.

“I’m sorry I called you that,” Harry said swiftly, hoping to forestall a harsh scolding or – worse – a delicately worded explanation of why such a term was neither appropriate nor appreciated. “It won’t happen again. I swear.”

Snape didn’t pretend to misunderstand the boy. Harry was red with embarrassment, and Snape could understand why. He must be thinking – as was Snape – that his real father would be spinning in his grave at the child’s slip of the tongue. How the brat could have been so confused to call him “Da”, he would never know. Perhaps the meeting with Black and Lupin had caused him to be thinking of James and Lily?

“I do not think your father would be… irate… with you, Potter,” Snape said cautiously, lying through his teeth. The James he knew would likely strangle the boy for confusing him with a greasy Slytherin. “You have had a long and emotionally charged day. It is understandable why you made the error.”

Harry felt a little relief, but also a great deal of dejection. It was good that his professor didn’t seem furious at his audacity, but a tiny corner of his heart had hoped that Professor Snape might pretend to have been at least a little pleased. Not flattered, exactly, but at least not repulsed by the idea of having Harry for a son. Harry firmly squashed such an insolent thought and reminded himself of how much the professor had done for him.

“I’ll be sure an’ tell Ron and Hermione not to tell anyone,” he vowed. That way the professor could see that he understood and wouldn’t try to offend the man’s sensibilities further.

Snape raised his eyebrows. Did the brat imagine his friends would tease him over the remark? “I doubt they will mention it.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll tell ‘em just to be sure. I mean, I know you wouldn’t want anyone to think you were really my dad.” Harry managed a quick smile. “ I know it's not like anyone would really want me. For their son, I mean.”

“What?” Snape demanded, his voice harsh with astonishment.

“I mean, you’ve been great,” Harry said, frightened at the look on the man’s face. Had his professor thought he was being ungrateful? “You’ve acted just like a – a real father would, an’ so I just, y’know, pretended in my head that it was real – just for a minute,” he said hurriedly, realizing he was digging himself deeper. “I know you don’t want me t’be more than your ward, an’ that’s plenty, honest. I mean, just bein’ your ward is really, really great. I don’t blame you for not wantin’ someone else’s kid to call you ‘Da’ – I mean, I know that’s rude. I know that, I really do. An’ I won’t call you… that name… again. Okay? I know I’m a freak,” Harry babbled, now so disconcerted by Snape’s expression that he was only half-aware of what he was saying, “and you’re just being nice an’ all an…”

“Harry.” Snape finally managed to make his voice work again. It came out rather rough, and he cleared his throat and tried again. “Potter. Come here.” There. That was much better.

Unwillingly, Harry came to stand in front of him. It was obvious from his stance that he was expecting to be – at best – shouted at. He kept his eyes firmly on the ground, shoulders hunched in preparation for the diatribe.

“Do you mean to suggest that – “ Snape had to clear his throat again. “ – that you think of me as a father? As your father?”

“ ‘M sorry,” Harry whispered, wondering if you could die of humiliation.

“That is not an answer,” his professor replied coolly.

Harry screwed his eyes shut. Oh, Merlin, could this get any worse? “Yes,” he finally admitted, his voice barely audible.

Snape refused to give in to the loud rushing in his ears. Nearly passing out in front of Black had been bad enough. “You – you wish to call me… ‘Da’?” The word felt peculiar on his tongue.

“I was just pretending,” Harry said pleadingly. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“Why would you think such a thing would make me angry?” Snape asked blankly.

Harry shrugged, despondent. “Why would you want a freaky, useless kid like me for a son? I mean, everyone knows that you take care of a ward ‘cause it’s your duty, but you’re not, y’know, related.”

Snape stared at the child. The boy actually thought that he would contaminate others. That his calling Snape “Da” would in some way taint Snape. Severus choked down a wild laugh. As if he weren’t already tainted beyond all redemption by the tattoo on his forearm.

“Potter, you have… misconstrued… the situation.”

That brought Harry’s head up, with a frown of incomprehension. “Huh?”

“I am not upset with you for calling me ‘Da’, foolish child,” Snape said, managing to keep his voice steady. “But affiliating yourself with me in that way would be to your detriment, not mine.”

“Huh? But that’s stupid,” Harry protested, too shocked to recognize rudeness. “I mean, you’re brilliant. You’re a Potion Master an’ Head of Slytherin, and you fought Voldesnort an’ no one messes with you an’ you saved me an’ – “ Harry caught himself “ – an’ others too, an’ you’re not scared of anyone, not even the Headmaster! Everyone knows how smart an’ strong you are, an’ even Fred ‘n’ George don’t dare to try a prank in your class! All the other professors tell us to behave or they’ll ask you to take their class for a day. An’ that reporter lady did what you said, an’ Auntie Molly and Uncle Arthur say you’re like the best parent ever an’ even the Headmaster an' Draco’s dad listen to you. An’ all the girls are puttin’ your picture up on their walls, like they do with Padfoot’s,” Harry added, wrinkling his nose. “Madame Hooch has even got one up in her office, next to the brooms.”

Snape blinked. Hearing this external view of himself was, to put it mildly, mind-blowing. Har-Potter thought he was smart? And strong? And respected? And the girls considered him a pinup? How could any description of himself omit terms like “greasy”, “big nosed”, “cruel”, “Death Eater”, “unfair”, “snarky”, and “evil”?

“But me? I mean, I’m just Harry. No one wants an orphan. My own aunt an’ uncle couldn’t stand me, even back when I was a baby before I got all freaky. An’ now that I can talk to – well, you know – that just makes it worse. And I keep screwing up and getting in the paper an’ now Voldesnort’s mad at me, even more than he was before, and I keep needing you an’ Professor McGonagall to rescue me and –“

Snape stopped Harry’s litany of self-denunciation by the simple expedient of pulling him into an embrace. He couldn’t suppress a wince as that pointy little forehead again impacted his breastbone, but then Harry was clutching his robes and sobbing. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I know no one wants me! I know you won’t ever love me like I love you! I’m sorry for pretending you did!”

“Hush, you ridiculous brat!” Snape commanded, his own voice wavering. “Those unnatural Muggles have planted lies in your head. Do you not understand just how special and talented you are? The entire Wizarding world practically worships at your feet. You, unlovable? There are many many people who love you, foolish child.”

“But you don’t!” Harry wailed. “An’ I don’t care about the others!”

“Idiot. Of course I l-love you,” Snape snapped, tightening his grasp about the boy.

Harry’s gasping sobs shut off as if a switch had been thrown. Slowly, without daring to breathe, Harry raised his head and looked up at his professor’s severe face. “Y-you do?” he whispered incredulously.

Snape tried not to fidget under the piercing green gaze. “Yes. I love you.” Ha. Managed it that time without stuttering.

Harry’s eyes were huge in his white face. “Really? Honest?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Yes. Need I repeat myself yet again?” At Harry’s shaky nod, he huffed. “Fine. I love you. Satisfied?”

And then Harry was crying even harder and hugging him until Snape thought his ribs would crack. “Is this another example of your ‘happy tears’?” Snape eventually asked warily.

Harry managed to laugh and sob at the same time. “Uh huh.”

Snape sighed and continued to wait the storm out. Finally he could feel the boy gulping and hiccupping. “Are you nearly done?”

Harry nodded against his sternum. “Uh huh. Erm… Are you mad at me?”

Severus nearly groaned. Did this child have no self-esteem whatsoever? “Why would I be angry with you, Mr Potter? Did we not establish that I am happy for you to call me ‘Da’?”

“Y-yes, I guess so.” Harry couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice.

“Good. Because while I do not object to your calling me by that term, I most decidedly do object to your referring to yourself as a ‘freak’. I believe I have spoken to you about this in the past.”

Harry gulped and burrowed his head further into Snape’s robes. Uh oh. “Y’sir,” he mumbled, though if truth be told he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. Not that he really minded that Snape was annoyed. Weren’t dads supposed to make sure no one called you names? Not even yourself. "No soap, 'kay? I won't do it again," he promised, screwing up his face at the thought of a mouth full of soapsuds.

A light swat landed on his backside, causing him to squeak in surprise and glance up at his professor. “If I hear it again, you will not get off so lightly,” Snape told him sternly.

Harry ducked his head again, hiding his smile in the man’s robe. Even as he had delivered the smack with one hand, Snape's other arm had continued to hold Harry tight. “Y’sir,” he said obediently.

“Get into your pyjamas. I believe an early bedtime is appropriate tonight,” Snape ordered. "You are obviously overwrought."

Harry sniffled and gave his guardian one last squeeze before letting go. He wiped his nose with one hand and rubbed his behind with the other. Not that the swat had hurt in the slightest, but just for the principle of the thing.

Snape took the slimy little urchin by the (relatively dry) shoulder and pushed him towards the bathroom. “Wash and change, Mr Potter. I will return shortly and you had better be in bed.”

“Yes… Da.” Harry screwed up his courage and tested the new word, biting his lip anxiously and glad he couldn’t see the man’s face.

A pat on the shoulder answered him and he relaxed with a sigh, heading for the shower.

Snape watched the bathroom door close behind the little fiend, then went straight to his supply closet where he downed two Calming Draughts in rapid succession, considered briefly, then took a third. It was only then that his hands stopped shaking.

He was surprised to find that his happiness – oh, all right, his ridiculous joy – at the boy’s declaration actually outstripped his gleeful anticipation of the mutt’s reaction. Although after today’s unexpected and uncharacteristic speech from Black, he supposed that the Gryffindor might not be all that surprised. Or at least not as surprised as Snape himself had been.

When he returned to the boy’s room twenty minutes later, he found the brat in bed, his green eyes hopeful. “C’n we practice Occlumency tonight, Da?” Harry asked, delighting in the sound of the word and the way it rolled off his tongue.

His profess- father grumbled, but seated himself on the edge of Harry’s bed. “Oh, all right. Roll over and start clearing your mind.”

Harry let out a whimper of sheer happiness as his father’s strong fingers started rubbing his back and the man’s velvety voice guided him through the initial relaxation. Less than five months ago, he’d been living in a cupboard, without a single friend, hated by his only relatives. Now he had a new life, complete with a somewhat peculiar (but well-meaning) godfather, wonderful friends, and the best father in the whole world.

Snape stroked the boy’s back, idly noting with a corner of his mind that the boy was actually beginning to construct some very respectable mental barriers. His head was spinning as he absently recited the words to Harry’s visualization exercise. Less than five months ago, he’d been living in his dungeons, without a single friend, and despised by most of the British Wizarding world. Now he had a new life, complete with lovestruck teenagers, newly admiring colleagues, and a son who loved him. He allowed a sneer to steal over his features; did that foolish Dark Lord actually imagine Snape would allow any harm to come to this child? Voldemort would never know what hit him.