"It’s been seven years, Severus."

Albus Dumbledore watched as his son's trademark sneer slid into place. "Really?" he heard him say. "I really didn't know." Seemingly endless pits of obsidian met his own blue eyes. "Its not like you haven't reminded me every few days for the last month."

The older man gazed at his former student over his steepled fingertips. He must be delusional. Or senile, as one pertinent Ravenclaw had had the gall to proclaim to the Great Hall the day before the leaving feast. He couldn't remember just what had caused the outburst, or what happened afterwards, but he was far too busy a man to bother himself with the minute details of something that occurred a whole two days ago.

But today he considered giving that opinion due consideration. For he was sure that he never once remembered bringing up these events to anyone this past month, but most surely not to Severus. As a matter of fact, he was willing to bet his entire Limited Edition Lime and Citrus Flavored Lemon Drop Collection that Severus had stalked into his office unannounced at eight o'clock every evening after dinner, and at two o'clock on the weekends, darkly announcing that it had been seven years, seven years, before collapsing into a chair and remaining silent till Albus himself deemed it necessary to break the silence.

He closed his eyes briefly, by sheer will power alone managing not to sigh aloud. He returned his gaze to the man shrouded in black before him. The normally erect form of the Potions Professor sat slightly hunched in his favorite squashy armchair, face hidden behind the curtain of thin silky hair Albus had never been able to convince him to bind out of his face. It was not lost on him that he was the only person on earth that saw this side of Severus. It was, in fact, a part of the present problem. The young man would simply not admit to anyone that he cared, even after all this time. Not even himself.

"Do you truly still need time, child?" he asked of the younger man softly.

"I am not a child," was the curt but muffled reply.

"Perhaps not," chuckled the elder professor. "Nevertheless....?"

There was a pause. Fawkes shuffled nervously on his perch beside the door. Then, "It has not become easier."

He felt a sad smile pull at the corner of his lips. "I did not expect to, my boy. Not for you."

Severus gave a jerky nod of the head, to show he had heard. "She was my friend."

He inclined his head, though Severus could not see it. "I know, child. Your best friend."

He expected the sharp bark of laughter that usually accompanied these words. The half strangled sob that followed spurred him from behind his desk to the seat next to the man he had taken as his son many long years ago.

"She was my friend Albus. The only one I had. The adjective is completely redundant." One ragged breath. Two. Albus did not touch him. The armchair the former Slytherin possessed had been turned into a couch, with himself sitting close enough to be in easy reach if necessary. Another shaky breath, and Severus sobbed.

Albus Dumbledore, who had not held the child he considered his own since the night the adoption was finalized, felt a small smile spread tug at his lips, despite the anguish of the situation. Severus' tears usually meant that he was at the end of his rope. They usually cleared the way for acceptance, something the barren landscape that was his emotional being scarcely ever saw. He felt tears of his own run down his weathered cheeks. Ah, the ramifications! Would Severus finally open up to the others on staff here at the castle? Would he finally venture off of the heavily warded grounds? Maybe, given some time, he would develop another friendship. Maybe even more than one. Whatever the young man thought of himself, Albus knew that he had the potential to be a very true friend. And he would be, eventually. Albus knew, because finally, after seven years, the man was letting himself heal.

It was some time before the raking sobs became hitching breaths, and Severus dared show his prominent nose to the world of Albus' office again. To their credit, every portrait adorning the walls were convincingly appearing to be asleep, though Albus was not sure that was because they actually were, courtesy of a spell by his son, or if they were trying to display an act of post-mortem discretion previously unheard of in his capacity as Headmaster. Severus shifted, and he drew the younger man to him, relieved that he didn't immediately try to pull away. He was further pleasantly surprised when said young man's head found his shoulder, and he braced himself against the arm of the chair to better bear the full weight of his son.

They sat in silence for a moment, Albus carefully drawing tear-slicked silken strands away from their owner's face, silently reflecting, again, on how much of a difference it would have made if he'd adopted Severus sooner. But, he considered, with a gentle tug at a particularly stubborn strand of hair, he had not known a reason to, and there was nothing he could do now. With a decisive gesture, he tucked said strand behind Severus' ear, and pushed that train of thought from his mind.

"I hear her laugh," was the statement that brought him crashing back to the present, from amid memories of confiscated chocolate and potions experiments.

"Lily?"

He felt the young man draw a breath. "Yes. Sometimes. When I'm marking essays for class, or reading the drivel some idiot saw fit to print in my potions journals, and I find something especially inane, I can hear her laugh. Like she used to when she thought I was being too harsh, or taking something too seriously. And she still scolds me, like she used to, when I write a particularly nasty comment on my student's essays. I hear her say, clear as crystal, Father, 'Severus! That's a child!'" he mimicked in a high pitched voice, "like I'm hurting the little cretins," he finished darkly.

Albus could not suppress a chuckle as he ran his hand through the dark strands attached to the head on his shoulder. "Well, I'm glad someone else is taking you to task for your rather acidic brand of suggestions, even if you refuse to listen to any of us."

Severus smiled. "To do otherwise would ruin my reputation."

"I see," he acknowledged pleasantly.

"Also," Severus announced, still smiling, "I do believe your students would all jump to the ridiculous assumption that you'd finally had enough and hit me with an Imperio, and Merlin knows we don't need to give them another reason to love you unconditionally, furry blue socks and all."

Albus chuckled. "You make a valid point, my boy. However, I seem to recall having to suggest to a rather large number of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors that charming their even larger amount of love letters to serenade you during breakfast was not the best way to display their undying affection."

Severus looked up, and Albus caught the phrase "damn twinkling old fool" before the younger man's shields were firmly up once more. Nor did he think it was an accident. "How many chocolate frogs will I have to buy for you to pretend to forget that incident ever happened, old man?"

He smiled fondly at him. "There will never be enough."

Severus sat up and crossed to the other end of the sofa, grumbling under his breath. Albus watched him cross his arms and saw the familiar mask of stoic attention slide back into place. He was rather relieved to see it, even if he half wished it would disappear forever. But the effect was slightly undone by his son's puffy, red eyes and blotchy complexion. He was considering the best way to bring this to the man's attention when he spoke.

"Do you still have the letter?" Severus asked, studying the intricate pattern carved into Albus' desk. "I think I can read it now."

"Indeed." The elder wizard inclined his head. "It remains where you left it, child." He carefully studied the young wizard’s face. "It was always within reach."

Severus crossed to the Headmaster's desk, and stared at the only square of bare wood visible. For years he had studiously ignored the existence of this particular patch of wood and the missive resting upon it. With a flick of his wrist the thick rectangle of parchment was visible, and he retrieved it with shaky hands.

One deep breath.......

Two.........

And Lily's voice overlayed the words she wrote

My dearest Sevie,

I know you hate that nickname, which is precisely why I insist on using it. Give my regards to my Uncle Albie, and tell him Harry's already addicted to those blasted Lemon Drops he sent us, and that when my son's three and has lost all his teeth, he's the one I expect to replace them.

I hope this letter finds you well, despite your....allegiance. To both sides. I worry about you, can you believe it. I, Lillian Renae Evans Potter, the self-proclaimed vanguard for the worry free movement of the Order, is worrying over you, Severus Tobias Snape, who has told me so many times before, in no uncertain terms "Don't waste your time."

I miss you. I'm going absolutely starkers here with only James and Harry for company, so much so that sometimes, facing off Moldy Voldie doesn't seem so bad. Not that I don't love the little booger, but a girl needs more stimulating conversation than a gurgle here and a shriek there or a scream of protest to an empty tummy or soiled nappy. And Harry's much the same way, I'm afraid.

He already knows you, Harry does. I've been showing him pictures of you and I at Hogwarts and out, I've told him all about sneaking about the castle with you, all about your miserable snarky attitude, I even told him about the feud between you and his father, but I doubt he understands all that. Even though I know you don't care, I think you should know, James never said a word about me talking to little Harry about you. Not once. I suppose you'll mark it down to Gryffindor fairness, because predictably he often does drone on and on about the Marauders, namely Sirius and Remy, but there's also something else.

Wizarding tradtion dictates that the parents of any child both pick seperate godparents. James' choice was, of course, Sirius, and I, of course, chose you. That means, Sev, that you're Harry's other godparent. It's already down on his birth certificate, and all the other important things, so anyone who needs to know knows, but it can't be used by those who mean you ill.

Now Sev, I know, I KNOW how much you hate James and Sirius, but please, please could you try, for me, to get along with him if things take a turn for the worst? Sirius loves him to death, but we both know a nineteen year old Gryffindor isn't much better than one whose fifteen.

That's all the begging you'll get out of me, because I know you know what will happen to him. I know you know that if James and I can't take care of Harry, and something happens to Sirius, where he'll end up. She hates me Severus. Can you really sleep at night knowing he's there with her and that pig of a husband when you know how much they hate me?

As much as you want to make everyone believe you're this hardened Death Eater that cares for no one, I know different. I know you hate abuse, I know you won't stand for it, so I know you'll do the right thing.

Protect my son, Sev. It’s the only thing I ask, other than you take care of yourself.

I love you.

Yours forever,

Li

The thick creamy parchment folded, and incinerated in the air before him. It was a full minute before he opened his eyes, and when he did all he could do was stare, as he sorted through information he had accepted seven years too late.