The boy had put on weight; not much, just a little, but the diagnostic spells didn't lie.

Severus was wonderfully grateful for the weight gain, and yet found it odd that he be grateful for something so small—for someone so small, really. It had even been enough to motivate him to speak of James to the boy again the next time that he mentioned his mother.

James—the one that Harry referred to as his 'other daddy;' the one that he didn't know, didn't prefer to be around, regardless of whether he was alive or not. He never asked after his other daddy the way he did about Lily. Of course, she had had far more impact on him that James had; she had rescued the child after all, had even go so far as to visit them.

What had James done, really?

And why should Severus care?

He was the one there with the child every day. He was the one who took care of the boy, answering his questions, soothing his tears—strange as that might be for someone like him. James might have helped to create the lad, but he was the one to sustain him.

Him, Severus bloody Snape, the one known as Harry's daddy.

Secretly, he allowed a small smile to appear on his lips over the thought.

. . .

Severus wasn't sure if allowing Harry to stay with him while he taught was a good idea or not, but given his definite lack of other alternatives, he decided to make the best of it. He set up a spot in the corner of his classroom, hidden by several unused desks, for his son to comfortably spend the class time in. He then transfigured several old and worn out cloaks of his into soft mattresses, and he covered them with warming charms.

He did all of this before his first class of the day—double potions with the 3rd year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Prior to their arrival, he led his son over to the spot he had arranged for the boy and told him in no uncertain terms that he was to stay there for the rest of the class period.

"But what if I have ta pee?" His son looked distressed at the thought.

"Then you will simply go to this door," Severus indicated the door directly beside Harry's hiding place, "and go when you need to." He set his son up with the third year's potion textbook and told him to quietly teach Captain about how to make a potion.

"You are only to interrupt me if there is some kind of emergency," he said finally.

"E-mer-gen-cee?" His son echoed back with a confused look.

"Trouble," Severus corrected himself.

"Oh, okay Daddy," his boy said with a trusting grin.

Class had begun over an hour ago and Severus was beginning to feel himself relax about having his son in the room with them.

"Daddy?" He felt a small hand tug on his sleeve and he knelt down next to his tiny boy.

"Did I not tell you to stay under the table?" He asked softly, striving to keep his voice gentle. His boy hugged Captain closer to his chest and then shuffled closer to him.

"You did Daddy, but I gotta tell you something," little Harry whispered in Severus's ear.

"Can this not wait until after my class is over?"

"Nuh uh, Daddy," Harry shook his head in the negative, and then maneuvered his way farther into Severus's embrace.

"All right brat. What is it?" Severus asked, standing up with Harry (and Captain) in his arms. He scowled menacingly at the students who dared glance up and stare at them. They quickly ducked their heads back down and he felt pleased that small boy or not, he could still strike fear into the hearts of his students.

"Dat boy's potion is wrong," Harry said in a whisper, pointing a small finger in the direction of the Ravenclaw side of the room.

"Which one?" Severus asked curiously.

"Dat boy wit' the brown hair sittin' on the end," his child said seriously, looking up at him with solemn eyes.

Severus looked over to where Harry had indicated and realized that his son was talking about young Mr. Whittleby. The class was working on the Weed Wilting potion, but it was clear that the boy had not studied like he ought to have, given the off yellow shade of his concoction. It was supposed to be brownish red at this stage.

"You are correct. He has most definitely erred somewhere in the process," Severus said in a soft voice to the boy in his arms.

"Can you fix it?" His son looked imploringly up at him.

"It is not my duty to fix. Mr. Whittleby will soon realize his error, if he has not already."

Given his student's wild eyes and sweaty brow, he surmised that the boy was already aware of his mistake.

"But it could 'splode!" Harry insisted anxiously.

"It is unlikely, given the ingredients that are in use."

Severus was curious as to how his son had realized the problem to begin with. His son had been on the floor, away from the rest of the class. His student's wayward attempt at creating a Weed Wilting potion would not have been visible from where Harry had been seated.

Rather than ask the child how it was that he had known about the mistake, Severus decided to try a small experiment.

"I will not help him fix his potion, but you are welcome to try, if you'd like," he said with a small grin to his boy.

Little Harry's face lit up in happy surprise.

"Really? You'd let me Daddy?"

"I would," Severus said with a pleased feeling in his heart. He moved them over to Whittleby's workstation and then set his boy down on his feet.

Before turning towards the desk, Harry turned back and held out his small pink bear towards Severus.

"Can you hold Capt'n please?"

Severus fought against smirking at the gobsmacked faces of his students as he pulled his son's bear up in his arms. Then he moved away ever so slightly, interested in seeing what Harry would do with the mess at hand.

"Professor?" Whittleby sputtered in surprise as his son clambered up on the bench next to him.

"My son has offered to help you with your potion. I suggest that you do not turn down his offer," Severus informed him with a sneer.

. . .

Eric Whittleby had realized he was in trouble before his professor ever noticed. However, as a Ravenclaw, it would have been far too embarrassing to admit to needing help with something as simple as a Weed Wilting potion—especially in front of a class full of Hufflepuffs.

He had shuddered at the thought.

On the other hand, having a little shrimp of a kid try and "help," was in many ways much worse.

"Look kid, I appreciate the offer, but really, I can do this on my own."

"Harry," the tiny boy told him with a pointed stare.

"Pardon me?"

"MY name isn't 'kid.' It's Har—RY," the little kid stated, crossing his arms with a glare.

"Geez, sorry," Eric answered without much remorse.

"You're stupid," the kid had the gall to say to him next.

"And you're a midget," he shot back with a glare of his own. He had a younger brother. He knew how to deal with him, and if necessary, he'd be willing to teach this kid a few lessons too.

"My daddy's bigger'n you, and scarier too," Harry told him with a scowl. The kid looked away from him and back at his workspace.

Pulling his textbook towards them, the kid pointed one tiny finger at the page where the instructions were listed.

"See dis?"

"Yeah?" He shot back sarcastically.

"It says THREE lumpy roots," Harry said, emphasizing his statement by holding out three small fingers.

"So?" He shrugged angrily.

"Then why'd you put in FIVE?" The kid stared at him accusingly.

"I didn't, you little twerp," he growled back.

"Yeah, 'cause da magic faerie did it," Harry answered back with an angry eye roll.

Behind him, Eric heard a snort and realized that his professor was watching their every move.

Well, shit.

"Why do you think I'd do something like that?" He answered in a low voice.

"'Cause you're stupid. I tol' you already."

"Why do you think my potion is wrong?" He asked in a challenging voice.

"'Cause it smells wrong," Harry gave him another eye roll, but he ignored it this time in favor of trying to understand what the little twerp had just said.

"It smells fine. It smells like swamp mud, just like every other potion does, you dork," he hissed back.

The look the kid gave him that time clearly stated that his response was too idiotic to even warrant a verbal answer.

. . .

Harry looked at the mess before him and frowned. He just wanted to make the potion better; he hadn't figured on having to deal with a stupid student.

Turning around on the bench, he suddenly realized just how very high off of the ground he was. Seeing his father standing not four feet from them, he looked at him and waved. His daddy came over with an amused look on his face and he looked imploringly up at his Tall Man.

"Hand, please," he requested.

He grasped the hand that his daddy held out and he jumped from the bench onto the floor easily. Not yet ready to release his Tall Man's hand, he turned around and dragged—er, led him to the supply shelves.

His head only came up to the third of seven shelves, and that was only if he stood up on his tiptoes. However, with his daddy there to lift him up, he was finally able to find the right ingredients that he hoped would help change the stupid boy's potion back to the state it should have already been in.

. . .

"You aren't listening to me!" Aberforth had shouted at him.

"And you aren't listening to me either!" Albus had shouted back angrily.

Albus and James stood by watching as he and his brother fought. Thanks to the years of maturity that he had gained since this time, Albus could see that his brother had been right about him.

"Ariana won't be happy with you! You don't know how to take care of her!" Aberforth continued shouting.

"And you are in no position to take care of her! You're only 15! Can't you see that I'm doing this for you? So you can finish school?" He had said.

Albus scoffed bitterly at himself; such a fool he had been—such an idiot.

"Sod school! You're not Papa! You're not Mum! The only things I'm passing right now are Muggle studies and Divinition!"

How ironic a statement—his brother had just forewarned him of his folly and then further proved his point by appealing to the one thing he ought to have listened to.

But he hadn't listened past "sod school." He hadn't heard past those fateful words.

"I am the elder member of this family," he had stated in a calmer voice. His words had started the flow of magic around them; something that the older Albus could still feel.

Their mother had just died and they had gone home to take care of Ariana. But as the period of grieving had ended, he had decided that he would do the noble thing and take care of their sister, while his brother continued on in school.

It had been the correct thing to do, if not the right thing. Albus had been all set to travel the world, but he had put his plans on hold for the integrity of their family. My, what fine words he had used at the time; what a fine pile of slop it had all been.

"If you truly cared for her, you would let me do this," his brother had tried once more.

"It is because I care for her that I do this."

He had been so self-righteous; so set in the knowledge that he alone knew the best path to proceed forwards on.

It was only as an adult that he had seen the connections between him and his father.

"Like father, like son," he muttered to himself with no small amount of bitterness.

His father had gone after the muggles that had caused his baby sister to be turned into a magic fearing witch. His father had gone after them and his father had gone to Azkaban for his efforts.

And Albus, so determined to be right, had nearly followed the man to the same place.

. . .

Severus watched along with his class of students, as his small boy diced and sliced his way to success. He wasn't exactly certain of how the child was doing it, since none of the ingredients he was adding had anything obvious to do with a Weed Wilting potion.

But when Harry and Mr. Whittleby stepped away from their cauldron, Severus could see that the potion was now at least the right color and consistency.

And when he put a few drops on the small plot of weeds—magical and not—that he had borrowed courtesy of Pomona Sprout, the potion had done exactly as it was intended to, if not better.

"Full marks Mr. Whittleby," he had said with a private look of amusement at his quietly beaming son. "And detention," he added with a snarl, surprising the third year into near apoplexy.

"For what?" The young Ravenclaw had sputtered, talking back to him.

"For speaking unkindly to my son," he said with a frightening grin of displeasure across his face.

"Class dismissed."

And then he had gathered his child back up into his arms, pink bear and all, and taken him home to celebrate with tea and biscuits.