Harry softly groaned. He cracked opened one eye as he awoke the next morning and gingerly lifted his head from his pillow. Harry had just had the strangest nightmare… where he was forced to live with Snape all summer and…

Two smart raps on his bedroom door snapped Harry back to reality.

"Potter…Breakfast!" Snape had barked impatiently from the other side.

Harry's head fell hard against the soft pillow and gave a little bounce. Harry closed his eyes tight, trying to make it all go away.

"You're kidding me?"

The day before had been a blur…but it was all coming back to him now. It hadn't been a dream-more like a living nightmare.

Harry was staying with Snape all summer, and yes…he was Harry's father.

Another thought struck Harry, and he opened the nightstand for more confirmation that last night had been real.

Harry picked up the physical evidence of the previous night's events and gazed at it in disbelief.

Professor Snape had given him the book. Harry grabbed his glasses from atop the nightstand and slipped them on his face. He then gingerly opened the front cover and the binding made a crackling sound from age and disuse. Harry caught his breath when he noticed the faded inscription neatly penned on the back of the front cover.

Presented to Severus Snape on the auspicious occasion of his 10th birthday
by Mr and Mrs Harold Evans
9 January, 1970
Happy Birthday Sev,
With Love From, Mr and Mrs Evans

Harry stared and marvelled. He moved his thumb across the neat handwriting, but didn't quite touch it, afraid he might accidently smudge the decades-old script. His grandfather's name was Harold. Harry had already known that, but here it was in writing. He still did not know his grandmother's name. For some odd reason, Harry half expected his grandmother to have some sort of flower name. He wondered if Snape might tell him.

Because Harry had no living memory of his parents, other than his mum on the night she died, it never really occurred to him that he had grandparents too. Aunt Petunia never talked about her mum and dad. Harry remembered her mentioning something about a train derailment that happened before he and Dudley were born, but she said little else about them. She would show old family photos to Dudley on occasion, but never to Harry.

Harry could feel a new resentment towards his aunt well up inside him and forcibly supressed it again. With his thumb, Harry wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye. He had enough of crying and was determined he wouldn't cry anymore.

It occurred to Harry that not only had his grandparents been so close to the Potion's Master that they called Snape by such a familiar name; they signed the dedication with an endearment of love.

And Snape had given Harry this intensely personal memento….why? What did it mean? Why had Snape been so…well…Harry didn't want to say nice, but for Snape…. Harry couldn't wrap his brain around the words.

Harry wondered if his life could possibly get any stranger. What next? Would he find out at breakfast that Voldemort was actually his sister? It was all just so…bizarre.

Another pound on the door snapped Harry out of his reverie.

"Potter! Breakfast has been ready for ten minutes!"

"I'm up already!" Harry shouted back.

Oh yes…that sounded more like the Snape Harry had come to know and loathe. Now the universe was back in proper balance. Harry had almost been fooled into believing that Snape wanted him as a son…Not that Harry wanted any such thing. Harry was quite used to being alone and making his own decisions.

Snape's apologies and confessions, though Harry had to admit…did seem genuine, were too good to be true, and Harry learned well-enough long ago that when something seemed too good to be true, it always was.

And Harry still did not trust Snape. What if the Potion's Master decided to take the book back from Harry as a cruel joke?

That would be more in keeping with Snape's nature, Harry thought bitterly.

Despite what Snape had said the night before, Harry doubted Snape wanted children, least of all Harry. Dumbledore probably just made Snape say that all that rubbish about him being okay with being Harry's father or the Potion's Master was tanked. Besides, Harry had no need of parents. He was fifteen. Harry could take care of himself quite nicely.

A new day brought a fresh perspective, and Harry would not be duped into trusting Snape over a book, no matter how special it was. Harry had been too tired from all of the trauma the night before to think clearly. Last night, as Harry listened to Snape's hypnotising tone, Harry could almost believe that his cruel Potion's Master wanted to be a proper family. Snape could be as cunning and enticing as the Devil when he wanted to, and Harry refused to fall into his trap.

But one thing was certain. If Snape asked for the book back, Harry would just have to say he lost it. Harry considered putting a Thief's Curse on the book, but he would have to research the incantation and Harry had enough research ahead of him to last the entire summer. Instead, Harry just opted to put the book back into the nightstand and cast a simple locking charm. It would not stand up to an Alohomora, but would prevent the book from being summoned.

But…what if Snape was telling the truth? What then? Harry couldn't really believe that Snape wanted to be a father to him…but what if? It was a scenario that was too far beyond Harry's comprehension at the moment.

Harry decided that the only thing he could do was just keep his mouth shut as much as possible and try to get along with Snape the best he could. It wouldn't be easy. Harry knew his patience tended to run thin where Snape was concerned and the same was true for Snape about Harry.

Oh, well…One day at a time, Harry reminded himself.

Harry slowly came out of his musings and had his first real look around is new room. He really must have been off his head yesterday after that potion Snape gave him. How could he not notice this room? "No wonder I had a headache yesterday," he mumbled to himself.

The room was positively garish! Why was it, that everyone just assumed that every Hogwarts' student wanted to decorate everything in their House colours? There was something to be said for House pride, but this room was even more ridiculous than the dorms.

Did Snape do this? Harry wondered, surely not.

Harry stumbled across the cold stone floor to the loo in his bare feet. He refused to look in the mirror over fear of what he might see and turned on the faucet in the basin to let the water run. As he sloshed cold water over his face, Harry groused that he should have put some socks on. He was going to have to get a decent pair of house shoes before he caught his death living in the dungeon.

The cold water had shocked Harry out of his remaining morning lethargy. Like it or not, it was time to buck-up and face his Professor. There was no time for a shower if he was going to eat. Harry resigned himself to taking one after breakfast.

Harry came out the loo and stifled one last yawn as he plodded towards his chamber door. He opened the door and jumped back in surprise.

"Holy crap!"

Harry's grabbed his chest in an effort to keep his heart from running off.

There stood Snape in all of his ebony clad glory, ready to pound Harry in the face with his fisted hand. Apparently, he was about to knock on Harry's door again. His gaunt face looked just as astonished as Harry felt.

Snape composed himself rather quickly, but Harry found his voice first. "I know…breakfast," he said as he tried to excuse his way past Snape.

Snape silently stepped aside and let Harry pass. Harry's spine crawled as Snape kept his scrutiny focused on Harry. Apparently Snape wasn't a morning person either but he still fussed. "Are you always such a lie-a-bed, Potter," Snape asked as he followed Harry down the corridor.

"Not normally," Harry said dryly as he entered the kitchen. "But yesterday was an extraordinarily harrowing day."

For a split moment, both he and the professor were taken aback. Harry knew he could be snappish when he was peeved, but had he always sounded this much like Snape. From the strained look on the Potion Master's face, Snape was mulling over the same thought.

Harry sat down at the kitchen table and noticed only a single place setting. Snape had obviously already eaten, but had forethought enough to place a warming spell in the serving dishes. Harry thought it a nice enough gesture, but it did nothing for his mood as the kindness only served to turn Harry's world on end again.

Harry reached across the table and served himself a bowl of porridge from the tureen and placed a couple of slices of bacon on his plate. Harry was about to add a healthy tablespoon or two of sugar, when the sugar bowl suddenly disappeared out of his hand.

"Hey!" Harry said in protest as he looked up at Snape whose hooked nose was buried in the morning Daily Prophet. "Did you do that?"

Snape said nothing, but Harry watched as the man's calloused hand slid a banana across the table. Harry hadn't even seen the fruit on the table.

Harry still could not see the dour man's face for the newspaper, but Snape's seemingly disembodied voice did say, "There's honey right there if you need it."

Harry peeled the banana with more vigour than was necessary. He began to slice it into the bowl with the edge of his spoon and said, "If you're so against sugar, why did you have it on the table to begin with?"

Snape still did not look up from his paper. Harry heard a bit of the familiar Snape-irritation in two words, "House-elves," as if that explained everything. And strangely enough, it did.

Harry ate in silence as Snape continued to read his morning paper and casually sip his coffee. Every now and again, Harry swore he felt the professor's obsidian gaze on him, but when he looked up the professor's eyes would still be focused on the damn paper.

Harry didn't know why the professor's silence grated at him so. How many times in the past had he just wished Snape would shut up and leave him the hell alone? Harry really didn't know what he expected Snape to say…just…something.

Harry was of two minds over Snape. Every fibre of Harry's instinct was telling him not to trust his Potion's professor. But then the book kept plaguing Harry's mind. Harry would be lying to himself if he said that hadn't been touched by the gift.

Despite himself, Harry began to think on it again. There was no denying, that book had special meaning to Snape. He wouldn't have kept it for twenty-five years if it hadn't. Harry just couldn't understand why Snape gave it to him. A part of Harry…deep down…wondered if that meant Snape thought he was special. But Harry dismissed any such notions. No one had ever thought of him as that special.

Well, that was not entirely true. The wizarding world only thought Harry was special because he was The-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry was certain that even Sirius only though he was special because Harry happened to look like his da…James Potter.

How long will that last, Harry sadly wondered to himself.

Harry's last words to his godfather were in anger. This bit about Harry being Snape's son and not James Potter's would certainly make Sirius hate Harry now.

Harry could no longer stand the silence.

Only the scraping of Harry's spoon against his bowl, the clinking of Snape's coffee cup and the rustling of that bloody paper, broke it and Harry finally snapped, "You don't actually read that rag do you?"

Without bothering to look up from his paper, Snape casually responded, "Know thy Enemy."

Harry scowled at the non-answer answer and tossed his serviette into his empty bowl. The dirty dishes popped away. "Hey…why did you have to clean up after dinner last night? Why didn't everything just pop away?"

"The house-elves did not prepare dinner. It would hardly seem right to ask them to clean up after."

It was a lame excuse and Harry knew it. The house-elves would have jumped all over the chance to clean up after them last night. But Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the sudden image of Snape wearing one of Hermione's flashing S.P.E.W badges. "You ought to talk with Hermione."

As if Snape read his mind, the Potion's Master sardonically replied, "I think not."

Harry was about to excuse himself and go outside to get some flying time and hopefully clear his thoughts when Snape held up his hand, indicating he did not want Harry to leave yet.

Snape methodically folded his paper and laid it on the table next to his now empty coffee cup. They too, popped out of sight, leaving the dining table bare since the first time Harry could recall.

"How is your summer homework coming along?" Snape asked without preamble.

Harry was caught off guard by the innocuous question. "Fine actually," he said nervously as he scratched the back of his head. "I've managed to finish my Transfiguration and Charms essays. I'm over half-way through Herbology but I've only just started in on yours. I still need to pick out four more plants, write my essay, and come up with three potions projects… Not much really."

Snape's eyes narrowed at Harry's overt sarcasm, but to Harry's surprise, once again the Potion's Master said nothing. Harry could tell that Snape was actually having some sort of internal struggle over addressing Harry's cheek…or he was fighting an internal bout with gas…either one.

"Bring me your completed essays. I'll proofread them and give them back so you can correct any errors," Snape said firmly. "The sooner it is done…the sooner you can enjoy your summer."

"Rewrite my essays? You're having a go at me, right?" Harry said calmly at first, before is irritation started to rise. "I've got enough work to catch up on as it is."

"How am I supposed to rewrite my essays and get your mountain of homework done?" Harry complained. "I don't even know what half the plants on your list look like."

"Did the flowers inexplicably disappear from Surry this summer?" Snape asked snappishly. "Certainly you've had time this past month to venture outside. Or were you too caught up in those infernal Muggle video games to bother with your homework?"

Harry was too angry to ask how the hell Snape knew what a video game was. He wasn't about to put up with Snape's pre-conceived notions anymore. "For your information I only just started the other day! It's kind of hard to know what my bloody homework is when my books are locked away!"

Damn!

From the perplexed expression that just crossed Snape's face, Harry knew he said too much. "What do you mean your books were locked away Po…Harry?"

"Nothing," Harry said too quickly to sound convincing. "I'll just get it done."

Harry resigned himself to a summer that promised no respite when he heard Snape say under his breath, "Perhaps once the trial has past, I can take you to my cottage near Goblin Combe."

Snape had an odd look on his face and Harry wasn't certain if the man was speaking to him or mumbling to himself. Then Snape finally spoke up and said, "The estate has an abundance of flora used in potions making. I would allow you to take advantage of the greenhouses, however, that would border on cheating. You may also find the private library at the manor house has a far more relevant reference material than even the school library."

"An estate," Harry wasn't sure he heard correctly. "You have an estate? I thought you were just a teacher."

"Left to me by my grandfather Prince," Snape said matter-of–factually, "I have not been there in almost ten years, but the house-elves have kept it in order…I hope," Snape added as if there might be some doubt.

"You'd let me do that?" Harry said, still not believing what he was hearing. "That's it! Who are you and what have you done with Professor Snape?"

"You may find it advantageous to be the Potion Master's son…Harry," Snape hesitated uncertainly at Harry's name but then added with a sly smirk. "You don't think that I would show favouritism towards my House and not to my own son, do you?"

Harry's heart dropped. His son? Was Snape really thinking that Harry might want to be his son? He had a lot of ner….

Oh no… People would know. What was he going to tell Ron and Hermione? And what of Malfoy? What if he found out? If Harry changed enough during the term, Malfoy would certainly go straight to his father with this news and then Voldemort would…

"No!" Harry shouted. His face warmed with embarrassment from his sudden outburst and he said more calmly…if only slightly, "We can't let people know about this. We can't let people know I'm your…" Harry couldn't bring himself to say the word again.

"Harry, if your friends are truly loyal, it will not matter that I'm…"

"It's not that," Harry interrupted. Well…it was partly. "I was talking about you. You're a spy. What if the wrong people find out?"

Snape arose from his chair and took a hesitant step towards Harry. Harry instinctively stepped back and Snape stopped where he was. A strange look flashed across the Potion Master's face. Harry thought it almost looked like pain.

It cut Severus to the quick to know that his son did not want to acknowledge him. And to see him shy away was almost unbearable. But Severus had no one to blame for that but himself. He refused to let anyone know how much it hurt him, so Severus put the pain behind his shields and continued to explain the facts to his son in his academic tone.

"It is true…we must keep this information secret for now, however, it may soon prove to be irrelevant." Snape said somewhat darkly. "You will change Harry…and it appears that subtle changes have already begun…your hair…your height. We don't know how extensive the change in your appearance will be. Soon, I may not be able to deny your paternity, even if I wished to."

Severus could tell that Harry was shaken. The whole notion of the truth of his paternity was overwhelming, no doubt. The boy would not want his looks to change and Severus could hardly blame him. What would that be like to wake up and see a stranger in the mirror every day? James Potter had grown into a rather handsome man and it looked as though Harry was to follow in his footsteps. Now the boy suddenly found out he would probably favour a greasy-haired, paled-faced git with a crooked nose.

But Harry astonished Severus when he asked, "But what about you? What if Voldemort finds out?"

Severus hissed at the sound of the Dark Lord's name and there was a clear look of distrust on Harry's face. He could feel it ripple of the boy's aura. Severus would have to address the Dark Lord's name issue with Harry later, but if Severus made mention of it now, he could irrevocably snap the tenuous rapport he was beginning to build with his son.

"Do not trouble yourself with my situation, Harry," Severus said reassuringly, ignoring Harry's slight as he walked into the sitting room and took his favourite chair. "I'm quite adept at keeping secrets."

Severus made a show of his disregard over others finding out by brushing a non-existent piece of lint from his trouser knee.

Harry tentatively followed Severus in and sat on the far end of the sofa. The boy looked as if he were about to say something, but Severus cut him off. "Rest assured, if I should be discovered, I do have… contingency plans."

Harry nodded his understanding, but the boy still looked conflicted over something.

Obviously, Harry was wrestling with some issues he was not ready to discuss and was apparent by how artlessly the boy changed the topic. "Uh…who decorated my room?"

Severus was inwardly surprised that Harry changed the subject so readily. But being as they were getting into a sticky topic, Severus inwardly sighed his relief and was more than happy to oblige.

"That credit for that lies solely with the Headmaster." Severus wasn't about to take credit for decorating Harry's room.

"You may express your appreciation next time you see him." Severus desperately tried to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching. Albus thought that Severus' complaint about burgundy and gold was due only to his disdain for Gryffindor (well… it was in part). But the colours were enough to burn holes into ones brain.

"Yeah…I'll do that." Harry said sardonically. "You know, you ought to develop some kind of potion for the Headmaster. If my room and his robes are any indication, he must be colour blind."

Severus nearly laughed aloud at that. He had to admit, the boy had a sense of wit that nearly matched his own, but his dignity was saved when the Floo came to life. He and Harry both paused, expecting to see a head to pop through the fire and ask for entrance. Instead, a post flew through and smacked Harry on the head.

"Ow!" Harry exclaimed more from astonishment than pain, as he grabbed the letter from mid-air.

"I do believe that post is for you." Severus' amusement was more apparent than he cared to let on, but there was nothing to be done for it. He arose from his chair and gestured for Harry to follow.

"Apparently the sender wanted to make sure that the letter would end up only in your hands," Severus explained the violent delivery. He had his suspicions that the post was from Harry's godmutt, but one could never be 100% certain. "It may be charmed or cursed. I have a special opener that will disperse any Dark Magic that might be attached."

Harry arose and followed Severus into his study. The boy seemed morosely resigned when he said, "No…there's no Dark Magic. It's from Sirius."

Severus sat in a large padded black leather office chair behind a semi-circular teak-wood desk. He indicated for Harry to take the chair across from him. Harry obligingly sat without looking up. The boy was still fixated on the address of the post.

If Black's reaction to Severus' guardianship of Harry was any indication, the mutt would be rabid when he discovered this latest news about Severus' paternity.

Ordinarily, Severus would have thought that Black's reaction would be quite the pisser. But as he looked over at a very dejected Harry, and the boy continued to stare at his unopened letter, the situation did not seem quite so amusing as it once would have been.

"Are you going to open it? It is obviously not a howler." Severus was making an attempt to sound unconcerned, but the tactic did not sound natural coming from him. It sounded a bit snippy instead.

"I know it's not a howler!" Harry shot back, then groaned miserably, "I just don't know if I want to read what he has to say."

"There's something we both agree upon," Severus muttered under his breath. Harry gave him a cross look. His narrowed eyes were eerily reminiscent Severus' and Severus took noticed. "However, our motives differ," he mumbled quickly as he tried to soften his previous statement.

Harry looked slightly mystified.

"Read your letter Harry. Otherwise you will ruminate on it until you make yourself ill." Severus did manage to sound slightly more sympathetic that time.

"You may read it alone if you wish," Severus offered, rather magnanimously, he thought.

"No…I might as well do it now or I probably never will. I'm sure you'll find out what's in it during our Occlumency lesson anyway." The boy twitched. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to accuse."

"No offence taken, Po…Harry," Severus said then managed to add, "I understand your concern."

The look on Harry's face said that the boy doubted if Severus understood anything about him, which Severus hated to admit, was probably true.

Severus took a copper-plated letter opener out of the drawer and offered it to Harry from across his desk.

Harry reached out and hesitated a bit. Then, with a stern look of determination, Harry snatched the opener from Severus' hand and ripped the instrument through the wax sealed envelope. Harry jerked the letter from its covering and gave it a cursory glance.

"Sirius apologised," Harry said numbly. The speed in which the boy scanned the post and the blank expression on his face, gave Severus pause for concern. Something had happened where Harry obviously wanted no dealings with his beloved godfather. What had Black done?

"Did you actually read it," Severus asked.

"Oh." The boy looked sheepish, as if he was just caught in a half-truth.

Severus was starting to get inpatient with Harry's hesitancy, but kept his impatience hidden from his son the best he could… at least for the time being. The tension in the boy's face was so tight; he looked as if he would snap under the slightest breeze.

Severus struggled to keep is tone neutral as he asked, "What did he apologise for?"

"Good question," Harry muttered under his breath, unaware that Severus could still hear him. Severus wondered if the boy was aware that he was reading the letter aloud.

"Dear Harry, I am so sorry. There is nothing I can say that will excuse my behaviour towards you this past Friday. I had hoped that we would have a chance to spend a little time together before you were given over to," there was a slight pause as if the boy was reading over something or making an internal correction, "Snape's care… I was looking forward to regaling you with stories of James and Lily. You are so much like your father. Please Harry, accept my apology. I should regret it for the rest of my life if I drove my best friend's son away. If I should drive you away, James would never forgive me and I, in turn, would never forgive myself. I promise that I will always be here for you, Harry. Nothing will ever change that. You are my family…and…you will always find family in me. Your loving godfather, Sirius."

Harry reiterated, "He apologises for arguing with me on Friday." Apparently the boy had not been aware that he recited the entire letter. Severus decided that it was best to keep it quiet.

Instead Severus feigned as if he hadn't heard Harry's mumblings, "And why doesn't that hearten you," he asked.

Harry said somewhat hesitantly, "Um…well…He never apologised for what he said about you." He continued in a whisper, "and he still thinks that I'm Ja...James' son."

"About me?"

Harry breathed out an exhaustive sigh. One would think that the boy was giving confession to a priest. "Yeah…our argument was about you."

Severus wondered if he looked as gob-smacked as he felt as Harry continued with his explanation. "I was angry at how callous he was about how Mum and Da…James treated you."

Harry hung his head, his expression hidden behind his lunatic fringe, but then the boy hesitantly looked up and fixed his haunting green eyes on Severus, looking for a reaction.

Severus knew his face had frozen with astonishment. If you had told him only the day before that Harry Potter had felt a sense of moral outrage on behalf of Severus Snape…well it was just plain unbelievable, that's what it was.

"I don't know what to say," Severus admitted in his bewilderment.

Harry shook his head and said, "There's nothing to say, I may not have liked you…I don't know that I do now…But it's wrong to take pleasure in the pain of others. Godfather or not…I won't stand for it."

Severus sat back in his chair. He felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Harry Potter had defended Severus Snape against his godfather over apparent wrongs that were committed by his sainted parents a decade-and-a-half ago. It was if the world had flipped over and Severus was still hanging up-side down.

"I'm touched, Harry," Severus said in all sincerity. Severus felt, however, that he should say more for his son's sake.

"But I am not totally blameless in my dealings with Black. I do not like him…but he is your godfather. Your mother would have never allowed James to name him as such if Black did not have some redeeming qualities, loathe though I am to admit it."

Harry turned his face towards Severus and gave a timid, half-hearted smile. "You know…I thought the same thing about you."

That nagging paternal instinct that had plagued Severus since his second visit to the Pensieve was buzzing in his brain and pressing on his heart. He felt a very real need to comfort his son. It was such an unfamiliar and awkward sensation.

For fifteen years Harry had known James Potter to be his father, and Black had appealed to Harry in the late Potter's name. No doubt the boy felt he was betraying Potter's memory. The identity crisis the boy must be experiencing at the moment had to be crushing.

Severus resisted the urge to arise and physically touch Harry. Frankly, he wasn't certain he was ready, and he was more that certain the boy would recoil from him. Instead, Severus remained in his chair, and folded his hands in his lap until his knuckles turned white.

"Harry," Severus began, hoping he could find the words the boy would find comforting. "Don't worry yourself over my feelings where Black is concerned. The animosity between us runs long and deep and our feelings are mutual. Trust me. I am not offended by any remark Black makes about me. My only concern is how they affect you." Harry looked up at Severus with those searching eyes. He was looking for truth in Severus, and Severus was all too aware of it. He only hoped that Harry recognised it was there. "For your sake…I will do my best to come to some sort of reconciliation."

Severus was unsure if Harry believed him or not.

Harry cast his eyes down so Severus could not see the boy's internal conflict, but there was no way the boy could hide his turmoil. Harry's despair hung over the room like a Dementor longing for a kiss.

"Thank you," Harry said meekly. "But I don't think that it will matter…not when he finds out that I'm your son and not…James'."

The truth may not be easy for Harry to hear, but Severus thought that after four years of mistreatment at his hands, it was about time that Severus showed the boy some compassion. If he was ever going to have any kind of relationship with his son, he had to start now. Severus didn't think he deserved it, but he owed it to Lily...and to Harry. "Black will not take this news easily. But I assure you, it is I who will be the focus of his rage…not you. However, if the man has any integrity at all, he will not let your parentage change his feelings for you."

It galled Severus to defend Black. Only a few days ago, Severus wouldn't have thought twice about demoralising Harry in regards to his goddog.

Harry was still understandably fearful. Too many unasked questions hung in the air. But Severus was nearly knocked over by the next one Harry asked.

"Sir…why do you keep calling me Harry? You've been calling me Harry all morning...except when you're irritated."

Severus blinked in order to clear the buzzing from out of his brain. He hadn't even realised, so he made up the most plausible excuse he could think of, unfortunately, it was also pretty weak. "Well…last time I heard, it was your name. Was it not?"

"I guess…I mean… yes…of course. But you've called me 'Potter' for going on four years. Why change now?"

In truth, Severus did not know the answer to that, at least none he cared to admit quite yet. So he gave Harry a honest, if ambiguous answer, "Circumstances have changed."

Understandably, the answer did not seem to satisfy Harry, but the boy did not press the issue any further. This time the boy asked uncertainly, "Um…what should I call you?"

Was this boy going too constantly put Severus in a state of shock with his questions?

What should he call me?

If Severus wanted to remain distant, he would just have the boy continue to call him 'Professor' or 'Sir.' If Severus really wanted to be heartless, he would force Harry to call him 'Father.' Any other endearments Severus was, as of yet, unworthy and may never be.

But the boy had to call him something. "I suppose…if you feel comfortable…you may call me 'Severus' in private. Once term comes, you will have to refer to me as 'Sir' or 'Professor' in the classroom. But that would be appropriate under any circumstance."

Harry nodded his acceptance. He carefully folded his missive from his godfather, arose from the sofa and crammed it in his back pocket.

"If you don't mind, Si…Severus," the boy said, trying the name awkwardly for the first time. "I have to finish up my homework."

Severus arose too, tucking at the sleeves of his frockcoat. "I'll be in my private lab should you need me," Severus said as Harry headed back to his room.

"Oh…and Harry?"

"Yes, S…Severus?"

"Remember, Occlumency at 5:30."