Five years old and he asked his daddy why his dreams were so often about burning towers and crumbling walls.

   Six years old and he set the drapes on fire by mistake, but his daddy put it out and told him he was a wizard. He was proud to be like his daddy, because that was who he wanted to be with all his heart.

    Seven and he pointed to his daddy's neck and asked where his scar came from, and his daddy told him it came from a snake.

    Eight years old and he couldn't understand why some people whispered curiously when they saw him; hushed speculations of maybes and what ifs. His daddy didn't know what to tell him.

   Nine years old and he was too old to say daddy, and he thought that maybe his dad missed how it used to be.

   Eleven years old and his dad was there to wave him off as he coasted away on the Hogwarts Express, which took him to the place that had the burning towers that he dreamed about sometimes. But they weren't burning like they did in dreams.

    Twelve and he cried because his owl was killed by a fox during his first week of summer vacation, and he asked his dad why things have to die. His dad just hugged him tightly, and said he did not really know why, but that these things happen anyways.

     Thirteen and he broke his arm playing Quidditch, and he got a letter in the morning, that his dad had sent with the fastest owl he could find.

     Five days after his fifteenth birthday and his dad had to drag him out of bed, where he had been lying heartbroken over a girl. His dad said dryly that there were other girls in the world, and that he'd run into one eventually. That made him smile a little.

    Seventeen years old and graduating. His dad was really proud, and even tried to make a cake to celebrate. He burnt it so they went for ice cream instead, still laughing over the cake.

      He was eighteen years old and moving out. His dad waved until the knight bus was out of sight. He had never seen his dad so choked up.

   Nineteen and he'd met the girl his dad had been talking about. She was everything he'd dreamed of and more.

    Twenty-one years and he was walking down the aisle toward the one he loved, and even though his dad was glowing with pride, he only had eyes for her.

    Twenty-five and his second child was born. This one was a girl. His dad suggested they name her Lily, and the name stuck.

   Twenty-six and he asked his dad again why he kept dreaming of burning towers and crumbling walls. His dad told him a story of not so long ago, of falling castles and a man filled with regret and a boy who wanted a second chance.

  Twenty-seven and his dad passed away. They said the poison had finally worked its way to his heart, after years of magical delay. For a little while he felt like his own heart was filled with poison, the way it ached.

   Twenty-seven and a half, and he visited Harry Potter's empty grave, and wondered who he used to be. He wondered who his dad used to be too, before it all.

  Twenty-eight, and he decided that the only thing that mattered was who he, Harold Snape, was today. He knew his dad would be proud of him.