More bad language, but just a little (same as last time). I don't usually repeat events from different POVs, but this time I am. I think it's good to know what Harry was thinking during the whole event.

Glimpses – Chapter 14

When Harry awoke, his nose immediately picked up on the heady scents in the room. He immediately recognized mint and pepper, but there was another stronger smell mixed in with the others. It reeked of danger, and Harry immediately wanted to stay as far away as possible.

The pain in his head was immense, and through the pounding in his brain he could feel a sticky wetness around his head. He wanted to move an arm to gingerly attest the extent of the damage, but his muscles didn't seem to want to respond.

He heard Snape's panicked voice echo through the quarters, and he noted with slight apprehension that there was an angry edge to it as well. Harry felt the tingle of magic pass over him – a sensation he was beginning to grow accustomed to – and suddenly the overwhelming fumes were gone. The sounds of jars and vials being sent back to their places filled his ears, and suddenly the pain in his head was gone, along with the stickiness beneath his head.

Before his sigh of relief could pass from his lips, he was yanked roughly from the floor without a word and bent over the table in the corner of the room. The rough wood dug into his stomach, and Harry struggled not to cry out. This was something he was familiar with. This was something he could understand.

He heard rather than saw the man's belt yanked into his hand, and he curled in on himself instinctively, a small move he had learned made a big difference at the Dursleys. His vital organs were protected while his back took the full brunt of the beating. He clutched the edge of the desk tighter with his knobby fingers, waiting for the inevitable blow. He had expected this, had seen it coming, but he had let his guard down. He had let the man's words soothe him, reassure him, all for nothing. This man was just as bad, if not worse than his relatives.

The belt whistled through the air, and Harry braced himself. But the blow never came. Instead, the belt hit the desk beside him with a startling crack, and he flinched more violently than he would have if he had been struck. A sharp pain cut across his face and he removed his teeth from his bottom lip, the familiar taste of blood filling his mouth. Snape hadn't hit him. His guardian – his father hadn't hit him. The overwhelming feelings that someone must truly care washed over him.

But neither of them moved. There was a long, still silence before the man's voice broke the tension like the crack of a whip.

"Get up, Potter. Holy fuck, Potter, don't just sit there – get the fuck up!" His voice was harsh, rough, icier than the boy had ever heard. Without another word, Snape turned and ran through the door, and Harry heard the door to the quarter snap shut with a bang. He pulled himself up from where he was folded across the wooden desktop, rubbing his midsection where it was sore from the hard edge of the table.

Harry huddled in the corner of the lab table, watching the door through which the man had disappeared mere moments before. The belt had fallen to the floor, where it lay rather harmlessly, curled slightly and resting on its thin side edge. He looked at it cautiously, pulling himself farther into the corner and trying to make himself as small as possible. It wouldn't be good to be here when Snape came back from wherever he had run off to. Probably to find a thicker belt.

He wasn't by any means comfortable, so with a nervous breath he slid off the wooden surface. His feet hit the floor lightly and he skirted around the leather belt lying on the stone, running out of the room like Snape had previously.

As he settled into the space beneath the bottom shelf of his cupboard, he sat in stunned silence. Snape had stopped. He had kept himself from hitting Harry, and that was the most the boy could say for any father figure in his life. He fingered the scars on his side lightly, running his fingers over the edges with distaste.

Snape had stopped. The belt had collided with the table and fallen to the floor, rather than hitting Harry. He had stopped. Through the anger of Harry messing up his potion, he had kept his word. He had stopped.

Harry sat marveling the fact that the man really cared. Cared enough to not hit him.

oOoOo

Snape stood carefully from where he had been sitting on the shore of the lake, dusting the sand and snow from his trousers with pale, shaking hands. He had made his decision. He would go up and talk to the boy before going to Dumbledore to inform the man that he could not care for Ha – Potter.

His pace was brisk as he walked toward the castle, his stiff anger and distress turning his gait into more of a stalk. He pulled open the doors and descended the staircases to the dungeon.

Snape stood outside the door to his quarters silently for a moment before pushing the door open and standing in the entryway. The fire burning pleasantly in the living room did nothing to warm his icy mood. He stalked down the hallway to his lab, looking for the boy but finding him nowhere.

He prayed to every god he could think of that the boy hadn't run away again as he bent to pick up his belt, snaking it around his thin figure and fastening it tightly. He moved out of the door again and began to search the rooms for the small ten-year-old.

The door to the ingredients cupboard was open, throwing light onto the dark stones of the hallway. Snape crept toward it, looking through the doorway and nearly sighing in relief when he found the boy curled in on himself under the shelves.

Look at the damage you did to him, you fool.

"Mr. Potter," he began gruffly, willing himself to revert back to the use of the boy's last name. "Please kindly come out from beneath the shelf and sit on the couch. I believe we have matters to speak of."

The boy looked up at him warily before crawling out from under the low-hanging shelf full of ingredients. He ran past Snape and into the living room, where Snape found him sitting obediently on the couch. Oh, Merlin.

Snape cleared his throat, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. He couldn't sit down. Not now. Not when he had screwed up so much in so little a time. He cleared his throat again.

"Mr. Potter." There was a brief moment of silence as he thought about his words. "I trust you understand what happened an hour ago?" The boy nodded briefly, and Snape continued. "I understand if you don't want me – if you don't want me to care for you, to be your guardian – your father – anymore. I – I don't know what to do, but whatever case, that was completely inappropriate of me, and I had no place – and no right – to ever come close to hitting you. I won't throw you out on the street; I will find someone to care for you properly, since clearly that person is not me. Do not worry, Mr. Potter, you will not have to live with me any longer."

There was a prolonged moment of tense silence. Potter had dropped his head between his knees. Snape watched the boy carefully before clearing his throat for a response. Potter looked up slowly, his eyes downcast, his cheeks red.

"Sir, I understand. I understand you don't want me. It was my fault, really."

Snape began to grow wildly impatient. "I don't want you? I thought we went over that a few days ago. Are you a total idiot?"

Potter cowered into the couch, shaking his head rapidly. "No, sir. I only meant – I meant that I misbehaved, that it was my fault."

"I am aware of that."

"But thank you, sir." He spoke low, keeping his eyes on his thin hands.

Snape, who had paused in his anger, resumed his pacing with renewed vigor. "Thank you? Thank you?! Don't you dare thank me, you fool! I nearly hurt you – I nearly hit you! Much worse than that – I nearly whipped you! With my belt! And you're thanking me? Because I stopped myself? Because I managed to redirect the belt to hit the bench instead of your back? I assure you when I was bringing that belt down my original intention was, in fact, to hit you." The man's voice broke on the last few words.

"But you didn't."

"But I could have! I was going to! Don't you dare justify this!" Snape shouted, slumping down into the armchair and burying his face in his hands. He suddenly felt two small, cold hands grip his sallow cheeks, and he looked up into a pair of vivid green eyes. Snape was too upset to even arch an eyebrow at the unfamiliar gesture.

"Sir, Snape, Dad. You didn't hit me, and that's what matters to me. You're the only one who's ever stopped, and that means something to me. Obviously we're not perfect, so who's to judge us because we aren't?" He climbed up into the man's lap and curled up there. Snape wrapped his arms hesitantly around the young boy. "So thank you. You're the nicest man I've ever met. So if you don't mind, can I keep you as my dad?"

Nice? Snape's mind reeled at the boy's words, unconsciously pulling him closer as he sat in overwhelmed silence. The boy didn't care. He didn't care at all. Pot – Harry still wanted him, and was even reassuring him. Through everything Snape had done, everything he had screwed up, the boy was forgiving and thankful. He was thankful because Snape had been the only one who had ever stopped. It was a perfectly viable reason, and for the moment, he tried to take it at face value, tried not to analyze what it meant, because he really didn't want to ruin such a moment with the negative thoughts of the boy's childhood.

The boy had said words much wiser than expected of a boy who was only ten years old, and Snape felt them hit him hard. Harry wanted him to continue to be his father. He forgave him, thanked him even.

Snape felt his mind spin and his breath rushing out. He thought he might pass out any second, so he choked out his response through barely-contained sobs. "I don't mind, Harry. Not at all." He hugged the boy closer. This child would never stop changing his life as he knew it.

When he felt he had recovered his voice, Snape sat back, slightly loosening his grip on the small child cradled in his arms. He let his arms fall to his sides to allow the boy space to move if he wished to, but Harry turned into his robes and hugged him closer. With an exaggerated sigh, Snape wrapped his arms around him again, fighting to keep the smile off his face.

"Can I tell you a story?"

Harry met his eyes and Snape didn't have to use Legilimancy to read the boy's excitement at the prospect of being told a story. It was likely he had never been told a good one in his life. Not that this one was good.

The boy nodded happily. "What's it about, Dad?"

"You'll see," came the mysterious reply, and Snape cleared his throat quietly before beginning to speak again. "Not too many years ago, there was a poor boy. He grew up in a small house in the less fortunate area of Spinner's End" – Harry nodded in vigorous understanding at this point and Snape fought back a scowl – "with his parents. Although his mother was kind and had had enough money to provide for the family, the father was a monster, unfit to even be called a man, and he had wasted everything on things like alcohol much before the boy was born. By the time the boy born, the father's anger problems had revealed themselves to their full extent, and he was always angry, always yelling, and always hitting his wife and son. He went through much of what you went through, actually." Harry winced slightly.

"The boy grew up unhappily, terrified of his father and without friends. But one day at the park, he watched two young girls play and became fascinated with the younger one. She had brilliant red hair and the greenest eyes you could ever imagine. She was beautiful and kind and passionate, but her sister was the opposite, always mean and angry and jealous. The boy hated her, but he made quick friends with the red-haired girl.

"Seeing as both the boy and the girl were magical, they received their Hogwarts letters when they were eleven, and went off to school together. Now something you must understand, Harry, is that there are four houses at Hogwarts: Gryffindor for the brave of heart, Ravenclaw for the quick-witted intelligence and booksmarts, Hufflepuff for the loyal, and Slytherin for the cunning. Most of the houses get along fairly well together, with one exception. Gryffindor and Slytherin are enemies, and do not get along in any way.

"Now, back to the story. On the train to Hogwarts – yes, there is a train – this girl and boy met another small group of first years – three young boys who were soon to be joined by a fourth. They made fun of the boy for how he looked and because he wanted to be in Slytherin. Each of the boys in the group were to be Gryffindors." Snape couldn't hide his scowl. "They were disrespectful and insulting to him, but the way they treated the girl was a different story. They were polite and kind, inviting her to join them over the boy, but she refused, staying incredibly loyal to her friend.

"Now when it was time to be sorted, the boy was sent to Slytherin and the girl, along with the group of boys on the train – they called themselves the Marauders – to Gryffindor. However, despite the animosity – er, dislike, Harry – between the two houses, the two children remained friends. They trusted each other and cared for each other and over time, the boy fell in love with the girl. However, one of the Marauders also fell in love with the girl, and pursued her throughout all their years at Hogwarts. The Marauders were cruel to the boy; they bullied him, and the girl stood up for him every time. But during their fifth year at Hogwarts, the boy became angry in response to the teasing he had received, and called the girl a bad name. She became angry as well, and their friendship dissolved, but the boy still loved her.

"The boy, fueled by anger and pain by his loss, turned to the wrong things for comfort, and made bad choices, causing his life to spin wildly and dangerously out of his control. The girl, on the other hand, went on to marry the Marauder who had fallen in love with her as well. They had a son. But through it all, the boy still loved her.

"During this time there was an evil man who had risen to power and when her son was just over a year old, one of the couple's closest friends betrayed them. The evil man came to their home on the night of Halloween and killed them. However, the baby, their son, survived, and the evil man was not seen again. But through it all, the boy still loved her, and to this day, he loves her still."

Harry's eyes were wide by the time Snape finished, and the Potions Master looked into them, into emerald eyes, into Lily's eyes.

"Was that a true story?"

"It was," Snape confirmed quietly.

"Did you know the people in it?" the boy asked excitedly.

Did I know them? Snape thought sarcastically. I was them.

"I suppose I do."

"How?"

Snape sighed but pulled Harry closer to his chest. "So many questions, you curious child. I know them, Harry, because I am – or was, for that matter – that little boy. The girl was your mother. And the Marauder, as I'm sure you may have figured out, was your father."

"You… knew… my parents?" Harry asked slowly.

"Yes, I did. I grew up with them."

"My dad was mean to you?" His voice was uncertain, as if the boy was trying to come to terms with what he had just heard.

"That he was," Snape replied lowly.

Suddenly he found himself hugged tightly by the boy again. "You didn't deserve that! You're the nicest man I've ever met!" Harry pulled back slightly. "Wait, so my parents didn't die in a car crash? And my dad wasn't a drunk?"

Snape was shocked. Was this what Petunia had been telling the boy about his parents all these years? His voice was hard when he replied. "No, they most certainly did not. And as for your father's drinking habits, I am unaware of exactly what went on in the home, but I can assure you that James Potter was not a drunk. But I can tell you one thing: Petunia was just as much of a bitch back then as she is now." Harry looked at him, shocked, before clamping one hand over the older wizard's mouth. "Harry?"

The boy giggled in response to the muffled, confused question. "You said a bad word, Daddy!"

Snape's heart stopped. What had Harry just called him? "Daddy?"

"Yeah, Daddy, you said a bad word! You've been bad!"

"I suppose I have." Snape sighed. "I'm sorry, son. Do you forgive me?" Harry giggled again in response to Snape's bewildered apology, nodding happily.

Snape sat back, hugging the child tightly to his chest. He couldn't help but think about the rather dire turn his thoughts had taken mere hours before, and couldn't believe that he would ever think to give up the child, much less end his own life. Because if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that he wouldn't give up Harry Potter – his son – for the world.

Get me some pancakes to pour that sappiness on... ;) Anyway, what did you think?