Harry awoke early on the morning of his sixteenth birthday to blinding summer light. Not to mention the sound of two astonishingly awake-sounding male voices chorusing "Happy birthday, Harry", drowning out the birdsong that was his usual wake-up call. Clearly Remus and Sirius had made it home last night, after Harry had finally given up waiting for them and gone to bed, shortly before midnight. He glared up at them bleary-eyed, only the top of his head poking out from under the sheet.
"'S not happy. 'M sleepy. Go 'way." He pulled the sheet the rest of the way over his head.
"Come now, is that any way to greet your loving godfather?" asked Sirius rather too loudly, in Harry's opinion. "Get up, Harry! We've lots of things planned, and it's already seven o'clock."
Seven?! Harry was unwillingly becoming more awake at this point. He even managed to form a complete sentence. "Okay, okay! As long as you understand that I'm getting up under protest."
Sirius laughed. "We'll be in the kitchen when you're ready. First birthday present's on the chair." He indicated new jeans and a t-shirt.
As they left the room, Harry attempted to gather his thoughts. There was something important he should remember, but that was still hidden under the sleep-fog. What was it? A minute later, he sat up abruptly. His mother's spell! Snape! And as he sat up and thought that name, he felt a most peculiar sensation, like an elastic band snapping tight somewhere in the region of his navel.
An image of Snape popped into his head, but not one that he was familiar with. The hooked nose was immediately recognisable, but this Snape was younger, sleeping in a tangle of sheets, with a tiny worried frown on his face. He actually looked kind of…cute. The image came accompanied by a wash of emotions. Love, regret, sorrow, hope. His mother. This was what she'd seen, what she'd felt, after she'd completed the spell. That knowledge came with the image and the feelings, and helped him feel slightly more sane. It wasn't Harry thinking that Snape was cute, it was his mother. And not Snape, but 'Sev'. A more rational thought, maybe, but not a more comforting one.
As Harry readied himself for the day, and Sirius' undoubtedly elaborate plans, more images and their accompanying emotions played in his head. Of Snape and Harry's father talking together. Emotions of wonder, bewilderment and under it all, love directed at both men. That must have been the talk.
Watching Gryffindor play Slytherin at Quidditch, laughing as James pulls off a particularly audacious manoeuvre, then glancing across and catching Sev's wry smile in the opposite stand. Studying together, helping each other, explanations delivered in a tone that spoke not of pride in his expertise but of an eagerness to help another understand. Against his will, Harry felt some of his preconceptions and prejudices fade. It was hard to see the man his mother had loved as purely horrible, especially when he understood not just how much she'd loved him, but why, and now that he could see behind the masks that Snape had put up. The very masks that his mother had first encouraged Snape to create.
Of course, some of those images Harry could most definitely have done without. He did not need to know what Snape's face looked like when he said 'I love you' for the first time. It had been an expression of uncertainty and hope. He certainly had no desire at all to know what it looked like at the height of passion, as he gasped Harry's mother's name. Particularly not when it came with emotions of passion, love, and a sort of pleasure he'd never felt before except perhaps in the dreams that came late at night and left his sheets soaked with sweat and semen. He had the feeling that those dreams would be decidedly more explicit now. Surely no-one deserved to have their wet dreams fuelled by images of their mother and Snape? It was…horrendous! Unthinkable. His mind shied away from it.
Harry gritted his teeth, and tried to ignore it. Hopefully it would go away after a while. He went down to the kitchen and hoped that Sirius could provide a distraction.
"Breakfast is served!" Sirius exclaimed as Harry entered, indicating a plate heaped with a full English breakfast, normally one of Harry's favourite things. Today, considering what was going on in his head, he didn't feel up to eating. As soon as he sat down, however, he realised that he was actually hungry. The food vanished quickly.
As they ate, Sirius filled Harry in on the plans for the day. "Ron and Hermione will be here soon, and then I've got something planned for you. Ever been to a wizarding theme park?"
"Wow, really?" This distraction thing was a good idea, it seemed. "I've never even been to an ordinary one!"
"Well then, you'll enjoy this. I promise."
And so he did. Ron and Hermione Floo'd in from Ron's house, where she'd been spending the week, and they spent a happy day at the theme park. Hermione had been to a Muggle theme park before, but she insisted this was far better. Ron had never been either, and enjoyed it immensely. Harry was successfully diverted from the images that had finally slowed from the torrent of the morning, but still insisted on entering his head at odd intervals. And the image of Sirius screaming loudly on every single roller coaster would stay in his mind forever.
In the evening, they returned home. Sirius produced a monstrosity of a cake, smothered in chocolate icing. Harry made a wish, blew out his candles, and refused to tell them what he'd wished for. He opened his presents, the first time he'd got to open them with the gift-givers, and thank them properly. They sat around talking for a while, and then Hermione and Ron had to Floo back. Against their protests, Harry helped Sirius and Remus clean up, and then went to bed, with only half an hour of his birthday remaining.
That night, he dreamed of Snape.