Disclaimer: Don't sue, because, obviously, we don't own Harry, Snape, or Neville.

Rating: This rating is R. We are very Sirius about it. (Sirius ha ha ha...oh, never mind.)

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Neville woke up with a start. Sunlight was slowly streaming into his window. He pulled his left arm to his face and rubbed his blurry eyes. Yawning loudly, he slid out of bed. He sauntered over to his mahogany desk chair and grabbed his folded corduroys and green sweater.

After getting fully clothed, Neville went into the hall. The smell of sizzling bacon and frying eggs drifted into his nose. He inhaled the smell deeply and followed the sent into the kitchen. "Wow, that smells great, Gram-" Neville stopped as he saw Professor Snape, pot in hand, standing over the burner. (No, not Snape, Father) thought Neville. He should start calling him that even in his mind.

Neville watched as Snape...er, Father scraped the bacon onto a plate.

Snape brushed away a lock of onyx hair that had fallen in front of his gaunt face. The rest was tied back in a loose ponytail. It looked as though it was damp.

(Well,) mused Neville, (it appears the man does wash his hair. Unless this was because Harry insisted on it.)

Suddenly, someone came thundering down the stairs.

(Speak of the devil.) Neville looked at Harry. His black hair was disheveled and looking more wild than usual. He was panting heavily from running.

(Looks like he had a rough night.) thought Neville. Then, he groaned inwardly. The sounds of pounding and muffled moaning filled his head. (Eh, he had had a rough night.) Neville mentally smacked himself. He wanted to forget what he had heard the previous night.

Neville was startled to see that Harry was shirtless and wearing a very loose pair of sweats.

"Hi son." Harry spied Snape. He threw out his chest and swaggered over to his husband. "Hey lover," Harry slurred and batted his eyelashes.

Snape turned to Harry with a genuine smile.

But that didn't rattle Neville as much as the apron his 'father' was wearing. It was outlined with pink lace and red hearts. Across the fabric wear the words "Kiss the Cook".

Harry glanced down at the apron. "Don't mind if I do." He chuckled and pressed his mouth against Snape's.

Neville cringed and turned. He sat down and let his head fall onto the table.

After ten minutes of slurping and sucking noises, Neville got fed up. Not only was he seriously disturbed by what was going on behind him. Also, he was incredibly hungry. He wanted bacon.

Neville decided that the only way he was ever going to get to eat, was to distract his...he shivered, fathers. Neville coughed deliberately. Nothing happened.

He coughed again more dramatically. Still nothing.

"Cough, Cough...COUGH!" It was to no avail. Neville began to hack as loudly and obnoxiously as he could. He appeared, to the normal eye, to be having some horrible fit.

When he stopped to catch his breath, he could still hear the sloppy smacking. (Don't they ever stop.) Neville took a deep long breath and started screaming. "COUGH, COUGH, COUGH...COUGH!!" He grabbed the plate in front of him and began slamming it up and down on the table.

"Is everything alright, son?" Harry looked concerned.

(No, you were just sucking face with Professor Snape.) Neville meekly set down his plate. "Yes, I'm fine...just a bit of a cough."

Neville felt a cold hand on his shoulder. His eyes slowly rolled over to glance at the slender fingers. (God, he's touching me again.)

"If there is something bothering you, son, just tell us." Snape said gently.

(Well, the fact you and Harry are my fathers and your hand is on my shoulder, bother me. Other than that...) "Can we just eat?"

"Yes let's Severus."

Snape and Harry sat down on either side of Neville and began to dish, now cold eggs and bacon, onto their plates.

Neville wolfed down all his food.

After seven pieces of bacon, he was getting the salty residue one gets around their lips. He swallowed. He needed something to drink. He noticed the pitcher orange juice to the left of the Harry. Neville turned to Harry. "Could you pass the juice?"

Harry smiled toothily. "Of course, son." He handed Neville the pitcher.

"Thanks, Harry." Mumbled Neville.

Suddenly, the whole room grew very quiet. (Uh, oh.) Neville swallowed at the impending doom.

Harry and Snape exchanged a look. Harry took a deep breath.

Neville closed his eyes. (Here it comes.)

"Neville," Harry began, "We've discussed this now...how many times, Severus?"

"Eleven, I believe...sweetheart."

Neville rolled his eyes.

Harry sighed, exasperated, "Eleven...it's not a difficult concept. Severus and I are married and we adopted you...so you should refer to by the title of 'father' or 'dad'."

"But you're the same age as me Harry."

Harry's face paled considerably, "I am now your father, and you will refer to me as thus! End of discussion!" With that, he picked up his plate and stalked off.

Snape followed behind, leaving Neville alone at the table.



TBC

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Thanks to Erin, Sev, Harry Snape, The Goddess Artemis, Tidmag, Wrenna, and Solo_wyld for the great reviews.