A/T: All disclaimers apply and I won't even bother to give you the warnings! I hope you're enjoying reading this fic as much as I enjoy writing it!

Alley of Dreams
Act 1: The Golden Broomstick

"So how do you know my dad?"

Severus soon discovered that Cedric was quite the inquisitive child and he always had a question. It could be about anything and everything- it all fascinated him, and it was funny how he could connect things together. He was sharp and bright. However, Severus found himself attempting to dodge the questions that were actually about him, like, for instance, how he knew Cedric's father.

He smiled at Cedric as he handed him his vanilla ice cream cone, enjoying the young man's company despite his endless stream of questions. Severus had learned (after a long period of teaching) that Muggle ice cream made almost any and every child happy in almost any and every circumstance, and Cedric had been so terribly scared and quiet that it was a Godsend that an ice-scream truck had been sitting on the curb.

The child had been delighted with the treat, and from that moment on, Severus became his favorite person.

Well... let's not delude ourselves here, thought Severus, wryly. He was Cedric's favorite person for the day.

However, Severus wasn't sure how to answer and handle all the questions and praise. No one had ever regarded him without fear or hatred. It was like asking someone to swim across the Atlantic without ever having had a swimming lesson.

I know your father through war. "I suppose..." A long sigh followed the beginning of the explanation. "I suppose you can say we met at school. Hogwarts."

The green eyes widened. "Wow," he said, smiling. "Dad told me a ton about that school. He said I'll get an invitation in a few years. What house were you in?"

"Slytherin." He waited for Cedric to drop the cone and start running to the other end of the street, screaming bloody murder.

"Oh." Pause. "Aren't Slytherins supposed to be... sort of bad?"

Yes. "I kindly refer to that as house bias. Most Slytherins are cunning and not all are dark. But yes, some are very bad."

"Were you a bad one in school?"

I've been a bad one all my life. "Your father, however, was in Gryffindor," he said, pretending to extend his answer and duck yet again a flying query.

"I know. He always complains about some man named Draco whenever he talks about Hogwarts. Uncle Ron goes on and on about him as well. But Uncle Ron calls him Malfoy most of the time. He also complained a lot about another person, but I can't remember his name."

"Perhaps Crabbe or Goyle?"

Cedric shook his head thoughtfully. "No. A teacher of his, I believe. Either Dark Arts or Potions. He called him a "slimy git"."

Severus sighed. Typical. This was so incredibly typical.

Cedric continued his explanation (which Severus could have lived without) as they boarded a Muggle Express to what Cedric described as, "A really big, white house."

Unfortunately, when they boarded off the train, Severus came to realize that there were MANY really big, white houses.

"Do you remember what was on the door or in front of the house? Suppose a wreath or some rocking chairs?" Okay, more of a mansion, really. All of these were mansions.

"A golden broomstick hung on the top of the door and we have a white mailbox. But it's not brick like the other ones- it's white. It looks way nicer if you ask me."

Severus nodded, scanning the houses as they walked by them. No golden broomsticks as of yet. Hell, all there were was fancy stone mailboxes. Shouldn't white show off somewhere?

There.

He spun around.

Behind a tall school building he spotted a glimmer of gold reflecting the sun. It was, to Severus's great relief, a golden broomstick.

"Is that it?" he asked Cedric, and a warm and excited smile grew on the young boys lips. "That's it! That's my house!"

Yet Cedric didn't run right up to the door and knock it open, leaving Severus alone in the middle of the street. No. He stayed right beside the Potions Master until they climbed the porch steps and reached the door. Loyalty. How refreshing.

"I'll leave you here. I believe your father's home."

Cedric's eyes grew wide. It was evident that he was about to protest and Severus wished frantically that he could beat him to it. It was too bad he couldn't formulate any words.

"But I want Dad to meet you! And maybe you can stay for dinner. Dad's an excellent cook. When he does cook, that is.''

"No, I don't think so," replied Severus, quickly, rushing his words in an attempt to get down the porch stairs and off the street, preferably to the nearest convenient fireplace. "I doubt your father wants to see me. Just go inside. He'll-''

But to Severus's horror, Cedric opened the door with ease.

"Dad! Hey, Dad!"

A flurry of papers and clothes was all that was visible as far as the eye could see. Severus's attention was torn from the nightmare that was the house to Cedric's name echoing off the walls as foot steps bounded down the stairs.

"Cedric? Oh, my God, Cedric, where on Earth have you been?! I've been calling everyone- the stores and Auntie Hermione and Ron-" Harry didn't bother to see the tall, dark, and surprisingly handsome stranger in his doorway. He just picked up his son and hugged him, barely breaking his ribcage as he did so and whirled him around, babbling about how worried he had been and how he should of been more careful and where he had been?

"Dad. DAD," Cedric said, trying to get his father's attention. "Look who brought me home."

Harry quickly put down his son to inspect the stranger. Dangerous? Murderer? Rapist? You could never tell these days.

"I can't tell you how thankful I am for your-''

It was none of those. He was staring into a pair of dark eyes, like the night sky. Hair that at one time had been perfect but now was blowing in the breeze that was currently whipping around in the neighborhood. Black slacks, charcoal gray shirt, a man that made his unmistakable mark even though doing so was never his intention.

A shocked pause. A long stare. A furious blush. Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed beyond all human comprehension.

His son held on to his right arm, softly yanking it, trying to wake the Gryffindor out of his moment of stupidity. Say something. Anything. Blink for Christ's sake!

All he managed to get out was a, "Hello, Professor Snape."