Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of updates to this story, but I'm determined to finish it even if it kills me at this point. x) Enjoy!

Morning loomed over Snape again, much too his chagrin, yet he was determined to make his way downstairs for a proper breakfast to start off the day. He'd be damned if he lazily slept the day away again without doing anything remotely productive. So, with a barely stifled groan and a few protesting cracks from his knees, he dragged himself downstairs wearily. He'd rather die than be secluded in that stuffy room for a single minute longer.

He entered the kitchen slowly, lacking his usual fast pace and intimidating stance as he proceeded to plop himself in the nearest wooden chair for a quick breather. It was only then that he acknowledged that he was not the only person in the room.

Potter sat across from him, eyes downcast at the Daily Prophet in mock curiosity as he sipped on some pumpkin juice. He seemed hell-bent at avoiding him at all costs, never catching Snape's prodding, inky eyes even for the slightest second. He finished his frugal meal consisting of some pancakes in a hurry, bounding his way up the stairs as soon as the opportunity presented itself, newspaper still at hand.

Snape sighed, second guessing himself as to why he'd concluded it was a good idea to come down the stairs for this unfolding drama. He could've stayed tucked away from the world for another few weeks until his time with Potter would be up, but no, he had voluntarily chosen to subject himself to the boy's silent treatment.

Truth be told, Snape had always tried his best to keep his interests in the boy's personal life to a minimum. He didn't want to be reminded of Lily. Merlin, he didn't even want to admit that the boy was related to her, but those blasted eyes had forced him to think otherwise. Obviously, the boy had inherited more than just her eyes, but Snape didn't want to know what those other traits were. He had been convinced that it was best not to know, but after witnessing Potter's little emotion breakdown last night, his interests had peaked to record heights.

He tried to convince himself that he wanted nothing to do with the boy, and that it might even be dangerous for the boy to be so exposed to a Death Eater, but his illness had clouded his judgment. He had been filled with a renewed need to bring Lily back into his life, no matter how that might be accomplished.

Lily's gone, you daft fool.

He tried to urge himself that she would never be back, and that it was wrong to try to resurrect some part of her through her son, no matter how pitifully hopeful he might be.

He cleared his thoughts and went back to his nonexistent meal, furrowing his eyebrows at a certain something resting on the kitchen table standing before him. On the oak surface, stood a porcelain teacup, innocently gazing up at him, still emanating small puffs of steam.

When had that gotten there? Had it been sitting there all along? Had Potter actually made him tea out of voluntary consideration?

Snape sat dumbfounded, vaguely self-conscious of how idiotic he must've looked. His eyes trailed back to the stairs, scanning over the path Potter's retreating form had taken. With a suspicious quirk of the brow, he picked up the offending cup and sniffed at it tentatively. Had something been slipped into the drink when his guard was down?

Yet, as hard as Snape tried to deem the beverage unsafe for consumption, he couldn't find anything wrong with the liquid. Hesitantly, he took a sip of the hot tea, squeezing his eyes shut while waiting for some sort of magical onslaught to take place. He swallowed, opening his eyes a few seconds later with another bewildered expression.

Perfectly normal… Remarkable. Potter hadn't plotted to kill him, after all.

He was shaken out of his stupor much sooner than he would have liked by the sound of the front door opening. With another furrow, he placed the teacup back on the table and bolted from his chair to the corridor, only to find Potter walking out of the house, broomstick and wand close at hand.

"And where do you think you're going?" Snape inquired to Harry's turned back, catching how the boy's stance stiffened at his discovery.

"Flying," Harry murmured over his shoulder, clutching his broomstick more tightly in his hand.

"In the middle of a Muggle town? Have you lost what little brains you have?" Snape scoffed, taking a step closer to the boy in question.

"I'll find an empty field or something. I haven't flied for months," Harry hissed, aggravation growing in his tone as his eyes wandered to the beautiful, bright-blue sky. He pushed the door open as far as it would go on its hinges before letting his other hand fall to his side once more, never turning to look back at his interrogator.

"I don't think so," Snape finally replied. "Don't be a fool, Potter. Get back inside. "

"No," the teen said haughtily.

The nerve.

"I beg your pardon? You're deliberately being difficult to gain attention, aren't you, Potter?" Snape smirked provokingly, though he was not amused in the least. The boy wasn't going to go anywhere, not on his watch anyway.

"You heard me," the boy continued, walking out past the threshold. I just need to—" he struggled to find the proper words.

"What is it that you need so urgently, Potter? Do feel free to share," Snape remarked impatiently as Harry finally took the liberty of turning back to face his temporary roommate. Those striking green eyes pierced Snape once more, and somehow he knew what Harry was going to say before he even spoke the words. He'd been in this same position during his first year at Hogwarts after engaging in a heated argument with Lily.

"I need to be normal for a while."

Snape opened his mouth to reply after expertly concealing his surprise. The statement echoed in his mind over and over again as he tried to grasp the situation at hand. Still, he didn't know if he could trust his fevered mind to speak for him.

Yet, he could remember his reply to Lily on that bitter, winter day. The rooftop of the astronomy tower ha been coated in a thick layer of snow, white flakes dancing through the air in swirls as they passed.

"Who wants to be normal?"

He did not utter this aloud, (thank Merlin's beard) but instead said, "Nonsense. You take pride in your heroics, or have you already forgotten? Why would you want to be normal? Get inside. If you don't comply, you will be forced. It's not safe for you to be dawdling outside without supervision; you could get lost or injured. The last thing we need is for you to break your neck while riding on that bloody broomstick of yours."

Harry's eyes hardened. "I have to go out. You can't expect me to just sit in this house for the next three days without ever stepping out for some fresh air. You're just being a prat."

Snape frowned deeply, but refused to get into another argument with the teenager. Boys would be boys and as the adult in the situation, he couldn't stoop down to Potter's level of childish deviance.

But his feverish mind was playing tricks on him again, overruling his rational thoughts.

"Fine, go, but don't expect me to go out searching for your sorry arse later. And for Merlin's sake, be a little more discreet next time. Mark my words, don't ever become a spy, Potter," Snape snarled, intent on teaching the boy a lesson on listening to his elders. Perhaps he wouldn't run into the face of danger itself after this little escapade he was allowing the child to go on.

Harry looked back at Snape with a skeptical look. Experimentally, he took two more steps forward, revolving his head back a few times to check whether Snape had changed his mind or not. With a swelling sense of victory, Harry sprinted the rest of the way from the house, trying to get as far away from this Muggle town as possible so that he could find an abandoned area to fly around in.

With a soft sigh, Snape shut the door and turned back to the kitchen, eyes wavering on the teacup still sitting on the table. What was he thinking, allowing the boy out on his own?

Dumbledore was going to let him have it if he ever found out about this.

Three hours; that's how long the boy had been out on his own. Three, measly hours, but Snape's heart raced faster with each passing second. The weather had taken a turn for the worse as well, rain steadily beating down on the streets. He didn't know why he was so concerned for the child's wellbeing, but he couldn't help but feel guilty for giving in to a moment of anger and weakness.

His elevated senses had somehow overruled his lethargic feelings and the bothersome effects of his ever-present fever. He sat in his usual armchair in the sitting room, foot tapping on the carpet as he debated his next move.

Somehow, his eyes flittered back to the porcelain cup in the kitchen. He'd finished the rest of the tea it had held, but hadn't bothered to clean it, let alone move it.

The tea that Potter had made for him was such a small gesture, and Snape felt almost completely convinced that he was looking into it far more than he should have. However, that wretched teacup was mocking him now, accusing him of putting a considerate, innocent child in harm's way, making him seem like a monster.

At least Potter was attempting to make an effort in mending the strained relationship between the two while Snape obstinately refused to offer the boy any consoling token after he'd been clearly distraught the night before.

Lily would be upset with him.

Snape growled under his breath, slamming a clenched fist against the armrest of his seat before sitting up, shrugging on a light cloak, and grabbing an umbrella, fully prepared to give the boy a proper thrashing should he find him safe and sound.

He stepped out into the wall of water outside, wondering where he should start his search. He'd seen Harry make a right turn, so he mindlessly followed the path, thinking about where he might've gone if he'd been the one who'd wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He passed antique, muggle shops, delis, Laundromats, and a seemingly perpetual line of suburban homes before finding a small playground just two streets down from a large church.

Well, if Snape had wanted time alone, he definitely wouldn't have gone to a playground, but it made sense that Potter might've decided to go there with his broomstick, hiding beyond a group of trees.

He trudged through the pools of water forming at his feet, making his way past some swing sets and slides before spotting a figure huddling under a tree, knees curled up to their chest. Snape sighed, this boy was going to send him to an early grave with all these false-alarms. First, it was the episode he'd caused last night, and now this.

"Potter?" Snape called out to him over the pounding rain, wind howling around the pair. He made his way over to the tree and leaned down to shake the boy's shoulder roughly, swearing under his breath.

Harry's eyes fluttered open as he raised his head from his knees, groggy eyes regarding Snape coldly. "What?"

"Don't you dare say 'what' to me again, you brat. Get up this instant before I inform St. Mungo's of your apparently unstable mental condition," Snape retorted hotly, gripping Harry up by the arm and pulling him to his feet. "Honestly, this babysitting act is getting old," he droned.

"Erm, I-I couldn't find my way back. I just needed to think, and… and… I didn't think it would start raining," Harry explained dully, flinching as Snape pulled him under the umbrella harshly.

"Stupid boy. I took a straight path to get here! Even someone as barmy as yourself couldn't possibly have gotten lost!" Snape chided through the roaring wind. Reluctantly, he shed his cloak and splayed it across the width of Harry's shoulders in an attempt to warm his shivering hide. "You're bloody lucky you weren't attacked! Dumbledore would've had my neck."

Harry looked up at Snape, dumbstruck as two pale hands tightened the cloak around his trembling body, shoving him forward as they walked back to Grimmauld Place in awkward silence.

"I suppose you didn't get much flying done?" Snape joked dryly, causing Harry to cease his walking abruptly as he took his time to gape at the taller man.

Let it never be said that Severus Snape never made an attempt at being good-humored.

Harry shook his head with a dark glare directed at Snape, who had the audacity to be amused at Harry's ill-tempered form. "Go ahead, say it," the boy challenged as they began walking again, Snape adjusting the umbrella.

"I've no idea what you mean," Snape lied smoothly, pushing at Harry's back to get him to walk faster. The teen stumbled a bit at the sudden contact, but recovered well, eyes still boring into Snape's.

"Very well, then," Snape smirked proudly. "I told you so."

Within record time, Harry was situated in front of the fireplace, a mug of tea wrapped in his hands as he attempted to warm up from the sudden turn of events that had literally soaked him to the bone.

Harry had to admit that he might've just felt a twinge of grateful relief as he had spotted Snape's figure through the rain that had been showering over him for a good twenty minutes or so. Still, he would never tell anyone that he'd actually been happy to see Snape. He was beginning to wonder whether he was coming down with something himself, which would explain this sudden tolerance for Snape's presence constantly hovering around him.

"I thought you said that you weren't going to come after me, today," he suddenly noted in the still atmosphere of the room. Snape was sitting in the armchair he'd been occupying previously, reading some sort of book that undoubtedly had something to do with Potions.

"I said no such thing," Snape defended himself. "I said don't expect me to come looking for you. I never said I wouldn't."

Harry rolled his eyes with a smirk. Of course, he should have been expecting that downright denial from the man. He sat up in his own chair and finished the rest of his tea, setting the empty mug on a side-table. "Still, why did you do it? Were you worried about what Dumbledore was going to do to you if he found out?"

Snape shut his book with a resounding smack, sitting up from his reclined position. "I think you should put the house elf to work in the kitchen for dinner," he suggested, completely ignoring Harry's musings.

The boy wasn't going to give up that easily. Dinner could wait. "You didn't answer my question."

"Potter, I am thoroughly spent after having to come to your rescue, yet again. You've been making it a habit as of late, and I for one, can't muster enough energy to keep up at the moment. So, if you wouldn't mind, belt up for once in your life," Snape hissed, reminding Harry of a grouchy cat who had been denied his sleep for too long. Snape stood from his chair, cursing his aching bones from the long stroll he had subjected himself to earlier in the day.

"Don't fall going up the stairs," Harry barked after him with a cheeky look in his eyes as he recounted the night when he had first discovered the truth behind Snape's condition.

"I hope you get pneumonia from floundering about in that cold rain," Snape grumbled, storming his way back into his bedroom, grasping the railing of the staircase as he ascended.

Harry chuckled airily and stood up as well, taking his mug into the kitchen to wash it. However, he stopped as his eyes fell on the teacup he had set out for Snape during breakfast. It was empty and cold to the touch as he lifted it with a surprised expression. He felt a strange feeling stirring inside the pit of his stomach as though he were missing a crucial piece to some giant puzzle. With a huff, he swiped the object off the table and brought it over to the sink, still pondering over the day's events.

Grudgingly, he decided that Snape wasn't the worst company he could've imagined, though he wished he was. It seemed as though the man was slowly letting his guard down, but Harry blamed that on the increasing vengeance of his illness. He wondered what Ron and Hermione would think of all of this and immediately regretted that he had not written to them in quite some time now. Maybe it was best if they didn't know, not yet anyway. He'd give it some time.

Nearly half a week later, it seemed that Snape had finally reached one of the "breaks" in his supposed illness. It would be an understatement to say that he was thankful that he'd slept through the entire night without jolting awake even once. The nightmares were still plaguing his mind though, healthy or not. Still, he was relieved to know that a week and a half of the potion's side-effects had been put behind him, meaning that he'd just have to survive another week and a half to be set free from this entrapment with Potter.

Speaking of Potter, after growing sick of the boy's whining and complaining, he'd conceded to letting the boy go out today, even if it meant that Snape was going to have to accompany him. Harry had been as ecstatic as ever since last night, suddenly rejuvenated with a new sense of excitement.

Snape had to admit, it was nice to see the boy being a little more chipper after everything that had happened. Potter had been sulking and brooding for days, grieving in the house over Black, but now that he had the opportunity to step foot into the outside world again, all that seemed to be put behind him for the time being.

Snape had agreed to go with Harry to the local, community park, which would no doubt be bustling with annoying children all day due to the sunshine beaming down from the sky. Yet, Snape wanted to leave the house as well, knowing that if the isolation and seclusion didn't kill them, the musky and humid atmosphere would.

It was sweltering hot when the pair reached the park, Snape scowling the entire journey and complaining about how ridiculous it was that he had to babysit Harry for the umpteenth time, like a toddler who couldn't be left alone. However, after settling on a nearby bench with a book propped against his knees, Snape wasn't as crabby as he had been, relishing in the silence. Thankfully, they'd found a child-free area of the park, meaning that no little parasite was going to ruin the atmospheric vibe.

Harry on the other hand, was sprawled out on the grass by a tree just a few yards to the side of the bench Snape was occupying, lying on his back with his hands outstretched toward the direction of the sun, watching as light passed through the spaces between his fingers. It was nice to just relax in the sunshine after being cooped up in Grimmauld Place for so long.

"It's amazing, how similar you are to a two-year old in the way in which you play with your hands," Snape buzzed from his bench, not even turning his head to see Harry's reaction.

"What is that you're reading, anyway? Another Potions manual?" Harry antagonized, stretching his arms over his head and ignoring Snape's previous comment.

"I'll have you know that—" Snape cut himself off, eyes trailing over to where a "parasite" had wandered into their vicinity. "So much for getting some peace and quiet," Snape thought inwardly, but before he could even formulate another silent rant within himself, the little girl promptly tripped over her roller-skates; kissing the dirt path she had been riding along.

Surprisingly enough, Harry was up on his feet in an instant, kneeling down to help the little, muggle girl.

"Are you alright?" he asked her gently, reaching out to inspect the palms of the frightened, blonde-headed child.

Tears swelled in the girl's eyes, threatening to spill at any moment, and sure enough, five seconds later she erupted into loud sobs and wails, holding out her scraped hands for Harry to miraculously heal.

"It's okay. Look, it's not too bad," Harry told her soothingly, rubbing her arm. "No blood."

The little girl hiccupped, burying her head into the teen's shoulder. "O-Okay."

Snape looked on, taken aback. He wordlessly hung back, having enough sense to not interfere.

Then, the girl's mother came rushing up the path, immediately falling to her knees upon reaching her daughter. "There you are," she breathed. "Don't wander off like that, love. Are you alright? Did you fall?"

"I'm okay," the girl chimed sheepishly, looking up endearingly at Harry. "This boy helped me."

The mother of the girl smiled warmly at Harry. "Thank you very much, young man."

"It wasn't a problem," Harry reassured, standing up from his kneeling position.

"I'm Elizabeth! What's your name?" the girl smiled brightly, having already forgotten about the injuries she'd sustained from the tumble.

"I'm Harry," Harry replied, trying to rival the girl's enthusiasm to prove that he was interested in the conversation.

"Thank you, Harry," the mother interjected before looking down at Elizabeth. "Come, darling, we have to go. Daddy is waiting for us. Say goodbye."

"Buh-bye, Harry!" Elizabeth said shrilly, departing down the path with her mother.

Harry nodded and waved to her, watching her disappear into the distance before turning back to Snape.

"Always have to be the hero, Potter, don't you?" Snape immediately teased, looking up from the book he had been pretending to seem interested in during the entire ordeal.

Harry grinned genuinely for the first time since Sirius' death, feeling free and alive again for some reason. "Someone has to be," he replied, still sporting his toothy smile as he retreated back to his position by the tree.

Snape smirked when he was sure Harry wasn't watching, astounded at how gentle and concerned the boy had been toward the child. The scene could've made the coldest of hearts melt. Perhaps, he didn't know Harry as well as he thought he had, frowning at the aspect before turning back to his book.

Now there was no denying it, Harry was definitely Lily's son.

And that scared Snape to death.

He wasn't actually starting to care for the boy, was he?

No, that would be preposterous.