Please Be There If I Remember

Chapter Twenty-Two: Thoughts

A/n: This accidentally became a bit of Snape POV, but I also really like how this chapter turned out so I don't want to change it. It's easily one of my longer chapters, and definitely one of my favourite written ones. Hope you enjoy the slightly different perspective! <3

The potions master glanced up from where he was painstakingly grading essays on his desk. His expression was a sour one, lips curled up in distaste at the children's atrocious handwriting and their sub-par level of thinking. He still had yet to understand why he even agreed to this bloody job in the first place, never once getting an ounce of enjoyment from it.

Except for maybe that time he humiliated Potter in front of his friends. Yes, that had been a particularly good day if Snape had anything to say about it.

Still, everything else was just a bland stretch of days that strung together like the popcorn that Dumbledore adamantly required be placed on the large Christmas tree in the Great Hall during the holidays.

He finally got a small bit of freedom from this bitter thought, though, once he saw his godson standing in the door with his hands laced gingerly behind his back in the perfect form of a compliant student—the kind Potter could only dream of being.

Professor Snape nodded at the boy and Draco strode up to his desk with purpose, not bothering for an introduction before immediately grabbing a chair from its spot in the corner and bringing it up in front of his desk. He placed it carefully down with as much grace as he could muster based on the action and sat down, resting his hands delicately in his lap.

Snape had first avoided him when he first learned about Draco's memory loss, unsure of how he was going to deal with this new information. He had been told about it when Dumbledore summoned him to his office where he was offered a lemon drop that he quickly turned down. He had simply nodded mutely to the headmaster, staring into the old man's twinkling eyes.

Dumbledore had long ago given up truly attempting to infiltrate Severus's mind, instead leaning towards social manipulation with a sweet smile like he had no idea what he was doing. But Snape was not to be caught unawares, so the two men were in a constant battle of wits—the kind that the old coot would chuckle at whenever Severus brought it up as if it was a funny joke.

Years of dealing with the mood swings of a certain Dark Lord had stopped Snape from truly showing his deep resentment for the headmaster, but damn did he want to strangle him sometimes.

Now, back to the present predicament. Snape had originally ignored and altogether pretended he didn't know Draco when he learned about his new condition, presuming that if he had wanted to talk to him then he would, and he didn't want to pressure him.

That, of course, had been assuming the boy had known about the professor being his godfather. Needless to say, it had been quite a surprise—and Snape being surprised was not something that happened every day (or year, for that matter)—when he found out that Draco had not been told of his...relation to him.

So it was certainly understandable that he had questions about his parents when Snape was pretty sure his friends would not be that much help for him in that manner.

With an inward sigh, the professor grudgingly moved his head upwards and stared at his godson who perked up at the attention.

"Do you need something?" Snape drew out.

Draco flitted his eyes down to where he had been marking and correcting the essays, one of them, in particular, having red streaks that were littering the entire parchment.

"I just have a few questions, Sir."

Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes. "There is no need to call me Sir, Draco. I am your godfather here, not your professor." Although you best be sure to call me that in class.