Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns everything HP related. Enjoy. ;D

His life sucked. It always had. It all started with some maniacal wizard murdering his parents and trying to kill him when he was a baby. Luckily or unluckily depending on how one looked at it, the dark wizard failed, leaving him scarred for life with a lightning bolt imprinted in his forehead. The majority of people in the Muggle world thought he carved the lightning bolt into his forehead himself. The Wizarding world just knew better, though. Everywhere he went he was Harry Freaking Potter. He couldn't escape it. He tried desperately several times to attempt to outrun his popularity, but it never worked. Nothing ever worked for him the way he wanted it to.

Today had been a particularly rough day for the fourth-year Gryffindor. Today, he found out that he wasn't Harry Freaking Potter. Oh, no, he wished he was, but he wasn't, not really and not ever. No, he was Hadius Connor Prince, not Harry Freaking Potter. His dad wasn't a kickass Seeker or even an Auror as he had come to believe for so many years. No, James Potter had married his mother because Harry—no, no—Hadius had a complete git for a father, namely a greasy git who had an abnormally long nose and a permanent sneer on his sallow face.

It was for this reason that Harry—HADIUS—Hadius, not Harry—there was no Harry Freaking Potter—found himself at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Above him, the sky started to darken with night as he took another swig from the bottle of Firewhiskey he filched from his dear sweet old dad earlier in the day. He had to admit that after finding out that he was Hadius Connor Prince, the son of Lily Evans and Severus Snape, his luck had improved slightly. After all, he had been drinking up here for quite some time and no one had found him yet. Then again, Hermione and Ron, his two best friends in Gryffindor, thought that he was up in the Gryffindor Tower resting while they and the rest of the school ate dinner happily below him in the Great Hall.

The silence started to get to him. He didn't want to hear Dumbledore's pleas for him to try to get along with Snape. Snape was a bastard. Always was one, and he'd always be one. He hated him. After all, why else would the man storm out of Dumbledore's office after hearing that? It should have been no surprise to him that Snape, his own father, would reject him as his son. It wasn't as if he wanted Snape to be like Mr. Weasley. He just wanted to know what it felt like to have someone love him, not hate him. And oh did Snape hate him. Their animosity towards one another was practically legendary.

He took another swig of the almost empty bottle of Firewhiskey. When he had stolen the bottle, it was only a quarter full anyway. Obviously, dear old Dad was a bit of a drunk himself. Maybe that's what he meant by being a Prince. In Snape's words, to be a Potter meant one had to be lazy, arrogant, and a spoiled brat. He had heard that all throughout his school years. Maybe to be a Prince meant one was supposed to be snarky, greasy, and a lonely drunk. His throat was already numb to the bitter and acrid taste of the amber liquid. It had been for hours. His vision was blurrier than it had ever been before. He was seeing quadruple, and the room was dangerously spinning around him. Luckily, he didn't have a death wish so he remained a few feet back from the edge.

After all, his father probably would laugh upon finding the sight of his broken body in the courtyard. Well, that was great. That was just great! He had finished the stupid bottle. Chucking it as far as he could, he watched the perfect crystal bottle sail through the air before smashing into a million pieces against the pavement. Quickly, he stumbled down to grab the full bottle from his bag. That bottle he found in his dad's bottom left hand drawer of his desk in his office. Once more, Harry took a rather large swig of Firewhiskey. This bottle was more potent than the last, making him cough loudly as the bitter liquid went down the wrong tube.

For two hours, he had waited at the top of the Astronomy Tower for his father. He wanted Snape to find him. Maybe he did have a death wish on second thought. He then shook his head. He wanted Snape to see how his rejection affected the poor Gryffindor, how it had affected his son. He wanted Snape to feel his pain. He wanted to hurt him…as Snape hurt him by leaving.

He knew he wasn't what Snape wanted for a son. Hell, he knew that it was probably an insult to the man to know that his only child was a Gryffindor. It wasn't his fault, though. He hadn't asked—well—okay, he did ask the Sorting Hat to be in Gryffindor. He then snickered softly at his thought. His green eyes quickly darted towards the sound of ascending footsteps. Once more, he brought the bottle to his lips so that Snape would see him drinking. No one entered the observatory, though. He screwed his face up into his best impression of his father's worst sneers. That no-good bastard!

In his drunken state, the alcohol made him decide to do the most idiotic thing he could do. He put the cap back on the bottle of Firewhiskey and placed it back in his satchel that he wore. He drew his black cloak about him and grabbed his broom that he had just happened to bring with him. If his father were that upset about his son being a Gryffindor, then he'd give Snape a reason to be upset. He mounted his broom, swallowed back the bile, and zoomed off at a relatively safe speed down the Astronomy Tower. It took all his Quidditch skills not to crash into the sides.

Nearly five minutes later, a dark-haired fourth-year Gryffindor with glassy green eyes burst into the Great Hall flying dangerously close over several students' heads. It took all his concentration not to crash into the seven hundred floating blurry heads below him. He could see the dark imposing figures of his four fathers standing tall at the Head Table. Unfortunately, the poor Gryffindor slid off the side of his broom and slammed hard onto the table a few seconds later. He heard the sudden gasps and fierce fury of whispers behind him, but he ignored it all.

Slowly, he slid off the table to get up on his feet so he was facing his father face to face. He couldn't see the anger or even feel the intense rage from the man as Snape glared at him. Wagging a finger towards Snape, he started to slur his speech.

"Listen here," *hiccup* "Dad! I" *hiccup* "may not be" *hiccup* "what you want for a son" *hiccup*, "but you're not" *hiccup* "what I want for a" *hiccup* "dad either." He then accentuated his speech by trying to poke Snape in the chest. He kept hitting air, though, which made him snicker loudly. "You're a" *hiccup* "slippery git, aren't you?" He then threw his arms towards Snape as if to hug him. He hit air once again before falling face first into a banana cream pie.

"You're just as arrogant as your father," Snape growled out of habit, making no intention of helping the drunken Gryffindor. He frowned when he heard his words echo back to him. That was stupid to say, considering how he knew he was the boy's father, not James Potter.

"You are" *hiccup* "my father, so you must be" *hiccup* "arrogant then, Dad!"

"I'm not having this conversation with you, Potter." Once more, Snape grimaced. It was a habit. He couldn't help himself. The boy just was acting like James Potter. He knew their true kinship, though.

"I'M A" *hiccup* "PRINCE, DAMMIT!" the Gryffindor shouted back. The white fluffiness from the pie slid down his face in such a way that soon he looked as if he had a beard.

"That remains to be seen," drawled Snape with a thin grimace. He then bodily lifted up the young man and growled as the stench overtook him. "Merlin, you reek of alcohol."

"Just" *hiccup* "trying to be a" *hiccup* "Prince, instead of a" *hiccup* "Potter."

"And you think drinking makes you a Prince?" Snape's eyebrows were just underneath his hairline. His grip on the young man's upper arms tightened slightly before he quickly yanked him behind him. The head of Slytherin and the drunken Gryffindor made their way out of the Great Hall to avoid any more incidents.

A few moments later, the portrait of Salazar Slytherin slammed shut behind the two, but Snape didn't stop dragging the Gryffindor until they reached Snape's lavatory. Knowing that it'd be too dangerous to set the idiot in there alone, Snape reached around the small young man and bodily placed him in the shower. Cold jets of water instantly sprayed the both of them, which Snape ignored as he kept his vice-like grip on his son. That boy was a bloody menace. He kept the Gryffindor in the freezing water until the young man started to shiver uncontrollably. He could see the usual fight in his son's green eyes, which meant that the cold water had done its job. He should have known Pot—Hadius—this was his son with Lily, not Potter's—would react this way when he left Dumbledore's office earlier.

Outstretching a hand, a bath towel quickly flew to Snape's hand, which he quickly wrapped around the young man's shoulders. He fought off his son's futile attempts to shrug the towel off himself. Once more, he outstretched his hand and conjured a tall glass of water. He silently handed it towards the broken teenager. There was no doubt about it. His son was broken. He had known it before, but his son's reckless actions of drinking heavily only solidified his fears. When he had seen his child flying in zigzags in the Great Hall, he felt his heart leap up into his throat. His son was his last connection to his lost love. Unfortunately, a lifetime of habits had made their reunion rather difficult.

Snape could see the young man's fears. After all, his son wore his heart on his sleeve always. He should have known that Hadius would have thought that he was abandoning him. Snape would have thought the same thing if the roles were reversed. Neither one of them had a good childhood growing up. They both experienced hardships when concerned with their families. He sighed heavily.

"I apologize for leaving the Headmaster's office earlier." Green eyes met obsidian. "I was overwhelmed with the news. No doubt, you felt the same way." No response. "I will understand if you wish to keep your name the same and if you wish to ignore our familial bonds." For a brief moment, hurt passed behind both green and black eyes. "I have not treated you well these past years. I have abused my powers as your professor and used an incorrect childhood grudge against you. I do not expect you to forgive me for it." Merlin knows your mother never forgave me for calling her that wretched name, Snape added in his head.


That one word pierced Snape's heart. He wasn't certain he knew what the Gryffindor was asking. He, however, sighed. He owed it to the teenager after making his son's life a living hell over the years. Closing his eyes, he pushed back the little voice that said he was just like his own bastard father.

"I insulted you for years. I practically allowed my Slytherins free reign when it concerned you as long as they didn't harm you seriously. I mocked you constantly for being weak when I was so clearly wrong. I made no attempt to help you when you were so obviously hurting." Snape suddenly stopped. He could have gone on for days about all of the horrible things he had done or said to his son over the course of their short visits. Some things were better unsaid, though.


Snape's eyes narrowed on the small child that hauntingly looked so similar to how he looked at that age. Vulnerable, small, afraid, he saw all this in his son, and it made his chest tighten at the sight. How could he have done this to his own flesh and blood? He drew in a breath. He was not his father!

"We'll make this work. I swear on my Wizard's Oath that we will if you're willing to give me a second chance." No words spoken. Just arms wrapping around Snape's torso. They would make it work.