Disclaimer: J.K. owns Harry Potter. I just torture her characters.

A/N: This bunny struck me this week, forcing me to write him. It's an AU of GOF clearly, and Snape is Harry's real dad. Enjoy. :D

Buried Alive

Sitting at the island in his small kitchenette, Severus Snape, Potions master of Hogwarts, silently read his Daily Prophet while he ate his usual breakfast, a piece of dry toast and water. He had thought about joining his coworkers this morning, but decided against it. After all, he knew how the Great Hall would still be all abuzz from the Dark Lord's defeat. He would not subject himself to that again, nor would he subject himself to the utter drivel students nowadays found so fascinating. No, instead he would eat his breakfast in the dungeons, waiting for the sound of a distant door opening.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait too long. The door opened a mere ten seconds after his thought. Enjoying the only free time he was allowed thanks to the headmaster's great plan so long ago, his black eyes soaked in the words of utter nonsense that supposedly gave a detailed account of how the war had been won. Had he not been so closely guarded with his every action, he would have snorted at the Prophet's idiocy. Honestly, what did the Prophet know anyway? As far as he knew, all of their reporters had been cowering in their homes, praying that the Order would save the world yet again.

"Morning," mumbled his guest, taking a seat across from him.

"Good morning to you as well," he replied casually, not glancing up from his paper.

Finally, in a long while, he could savor the sweet taste of his freedom again. No more would he have to follow every wretched command the Dark Lord gave him. And no more would he have to play the headmaster's pet Death Eater. He was finally, unequivocally free to do whatever the hell he wished, which seemed to be this morning eat his breakfast and read the paper.

"Anything good in there today?" his guest asked softly.

"Just the typical rubbish, how the great Harry Potter, a fourth-year Gryffindor, managed to save the Wizarding World yet again by vanquishing the Dark Lord," Snape answered, his lip twitching ever so slightly as he spoke.

"Wish that arrogant prat stopped getting all of the Prophet's attention. I mean, some of us would like to know how our favorite Quidditch team did instead."

"Lost, yet again, I'm afraid," Snape coolly responded. His black eyes then glanced towards his guest. A thin smile etched his lips before he added, "Harry."

"Bugger, thought they might have won this time with the good news." The fourth-year Gryffindor then reached for his glass of orange juice, sighing softly. The silence lasted for all of thirty seconds as he took a drink. "She didn't spend the night down here, Dad?"

"No," Snape replied quietly. "She unfortunately had errands to run last night."

"Well, is she at least going to be here for the ceremony later?"

"I believe she was planning on it, Harry. We will have to see if she does, though."

Snape watched the young man nod slowly. Glancing away, he inwardly sighed. He could still see the faded marks on his son's face. He couldn't help but remember watching helplessly as the Dark Lord sent hundreds of jagged pieces of glass towards Harry just a week earlier. He, however, quickly pushed the memory to the deepest recesses of his mind. Remembering that did no good anymore. It was over. They had won. The Dark Lord was no more. His followers for the most part were locked in Azkaban, awaiting their trials. All was well in the world.

He frowned. As an Order member, all was well. As a professor, it was probably still well. But as a father, it was most definitely not. Who knew how long it would take his son to get over the trauma he experienced at the hands of the Dark Lord?

"Dad, I'm fine," Harry softly said, following their ritual of the past week. "Really, I am, Dad. I have you and—well, do I call her 'mum' even though you two aren't actually married yet?" he asked.

"I believe you've already gone through this with her."

"Yeah, I know, but sometimes people say that it doesn't matter when it really does."

"Call her whatever you wish, Harry. She truly won't mind." He then took another bite of his toast, grimacing at how cold it was now. Honestly, he had just put the thing down.

"So, are we still going home or have you two found us somewhere to go for holiday?"

"Aren't you an inquisitive mind this morning?" Snape replied with a soft snort. "I am aware of no plan, Harry. However, the same cannot be said for her." He grimaced as dozens of horrifying places popped into his mind, weaving in and out of baby, toy, and home decorating stores; visiting his soon-to-be in-laws; and of course attending the pre-natal classes with other so-called new parents. He'd rather take the Cruciatus than suffer any part in that torture.

"You'd tell me if something was wrong with the baby, right?" Harry asked quietly, staring at him with somber green eyes.

"Of course I would tell you," he responded calmly, knowing exactly how much his son wished for a loving family. "But nothing is wrong with her or the baby. She just had a few errands to run. One of which might have to do with your ceremony," he suggested softly.

"She didn't have to buy—"

"Of course she didn't have to, Harry, but she wanted to." He then smiled thinly. "Blame it on the hormones, if you must."

"Forgive me, Severus," Salazar Slytherin interrupted from his portrait hanging above the fireplace. "However, Argus Filch is wishing to speak with you immediately."

"Allow him in then, Salazar," he simply replied. "No doubt another idiotic student has tried to flush a Zonko's product down the toilet again in celebration," he muttered under his breath. He stood a moment later, his eyes taking in the man's appearance. He didn't see any alarm in the caretaker's face.

"Professor Snape, post for ya," Filch announced, producing a small red envelope. "Think it's a Howler, but don't know why ya'd be gettin' one. Do ya?"

He snatched it from the man immediately, staring at the envelope. Who in the world would send him a Howler? He glanced towards his son, noticing that the young man's smile had faltered slightly. It was a strange occurrence after all.

"You should—"

"I know," he snapped, holding the red envelope in his hands. No student in his or her right mind would send him a Howler, and he knew the same went for his coworkers, not even in their jovial glee over the Dark Lord's defeat. Frowning, he inspected the envelope carefully. His name was written neatly on the front, but he couldn't tell the sender's identity from the handwriting. With a sigh, he turned it back over, cautiously undoing the ribbon that held it closed.

A moment later, the Howler flew up in front of him, its magic activated. The face appeared just before its mouth opened, loudly screaming his name. It then tore itself up, the shredded pieces floating onto the table in front of him.

"Who delivered this letter to you? Which owl?" he clarified.

"Dunno, found it lying in the entrance hall, Professor," Filch explained, tilting his head curiously at him. His eyes then widened as he remembered something. "Ah, found this next to it, too," he proclaimed, producing a small parcel out of his jacket pocket.

Not inspecting it as intensely this time, he withdrew his switchblade from the inner pocket of his black flowing teaching robes. He opened it, sliding its sharp blade underneath the black ribbon before slicing the ribbon open along with the packaging. He pulled a blank photograph and tiny slip of paper out a moment later. Placing his switchblade onto the table, he withdrew his wand, nonverbally casting a Scarpin's Revelaspell on the seemingly blank photograph.

Nearly thirty seconds later, an image fully appeared. He made sure not to react visibly, knowing that green eyes were watching his every move closely. Instead, he flipped over the enclosed slip of paper, silently reading its words.

Side by side for all eternity
your lovers and your enemy

His black eyes glanced upwards in a rare display of alarm. He snatched the photograph from the table, staring at it and then at the slip of paper. Someone was sending him a message, a costly one if he didn't hurry. Whirling around, he strode towards the fireplace. In hindsight, he perhaps should have informed Harry of what had happened, but his mind, for the first time in awhile, wasn't in control. His heart was instead, which was extremely dangerous. Only fools wore their hearts. So, one might as well have called him one when he tossed down the handful of Floo powder, roaring out his destination.

"Godric's Hollow" echoed around the stunned room. The green flames shot up from the hearth, expanding around him before transporting him to the small, quiet village.

Snape rushed towards the church, ignoring the people staring at him. While he understood that he likely looked like a madman to them, possibly even an escaped Death Eater to some, he wished they'd cease in their idiocy of staring.

"Dad!" shouted Harry behind him. "Tell me what's going on!"

He should have known his son would follow. It was only natural for the young man who had nearly lost everything. He ignored Harry's question, however. There just wasn't time. His wand effortlessly slid into his hand as he walked underneath the stone archway. He ignored the sounds of Harry's trainers thumping against the cobblestone walkway as he ran towards Snape.

"Dad—" Harry instantly hushed when Snape raised his left arm, bending his elbow into a right angle upwards with his fist clenched.

Snape stared at the man standing underneath the tree watching them with a sickening smile. It took all his self-control not to kill the man right then. He had thought the Aurors had captured every one of the former Death Eaters. Clearly they had missed a few.

"Brought the boy with you too, I see. Excellent," the man said, his eyes looking Harry over. "I'm going to—"

Ignoring the onlookers and his son's presence, Snape sent his specialized curse at the man, casting it with as much as hate as he could. He coldly turned away, taking no notice of the man's pain-filled screams. He pointed his ebony wand at the ground, his stomach clenching in response.

"Dad?" softly whispered Harry beside him.

"Defodio," Snape hissed, watching the ground explode when the jet of light struck it.

"Dad, that was—"

He brushed off Harry's words, though. He knew precisely whose graves he had likely just desecrated. However, there was no other choice. He sent another jet of light towards the ground, sending more dirt into the air as it carved out a hole. Not offering any explanation, he jumped into the six foot deep hole, using his hands now to dig at the earth. He heard no sounds underneath him, which forced him to rely heavily on his Occlumency barriers to remain in control of his emotions. When his fingertips grazed wood, he hurried his actions.

"Is that—?"

"No, Lily was buried in white marble," he quickly shouted upwards towards his son.

"Then who is—?" Harry's voice trailed off as it likely dawned on him.

A moment later, Snape managed to clear enough of the dirt away to slide his fingers under the top, pushing it open a moment later. He ignored the collective gasps from the onlookers. Instead, he pulled the dark-haired curly witch out of the somewhat caved-in coffin. When he turned around to conjure a ladder to climb up out of the hole with her, he found one already there. He glanced up at his son, noticing the holly wand in the young man's hand.

He climbed up the ladder, fireman's carrying the witch up out of the hole. He gently placed her onto the ground a moment later on top of someone's cloak, kneeling over her and tilting his head to the side to see if he could feel her breath against his cheek. When he didn't feel anything, he acted on impulse, recalling how his father had once saved a young woman's life by performing CPR on her. He pressed his forefingers against the side of her neck, feeling her faint pulse against him a second later. He tilted her head back and lifted her chin up, ignoring the whispering that spread like wildfire around him. He then pinched her nose closed, inhaling himself before covering his mouth over hers and blowing his breath out. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her chest rise with his breath. He repeated it, hoping that he wasn't too late again.

It took nearly seventeen tries before she finally started breathing on her own. He closed his eyes the moment she did. That had been too close. He watched his son slowly walk into his line of sight.

"Is she going to be all right, Dad?" Harry softly asked, glancing at the witch.

Snape didn't respond. He truly didn't know. Though, his mind was starting to regain its usual control, allowing him to think a bit clearer. He glanced towards his son, deciding on a split second choice. His hand reached out, snatching onto Harry's arm as his other hand gently grabbed the witch's forearm. With a silent pop, the three were gone, far away from the prying eyes of the bystanders.

"Whoa," Harry uttered beside him the moment they reappeared. He had a sickly look to his face.

"Come," Snape softly ordered, already having picked the witch up into his arms again.

"Do you think she's going to be all right?"

"Yes." It was the only answer that Snape would accept. They strode across the grounds, heading towards the massive castle. One would think they were running, but they weren't. The massive doors burst open as they approached, allowing them inside. Instead of heading towards the Grand Staircases, Snape turned to the left towards an empty wall. He knew his son would follow him so he said nothing as he waved his hand towards the wall. A moment later, they passed through the secret barrier, appearing a second afterwards in the main area of the hospital wing. "Pomfrey!" he shouted.

"Dear Merlin, Severus, there's no—" Her words stopped cold at the sight of the witch in his arms. "Put her over here." The familiar mediwitch tone took over in her voice. She withdrew her wand, passing it over the witch now lying on the cot. "Both mother and child are fine," she spoke briskly. "She, however, has breathed in near toxic levels of carbon dioxide. We're lucky you managed to bring her to me in time." She glanced towards him, seemingly noticing the dirt on his robes and hands for the first time. "Severus," she softly said, almost questioningly.

"An old acquaintance that is no more," he coldly replied. "You're certain they're fine?"

"I am," Madam Pomfrey answered, frowning. She flicked her wand once towards the witch before sighing. "It should allow her to breathe easier. She might regain consciousness tonight. I cannot be sure, I'm afraid." When he bowed his head in acknowledgement, she walked towards her office.

"That guy buried her alive to get back at you?" Harry softly asked, staring at him as he bit his lip.

"It was common knowledge towards the end that I was involved with her," he stated quietly. "He likely would have attempted to do the same to you, had you not been with me last night."

"Is the Ministry going to get involved about, you know, you killing him, Dad?"

"I perhaps should not have done that," he admitted softly. "However, the Ministry will likely oversee it since it was a Death Eater who died." He then glanced towards his son. "We will inform the headmaster, however, just in case." His black eyes narrowed on Harry. "Know this, though. I will not ever be apart from you or Aurora again." He watched his son smile widely before nodding.

"Good," Harry said, leaning against him. "Because I'm not going to lose my second chance at a family to another psychopath, Dad, not when I just got you both," he stated with fierce determination.

A/N: Thanks for reading.