The older witch huffed. "Yes, well–"
"–Well, it would be wise to keep your simpering suggestions of how I might pander to the boy to yourself, Minerva. You may be his head of house, but I–"
"–His father. Yes, yes," she nodded, glancing over at the table herself.
"I'll also thank you not to put words into my mouth," Snape said, curtly.
A pause.
"Albus told me, about the blood wards," she said, softly.
Snape said nothing.
"I was there that day, Severus. When we found Harry, and the stone… I heard what he called you," she reminded him.
"Daddy…" the boy whispered again, his eyelids growing heavy once more.
"I'm here," the potions master whispered.
"The boy was delirious," Snape told her. "What is more, Potter would be turning in his grave."
"On the contrary, I'm sure that James would simply be thankful that Harry has somebody to care for him," Minerva pointed out. "And delirious or not, Harry wouldn't have said it if it wasn't how he saw you."
"I can assure you it was an isolated incident," he said.
Minerva huffed, muttering something under her breath which sounded suspiciously like 'hardly surprising if you're this miserable all of the time.'
"What was that?" the potions masted asked, curtly.
"Nothing at all. Far be it from me to give you parenting advice," the witch sighed.
"Indeed."
"Awkward age, isn't it?" Pomona Sprout commented from his other side.