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Severus is not what one would call a hopeful man, having long since had any hope extinguished in him, and yet he sincerely hoped that James Potter had found a wonderful existence in the after life. He hoped that wherever the man had gone it was an endless parade of happiness and joy, that he wanted for nothing and no one. He hoped that in that joyous place Potter was able to look upon the world and, more specifically, at the son who he had sacrificed himself for.
Most of all Severus hoped that every time James Potter looked at the world he saw his precious son, who was growing into a surprisingly pretty young man, teary eyed, red faced, and whining for Daddy while Severus was balls deep in his tight ass. He hoped that Potter had been witness to the first time, when Harry was far too young and far too broken and desperate for attention and praise from someone who wasn’t there to cater to his every whim, when he’d wanted to be punished and hurt for his mistakes, when he’d come to Severus on his knees and begging. When Severus had, knowing he was wrong and deserved only the worst fate, had put the boy over his desk and fucked him raw, until he was sobbing.
He sat at his desk many nights, Harry serving yet another detention as a front for lessons, and wondered if Potter could see Severus teaching his son all the fundamentals of wizarding life, could see him guiding him, opening his idiotic little mind up for he had half a chance of surviving not just the Dark Lord but in wizarding society when it was all said and done. Did Potter know that the mark Severus was leaving on Harry would be deeper, more meaningful, than anything James had managed in that first fleeting year. Long after Severus was gone, dead in this war as was inevitable (and the reason he cared little for the consequences of his actions. For now Dumbledore would look the other way, needing Severus alive and not in jail, and when it was all said and done he'd be dead and cold), he would still hold a place in Harry's memory, in his heart.
He would always be the boy's first.
Did he see how Harry preened under a touch to his shoulder, blushed and stuttered under even the faintest of encouragement, how he melted for a quiet ‘Good work Potter’? Did he know it was because of the gap left in Harry’s life, impossibly large and deep it was as much a part of the boy as his name, where parental love should have been? Did he understand that every time Severus had the boy on his knees, plush lips stretched wide around his cock, it was Harry trying to fill up that void.
It had been easy to get Harry to call him Daddy. A simple suggestion, reinforced with a mixture of praise and scolding (not professor when they were alone, not Severus or Snape either, not master for the sake of Severus’ own past as a Death Eater but something else, something Harry didn’t call anyone else, something just for them) And oh, he’d been so embarrassed at first, tripped over the word and fretted that he sounded stupid, but in short order it fell from his tongue with ease.
He moaned it, whined it, gasped it in Severus’ ear as he worked himself on Severus’ cock, tight and slick and riding him hard. Daddy please, Daddy touch me, more Daddy, I want your cock Daddy.
Severus smiled, pleased as much by the sight of Harry undone and mewling as the thought of James Potter, shaking with impotent rage and bitter failure, witnessing what was surely the greatest revenge at all.