Chapter 2
Severus closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he leaned against the door to his office, having just slammed it in the face on that- that werewolf.
He sighed. "Harry Potter is not my son," he said softly, surely. "He's not my son."
Merlin save then all if he was. Meddling werewolf. If Harry was indeed his son, which he wasn't, of course not, then the werewolf had just made a huge error. Severus had no children besides Harry- no, Severus had no children at all. This was because he had signed in blood, swearing on the pain of death that his firstborn child would receive the Mark of Voldemort's service precisely at Midnight on the winter solstice directly following the child's fifteenth birthday. Severus knew that there was no known way to knowingly subvert the pact. So if Harry was- no, if Harry had actually been his child then, in theory, he wouldn't have had to become a Deatheater had Lupin not said anything. But Harry wasn't his child so there was nothing to worry about. Right?
There was a sudden pounding on the door, and he opened it.
"Lupin, leave me alone. I have no wish to speak with you right-"
"Severus," panted Lupin, and Snape was startled when he noticed that there was blood on the werewolf's hands, as well as smeared across his front, "Harry… something has… happened-"
Severus' eyes narrowed. "What has that to do with me?"
Lupin barely paused long enough to glare at him. "Harry's owl just showed up, exhausted and bloody with no letter. Professor Dumbledore sent me to fetch you."
"Fine," Severus bit out. He turned around, grabbing his cloak from a hook just inside the door, and with a quick touch assured himself that his wand was indeed in its holster inside his sleeve. Then he turned again to follow Lupin.
They ran up the dungeon steps (that is, Lupin ran, and Severus walked swiftly, refusing to sacrifice his dignity for a possibly false alarm. There were animals that would attack an owl, after all) to find a worried Dumbledore and a frantic Sirius waiting in the Entrance Hall.
They looked at each other and Sirius and Remus immediately headed towards the door. Dumbledore's voice halted them, though not for long.
"I'm afraid that I shall not be able to join you. I have a rather important meeting with the Minister," he opened his pocketwatch and glanced at it, "fifteen minutes ago."
Before he could say more, Sirius nodded at him and rushed out the door, Remus not far behind. Severus looked at him for a moment, then swept out of the Entrance Hall after the duo.
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Cornelius Fudge flooed into the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts for his scheduled meeting, only to find that there was no one there. He scowled, but sat down in front of the desk thinking that perhaps Dumbledore had gotten held up and would be along shortly.
Ten minutes later the room had received no new occupants and our esteemed Minister was getting irritated. He stood up and walked towards the window, looking of it as though hoping to see the Headmaster striding across the grounds. He quickly grew tired of staring outside and turned back to the desk. There was a letter sitting atop it. Odd, really. He hadn't noticed it until just now. He picked it up, and oblivious to all the rules of courtesy that dictated otherwise, began to read.
Dearest Remus,
I hope this letter finds you well, though it would be my preference that it never find you at all. Oh well, that is neither here nor there and as you are obviously reading this, highly irrelevant.
There is no tactful way to say this, so I will say it straight out.
James is not Harry's father. Severus is. Remus, it is important that you-
Cornelius stopped reading and merely stared unseeingly at the paper in shock. This was not possible. This was not happening. He leaned against the wall and massaged the bridge of his nose. Why him? What had he ever done to deserve this?
Oh, but the possibilities. The papers had printed Voldemort's return. After Albus Dumbledore had sent the Prophet a letter declaring that Harry Potter himself had witnessed Voldemort's rebirth, there had been nothing he could do to quell the outrageous rumours.
But now…. Genius, he was a genius. If the wizarding world knew that Harry Potter was not in fact Harry Potter, but was the son of Severus Snape, a man who had willingly shown to Cornelius the Dark Mark branded into his arm…. Perfect. With this evidence on top of Harry's fits and Parseltongue abilities, no one would ever trust Harry Potter's credibility again. Or at least, not if Cornelius Fudge had his way, and Cornelius Fudge always got his way.
There were definite advantages to being Britain's Minister of Magic.
Suddenly there was a sound of a door opening behind him, and Cornelius dropped the letter in approximately the same place it had sat before.
"Ah, Cornelius, I'm dreadfully sorry that I'm late. I hope you have not been inconvenienced?"
"No, Dumbledore, not at all." Not at all…
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Severus, Remus, and Sirius arrived in the shaded area beneath the tree in number 4 Privet Drive's back yard. They walked inside the back door to find Petunia Dursley cleaning the absolute disaster area that was the inside of the house.
Petunia looked up and her eyes widened in fear, "Wh-what are y-y-you doing here?"
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Harry stiffened when he heard his aunt's voice from just outside the kitchen. She didn't talk to him, except for the good mornings and the daily division of chores. And she certainly wouldn't ask him what he was doing in the kitchen. That meant- no, surely Vernon wasn't home yet. He checked the clock and saw that it was only one in the afternoon.
Please, he pleaded to no one in particular, please let it not be Uncle Vernon. Steeling himself to get struck, he opened the door to the kitchen and stuck his head into the hallway. Then he gaped in shock.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprised. The three newcomers looked up from his aunts frightened face to look at him and he saw four pairs of eyes widen in identical surprise.
"Harry?" asked Sirius uncertainly, "is that you?"
Harry frowned, not making a move to come further out of the kitchen. "Yeah, it's me. Why are you here?" he reiterated.
Snape, who was standing behind the other two, "Your owl, Potter, arrived at Hogwarts in rather alarming condition." His words seemed to shake Sirius and Remus out of their shocked reverie.
Harry paled and made to back away but Remus jumped forward and grabbed his shoulder. Harry yelped in pain as his arm was jarred out of its relatively secure position, tied up in his sleeve. Remus didn't let go and caught Harry as he lost his balance and fell out of the doorway.
That was when the three wizards got their first look at the whole of Harry's new form. They had just barely adjusted to his new face and hair, of which the only recognisable features were his trademark scar and his green eyes, when they saw the broken arm.
"Who did this," growled Sirius. He turned to Petunia, "You hurt my godson! I'll-"
"Sirius!" Sirius turned to look at Harry in surprise, "Take a good look at her. Do you really think that she's in a fit state to so much a bruise me, let alone break my arm?" She wasn't, it was true. She was bruised and cut up fairly badly. She had taken to wearing long-sleeved shirts and floor-length trousers or skirts. She caked on make-up to hide the bruises that darkened her face, but they were still visible if you looked closely.
Sirius shook his head slightly and relented.
"Did your Uncle do this to you, Harry?" asked Remus softly. Harry felt his chest tighten and he closed his eyes, trying to block out what was happening. He hadn't wanted them to know. He hadn't wanted anyone to know. For all of his plans and imaginings, he wasn't prepared to deal with the reality of their reactions. After a few moments he nodded slightly.
Remus and Sirius looked at each other, then glanced back at Snape, who looked disinclined to involve himself in the situation further.
"Let's get you back to Hogwarts then," said Remus decisively. Sirius held his hand out, which Harry accepted somewhat reluctantly, and they all vanished.
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The ghost of a fifteen-year-old boy looked down at his hands in contemplation. He had haunted this castle for decades, unseen by even the other ghosts, and the recent developments disturbed him.
He had chatted with the owl for a time, to find out what exactly had made her so frantic. One of the advantages of being a ghost was that you could understand what anyone was saying, whether they were an animal or merely a human who spoke a language you had not known while living. The ghost had found this quite useful, and used it often around those that he trusted not to reveal him to the others who dwelled in the old castle.
The boy floated through a wall and into the library, taking down a book from the restricted section and turning its pages idly. His eyes landed on a spell he hadn't seen before and he read in interest. His eyes widened as they travelled down the page and he slammed the book shut suddenly and placed it back on the shelf memorising its title.
For the ghost had just found the key to destroying the being that had stolen his body all those years ago.
Tom Riddle had just found the key to defeating the centuries-old spirit that called himself Voldemort.
Now all he had to do was to find someone who could use the information.