Chapter 20

That's not possible.

Harry clambered off the bench. Cid and Tyler were staring at him, but he ignored them, ignored the voice, ignored everyone, all his attention fixed on the man by the door. He started towards him, wanting to see if he was real. He already had a voice inside his head; was he seeing things now?

A bolt of light shot in front of him, cutting so close it ruffled his hair, and slammed into the wall with a burst of sparks. He whirled, looking for where it came from, and saw several teachers leaving the staff table. Dumbledore had been the one to cast the spell, but Snape was moving the fastest, wand in hand as he ran down beside the Slytherin table. When he reached Harry, he grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, placing himself firmly between Harry and the man by the door.

James Potter.

His father.

He tried to push past Snape. "Let me go! That's my dad!"

"Your father's dead," Snape snapped, grabbing a handful of Harry's robe to keep him from pushing by. "Whoever that is, it's not James Potter."

All the students were whispering curiously now, looking between Harry, James, and the teachers. Dumbledore sharply commanded them all to stay in their seats as he hurried down the hall, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey close behind. James cowered back at their approach.

Harry stared at him, not trying to get past Snape now. The man was real, and he really did look like Harry thought he did, but he didn't know what explanation he'd prefer. The idea of someone pretending to be his father filled him with a fury that he knew would cause a dangerous outburst if it was true—but if this man was really James Potter, where had he been for the last fourteen years? How had he survived Voldemort's attack in Godric's Hollow and why had he turned up now, here?

The teachers reached James. Dumbledore approached with his wand raised, but McGonagall didn't seem able to lift hers, staring at James with open shock. Pomfrey had her wand half-raised, but ran her gaze over James like she was trying to figure out if he was real. At the staff table, Moody was on his feet, wand aimed unhesitatingly at James; many of the students hunched over and some looked ready to slide under the tables.

"Who are you?" Dumbledore demanded. Harry had seen him like this before, but many of the students looked surprised by the commanding tone of their normally placid headmaster.

James glanced fearfully between Dumbledore and the wand aimed at his face. "I'm James Potter."

"James Potter died fourteen yeas ago. I ask again, who are you?"

"I'm James Potter. I can prove it, please."

"Then do so."

James looked towards Snape. His gaze flickered only briefly to Harry and there was no emotion on his face when he did—no joy, no relief, no shock… nothing that Harry might have expected from a man seeing his son for the first time in almost a decade and a half. He showed more emotion looking at Snape, lips drawing back in a sneer of distaste. Snape narrowed his eyes, raising his wand.

But all James said was, "Fifth of November, seventy-nine."

Everyone looked to Snape, whose breath hitched.

"Severus," Dumbledore called, "does that date mean something to you?"

Snape nodded jerkily.

Dumbledore didn't ask what. "Is it something anyone other than James Potter would know?"

Harry saw Snape's tongue dart out briefly to wet his lips, saw his fingers twitching on his wand, the muscle clenching in his temple. Eventually, he said, "I can't be certain… but probably no one else alive."

"No one else does," James said, and a somewhat vicious look came over his face as he added, "Lily never told, so unless you went bragging about it to your mates—oh wait, you don't have any of those, do you?"

Snape went white. His face twisted furiously and he stepped forward, brandishing his wand in a silent spell. James cringed away even before he finished casting, and several Slytherin students slid off the bench under the safety of the table, but Dumbledore threw up a shield that absorbed the spell.

"Severus, control yourself!"

Snape jerked his wand down, grinding his teeth so hard Harry could hear it.

"What happened on the fifth of November seventy-nine?" Harry asked.

"I think we ought to take this elsewhere," McGonagall said.

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "Severus, go wait in my office. Minerva, take Mr Potter to the hospital wing. Poppy, would you contact Kirith Karpel. Everyone—" he gave the rest of the hall a warm smile, and the Slytherins still under the table dared to peek their heads out again "—please finish your meal and return to your dormitories. I'm sure many of you still have packing to do before the train leaves tomorrow."

Harry scowled at Snape's back as he set off without once looking around, but followed. He was tempted to demand an explanation right then and there, but realised that having his family drama out in front of the whole school wasn't the best idea. Besides, McGonagall was already walking James out, and Harry had every intention of going wherever he did.

But out in the Entrance Hall, Dumbledore fell back to walk in step with Harry, putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him from hurrying forward to join James and McGonagall.

"I think you should go up to my office with Professor Snape, Harry."

"But that's my dad!"

"I know," Dumbledore said quietly, "and I can only imagine how you're feeling right now, but we have no idea what he's been through or where he's been. You're a stranger to him; I think it would be best if you wait until I have spoken to him and Kirith has checked him over."

Harry stopped, although all he wanted to do was run after James and ask why he'd barely even looked at Harry all this time, why he hadn't even glanced back since walking out the Great Hall. He felt such joy at the first sight of James, then fury when he realised it might not be real, then relief that it was, but now he was afraid that he'd got his father back and it wouldn't matter because James didn't care about him.

"Do you think he'd hurt me?"

"I don't know," Dumbledore said regrettably. "Go with Professor Snape now."

Harry nodded, giving James' back one last longing look before turning after Snape, who'd elected to take the long route to Dumbledore's office rather than remain with the others even past the Hospital Wing. Snape didn't look at him as he jogged to catch up.

"What happened on the fifth of November?" Harry asked him and, when Snape didn't answer, added, "I could make you tell me."

Snape whirled on him and Harry stopped short, wary in the face of such anger.

"Doing so would make you no better than the Death Eaters who force information from people with the Imperius Curse. Is that what you want to be?"

Harry shook his head, feeling cold suddenly. "N-no, I didn't mean—"

"You didn't think," Snape spat. "Having power does not give you the right to force things from people just because you feel entitled. Hold your tongue until we reach the headmaster's office."

He stalked off and Harry followed, chastised and angry, both at himself and Snape. He didn't like being told off, but Snape had a point. He hadn't considered that forcing someone to tell him something was bad, he'd only thought that he had a right to know whether Snape wanted to tell him or not.

They said nothing for the rest of the trip up to Dumbledore's office, where Snape ordered Harry to sit and then proceeded to pace the office. Harry slumped in a chair, thoroughly miserable now.

He looked up a trill from Fawkes and started when the phoenix left his perch and swooped over to land on Harry's knee. Harry sat perfectly still, resisting the urge to knock the bird away. Not having an owl, and rarely sending letters, most of his experience with birds was shooing away pigeons on the streets of London. He highly doubted Fawkes would appreciate being treated in the same manner.

"Pet him," Snape said stiffly.

Cautiously, Harry did, stroking the feathers on Fawkes' head and marvelling at how soft and warm they were. It was oddly soothing, too; he soon found himself relaxing into the chair, some of his muddled emotions draining away.

"I'm sorry for threatening to make you tell me," he said after a few moments, looking up as Snape's pacing brought him within sight.

Snape glanced at him then continued his movement. "Apology accepted."

"Will you tell me, please?"

He heard an annoyed huff, but Snape answered. "I'll decide whether you need to know when the headmaster returns."

"What's it got to do with him? He didn't even know what Dad meant when he said that date. It's got something to do with you and my mum, don't I have a right to know?"

"Parents are entitled to some secrets from their children just as much as children keep secrets from their parents."

"I wouldn't keep secrets from my parents," Harry countered. "I mean, I won't now."

Oh yes you will. You'll not speak about me, and we both know you won't tell anyone about that nasty little demon deal you made.

Snape stopped pacing. He started to speak, then glanced around at the portraits and changed his mind. They all looked asleep to Harry, but perhaps Snape thought some of them were faking.

"You will keep secrets," Snape said instead. "All children do, just ask your friends. No one shares everything with any one person in the world."

Harry frowned at that, wondering if it was really true. He might not have told anyone about the demon deal, but maybe he would if he had a real parent around, or if he fell in love with someone. Not that that seemed likely when he'd never even had a crush, but you were supposed to trust your significant other with those sorts of things, weren't you?

It seemed to take an age for Dumbledore to finally show up. When he did, the first thing he said was, "Harry, would you please give Professor Snape and me a moment to talk alone."

Fawkes returned to his perch, leaving Harry with his hand half raised and gaping at the headmaster. "What? Why?"

"I just need a few moments."

"But it's my dad, why aren't you talking to me about it?"

"Mr Evans, wait outside."

It wasn't a request anymore. Harry looked between the two adults, then got up and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. On the landing, he pressed his ear to the door, but Dumbledore flicked his wand at it and no sound penetrated the wood. Harry could still see through, but that didn't help when he couldn't read lips, and Snape had his back to him.

He saw Dumbledore shake his head with exasperation at something Snape said, and Snape rubbed both temples. Dumbledore poured him a small glass of some drink whose label Harry couldn't make out and Snape gave it a dark look, but drank it. Dumbledore put away bottle and glass, Snape went to stand at the window, his back to the room and hands clenching on the windowsill, and then Dumbledore opened the door with a wave of his wand.

"Am I allowed to know what's going on now?" Harry asked, half sarcasm and half bitterness.

"Please have a seat, Harry."

Harry threw himself into one, folding his arms over his chest and looking between Dumbledore's calm face and Snape's stiff back. "Well? What's going on with my dad? Why isn't he dead? Where's he been all this time? Is he okay? When can I see him?"

Dumbledore settled into his own chair. "Physically, James is fairly well. Kirith is still finishing her examination of his mind, but he seems in surprisingly good health. As for where he's been, it would appear that on the night Voldemort attacked Godric's Hollow, James wasn't home. By chance, he left the house shortly before Voldemort attacked, which saved his life. Unfortunately, he was captured by a Death Eater that very same night and has been held prisoner until today, when he finally managed to escape."

Harry's arms fell, anger fading in the face of this revelation. "Who held him? Why didn't he escape in February?" His breath hitched. "Was it my fault? Did I let the one who captured him go?"

"Don't blame yourself," Dumbledore said, and Harry sank back in his chair, feeling sick. "You couldn't have known, Harry."

But did the Assistant? the voice wondered.

"Who was it?"

"Aurors are on their way to arrest him at this—"

"Who was it?"

Dumbledore leaned forwards slightly. "Harry, please listen carefully. The culprit has a child here at Hogwarts, and I don't want you to blame them for their father's actions. They are not responsible for it, do you understand?"

"Malfoy," Harry said, and a slight twitch in Dumbledore's eyes said he was right. "It was Lucius Malfoy. In that cellar."

Dumbledore straightened. "What cellar?"

"His private cellar. Malfoy—Draco—told me about it when I visited last summer. He said it was completely empty and he didn't know why his father kept it private, but there were spells or something, weren't there? Hiding James, or a secret room or something." He slammed a fist against the chair. "I could have found him. I was right there. If I'd had this eye already—"

"Stop," Dumbledore ordered. "Harry, you could not have known. This is not your fault. Lucius Malfoy is the only person to blame for what happened to James."

Harry shook, fighting to keep his magic from lashing out. He'd spent a whole night in the very same house as his father and had no idea.

"Why'd he leave home that night?" he asked, staring at the desk rather than look up. "I thought he and Mum were safe—they thought they were safe—under the Fidelius Charm. Why'd he leave the house?" A horrifying thought came to him and he snapped his gaze up. "Did he know? Did he abandon me and Mum to die?"

If that was true, Lucius could have him back, once Harry had extorted his own revenge.

But Dumbledore was quick to answer, "No, he did not knowingly abandon you to Voldemort."

"Knowingly? So he did abandon us?" When Dumbledore didn't answer, Harry looked from him to Snape and back again. "Did he walk out on us? Were they splitting up? Does this have something to do with November the fifth?"

"In part, yes," Dumbledore said quietly. "Severus, I think it's time you explained."

Snape sighed, but didn't turn around. "On the fifth of November seventy-nine, your mother and I had an affair."

"She cheated? With you?"

Snape nodded stiffly.

"Lily didn't confess this to James until the night Voldemort attacked," Dumbledore said. "He left the house in a fit of anger, but I would not say he abandoned you."

"He left us!" Harry cried.

"He was angry and needed to think," Dumbledore corrected calmly. "It's very likely he would have come back had events not turned out as they did."

"You don't know that."

"Nor do you know he wouldn't."

Harry couldn't contest that.

"There is something more. Severus?"

Harry looked to Snape. He still hadn't turned around and he didn't speak now until Dumbledore prompted, "Tell him. He deserves to hear it from you, Severus."

Snape sighed and, finally, turned around. He folded his arms over his chest and his expression was unlike Harry had seen on him before—wary, apologetic, almost… afraid?

"Our affair had consequences."

"What consequences?"

Snape looked at him pointedly. Harry stared at him, then shook his head.

"No."

"Evans—Harry—"

Around the room, all Dumbledore's strange little objects trembled on their tables. "No, you're not—you're not saying—that you're…"

"I'm your father."

"No!"

The window behind Snape smashed and he staggered forward with a cry of pain as glass cut across and sunk into his back. Harry saw one shard impale a beetle on the floor, the same beetle he'd turned blue in History of Magic all those weeks ago.

"Control yourself!" Dumbledore commanded, rising hurriedly and going to Snape's aid.

Oh, this is priceless. A day ago you were an orphan; now you've got two dads!

"He's NOT my dad!" Harry yelled at it, then fixed an angry gaze on Snape and snarled, "You're not my father."

Snape said nothing, leaning on Dumbledore's desk now while the headmaster carefully used a Summoning Charm to get pieces of glass from his back.

"Say it's not true! Tell me it's a lie, tell me right now!"

"Telling you that won't make it any less true."

"IT'S NOT TRUE! YOU'RE NOT MY DAD, DAD'S DON'T LEAVE THEIR KIDS TO GET BEAT UP!"

It was one thing for Snape to have left him with the Dursleys if he was just a teacher, just an old friend of his mother—Harry could understand that; after all, why should he take on someone else's child? But the idea that Snape was his father and still chose to leave him there…

Abandoned, said the voice in his head, not laughing now. Abandoned by your mother, by your stepfather, now by your true father. You were abandoned by Jia, and recall how quick your other friends were to abandon you when they thought you a dark wizard attacking students, even if they did come back. Sirius and Remus will abandon you too when they find out you're not the child they thought you were. They won't be there tomorrow to pick you up from London and you'll be back out on the street.

It was too much. He leapt out of his chair and ran for the door, vanishing it when he found it locked, and hurtled down the spiral staircase. He vanished the gargoyle, too, and ran for the stairs. He heard Snape and Dumbledore yelling behind him but ignored them. He knocked through a group of Gryffindors returning to their tower, skidded around a corner, reached the stairs, and leapt down them. More stairs and corridors later, he reached the Hospital Wing and burst through, pausing only long enough to find the single occupied bed.

James sat with his legs hanging over the edge, Pomfrey and Kirith talking with him, and McGonagall at the foot, listening. They all looked around at his entrance, startled, but all Harry's attention was on James.

"Tell me it's not true."

James gave him a pitying look. "I'm sorry—"

"No! Tell me it's not true, tell me it's a lie! A prank! Sirius said you like pranks, tell me this is just a joke!"

James shook his head. "It's not. I'm sorry it came out like this, but I thought you deserved to know."

"Harry—" said a voice behind him, and he whirled. Snape, running up after him, went crashing back into the wall.

"Stay the hell away from me!"

His voice cracked on the last word, a sob spilling out of him. He saw Dumbledore approaching and stepped back, shaking his head, then turned invisible. He fled again, this time taking to the air.

He Wished for his trunk as he went, already packed ready for tomorrow's journey, and Wished it small enough to fit in his pocket, then broke through the first window he came across that was big enough to fit through. He flew across the ground, heading straight for the school boundaries, and once he was past them he teleported away.

James sat on his bed, legs crossed, hands in his lap. The Hospital Wing should have been a comfort in its familiarity. He hadn't been here in years, but he'd spent enough time in the Hospital Wing as a student, getting hexed by Slytherins or friendly fights with Sirius getting out of hand or accidents while roaming the forest in his Animagus form.

But there was no comfort. He wanted his room at Malfoy Manor, the familiar comfort of the plain walls and dim candles, his bed and books and the comfort of his Master being close by. Here, there were too many windows and too many people he didn't trust. Some small part of him said he should; Dumbledore, McGonagall, Pomfrey—they were familiar old faces and he knew they were good people, but he still didn't trust them. At least that Kirith woman was gone; he'd been terrified her examination would discover the Bond with his Master, but she'd not detected a thing.

The worst part had been dealing with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Rufus Scrimgeour, the Aurors who'd come when Dumbledore reported James' presence. Kingsley had been nice enough, but Scrimgeour made James uncomfortable, and he disliked them just for being Aurors. Once they'd interviewed him, they'd set off immediately to Malfoy Manor to arrest his Master.

They'd already got him; James could feel his Master's fear echoing down the Bond that connected them. James knew it had to be done, but he didn't like it. He hated the thought of his Master being stuck in Azkaban with madmen and Dementors.

McGonagall had returning to her duties within the school, and he was glad for that. She'd kept looking at him like she was about to burst into tears. Dumbledore was gone too, but he'd be back. He'd only gone to inform Sirius and Remus.

Another one James didn't trust was Snape, who was behind the curtains of another bed as Madam Pomfrey treated him. James' Master had never discouraged his hatred of Snape, though he had a mild fondness for the man himself. James knew Snape's loyalty to the Dark Lord was suspect and it was one of his tasks to watch Snape closely to determine whose side he was really on.

He looked around at the sound of the door opening and felt his heart skip a beat when Dumbledore showed in Sirius and Remus. Blood traitor and animal, whispered his Master's training. Filthy, treacherous beasts that ought to be put down. But he couldn't say that. He had to pretend he still thought of them as friends.

Sirius and Remus halted just inside the Hospital Wing, gaping at him. James tried to force a smile, but knew it came out weak; that was alright, they all thought he'd fought his way free just this evening. He wasn't supposed to be hale, hearty, and happy, which was a good thing because he couldn't fake it.

Sirius staggered forwards, never taking his gaze off James, still staring like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Remus followed more warily.

"James?" Sirius breathed, reaching the bed. "That's really you?"

He reached out and James automatically withdrew from him. Sirius pulled back his hand, anger flickering over his face.

"What did that bastard do to you?"

"He's not a bastard," James snapped, then remembered he wasn't supposed to defend him and looked away. Damnit, his Master would be furious if he messed this up. "I mean…"

"It's alright, James," Dumbledore said.

"Alright?" Sirius repeated, outraged, but faltered at Dumbledore's stern look.

"Stockholm Syndrome?" Remus asked, and Dumbledore nodded.

As if what James felt for his Master was anything so stupid. So Muggle.

Sirius looked at him with an expression of pity and determination. "Don't worry, Prongs. We'll get you back to sorts. You'll come around soon."

James almost snorted with derision. How had he been friends with this man before? And those nicknames were so childish.

But he just forced another weak smile and said, "Thanks, Padfoot."

Sirius grinned at that. Remus smiled as well, though less brightly.

The rustle of curtains across the room drew their attention to Pomfrey returning to her office, leaving open the curtains hiding Snape, who stood by the bed doing up the last few buttons on his robe. He immediately scowled at the sight of Sirius and Remus, a look Sirius returned just as hatefully, fingering the wand peeking out his pocket.

"You're still alive then," Sirius called over. "Pity."

"Try wishing harder," Snape replied. "Maybe it'll come true next time."

"It would if Harry wished it."

James frowned at that, confused. Was Sirius referring to that outburst of magic Harry performed against Snape? James' Master had said there was something unusual and powerful about Harry's magic, but he hadn't explained what.

"Then clearly he doesn't want me dead. That must be such a disappointment for you, Black."

"He'll come around once he gets over the shock of learning you're…"

Snape's lip curled. "That I'm his father," he said, relishing Sirius' flinch. "Don't worry, I've already picked your replacement."

"Replacement? What the fuck are you talking about?"

Snape answered like Sirius was an idiot. "I did not choose you as godfather, and I'm under no delusions that you have any inclination to remain so now that you know the truth."

"Like hell," Sirius snarled, drawing his wand. "I'm Harry's godfather, no matter who fathered him. I'm not letting you pick some bastard like Malfoy."

James' hands clenched on his lap.

"Oh yes," Snape drawled, "because I would certainly pick someone who's about to get thrown in Azkaban. That's exactly what Harry needs, another absent godfather."

"It's no worse than being an absent father," Remus said, and Dumbledore hurriedly moved to stand between him and Snape as Snape went for his wand.

"That's enough," Dumbledore said firmly. "Wands away, all of you."

Slowly, Sirius and Snape did so.

"Severus, if you're healed, return to your duties. Harry's belongings will need to be collected."

"What should I tell the other students?"

"If you don't wish to reveal your parenthood—" Snape gave him a dark look that Dumbledore ignored "—simply inform them that it is James Potter, we're still investigating the circumstances, and Harry is going home separately. We don't want his running away becoming public knowledge."

"What about Draco?"

"He didn't know," James spoke up finally. He'd told the Aurors already, but he had to defend them. His Master would not be happy if James let his wife and son get accused of conspiracy without speaking up for them. "Neither him or—or his mother knew about me until today."

His Master had said he could use their names now, but that was more effort than James could manage right then. He'd never been allowed to talk of his Master's family before unless his Master brought the topic up, and the memory of punishments for doing so was fresh enough to stall him even now he had permission.

Sirius snorted derisively. "Don't defend my bitch of a cousin, James. I'm sure she knew all about—"

James lunged at him, landing smoothly on his feet and grabbing a fistful of Sirius' robes. "Don't you dare talk about my Master's wife like that!"

"James!" Remus grabbed him, but James wrenched away, smacking the animal's hands away. Sirius staggered back, staring at James in shock, and Remus raised his hands in surrender.

"James, calm yourself," Dumbledore said gently.

James turning away from them all as he fought to get himself under control. He hadn't known this would be so hard. He had to do better. If they found out why he was really here, his Master would angrier than the one time James stole his wand and cursed him, back before they were Bonded. The scars on his back seemed to ache just at the memory of it.

Worse, the Dark Lord would punish James' Master for James' failure. James couldn't be responsible for that.

"Master?" Sirius said, sounding stunned.

"I have to call him that," James muttered, not turning around, not ready to face them all yet.

"You needn't anymore," Dumbledore told him. "But I understand it'll take time to break these habits. Don't fret yourself over it."

"If you're so fond of him, why did you admit who kept you hostage?" Snape asked. "Why escape at all?"

"I didn't admit it," James snapped, lifting a hand to his right collarbone. "I escaped because I saw an opportunity." This, at least, he had a good explanation; his Master had made sure to create a plausible lie about this. "The Dark Lord came. When my ma- Lu- went to him, he was in such a hurry he didn't shut my door properly. I knew the Dark Lord would kill me as soon as—as he told him about me, so I took the chance to run."

He finally turned to face them again. Snape still looked suspicious, Remus was pitying, and Sirius heading towards angry again. Dumbledore showed no expression; he'd heard all this before.

"Does Voldemort knows about you?" Remus asked.

"Probably by now. My mas- he said he was keeping me for the Dark Lord to kill. He said he'd be well rewarded for it."

"Fourteen years is a long time to keep someone," Snape noted. James said nothing.

"He tortured you, didn't he?" Sirius asked, then, before James could answer, his face twisted with horrified fury. "Did he—did…?"

"Did he what?" James asked, no idea what Sirius was getting at.

"I think what Black's unable to bring himself to ask," Snape said, with what seemed like grim pleasure at doing it himself, "is whether you were Lucius' trollop."

James felt his face heat up, but straightened his back and glared at Snape. "My Master's marriage—"

"He's not your fucking master!" Sirius burst out. "He's a sick bastard who locked you up for fourteen years!"

James stared at him, clenching his teeth, hands shaking at the effort it took not to hit the other man.

"Sirius," Remus murmured, taking his hand, "calm down. It's not his fault."

Sirius jerked free of him, turning away and running both hands through his hair, then kicked one of the empty beds.

"Is that a yes, then?" Snape asked.

Sirius whirled, lunging at him with the apparent intention of throttling Snape with his bare hands. Snape staggered back, bringing his wand up, but Remus grabbed Sirius and pulled him back before he reached him.

"Severus, leave," Dumbledore ordered. "Send Draco to my office; I expect we'll hear from Narcissa soon enough anyway."

Snape nodded once and stalked out without another glance at the rest of them.

"You're not stopping me from being godfather!" Sirius yelled after him. Snape paused at the door just long enough to give him a dismissive look, then left, slamming the door behind him.

Sirius looked to Dumbledore. "He can't stop me being godfather, can he?"

"I'm uncertain, but as long as Harry wants you to be, I don't believe Severus would even try to."

"Right," Sirius said, shooting a distrustful look at the doors Snape just vanished through.

"You and Remus should return home," Dumbledore went on. "Harry may turn up there."

Sirius nodded.

"What about James?" Remus asked.

"A psychologist is coming around in the morning, someone Kirith recommends," Dumbledore said. James scowled; he didn't need or want some head shrink trying to get into his mind, but Dumbledore and Kirith insisted. "He'll stay here for now. Long term arrangements will have to be discussed."

"He can—" Sirius began, then stopped. He frowned, nodded, then cautiously approached James. He lifted a hand and James eyed it warily, but Sirius placed it on his shoulder, squeezing. He twitched as if to move more, but refrained. "I'm glad to see you again, Prongs."

"So am I," James lied.

"We'll come back tomorrow," Remus said, looking to Dumbledore, who nodded agreeably.

James nodded, trying to look pleased by this, and watched them turn to go.

"Get some rest," Dumbledore told him before going with the two men.

At the door, Sirius stopped, spinning back to look at James, who tensed.

"You never did answer. Did Lucius…?" He still couldn't say it, but gestured vaguely and James got the point.

"No. He's not interested in men like that."

"Right. Good."

They left. Just before the door shut behind them, James heard Remus asked Dumbledore, "How did you know who took him?"

James didn't hear Dumbledore's answer, but he already knew it. He pulled the curtains around his bed, just in case a student turned up with some malady, and lay down, lifting his hand to his collarbone. He couldn't feel the scars through his robes, but he traced them anyway, the words he'd carved into himself with a blood quill, over and over and over until they were etched into his mind as well as his skin.

Property of Lucius Malfoy.

Severus delivered a concerned and curious Draco, and his luggage, to Dumbledore's office just as Narcissa stepped through the fireplace.

"Mother!"

"Shall I leave you two alone?" Dumbledore asked, standing by his desk.

Narcissa looked tempted to say yes, but with stiff civility said, "You likely know more than I do currently. You may as well stay. Severus, too."

"What's going on?" Draco asked worriedly, looking around at them all.

"Sit down, Draco," Narcissa said, taking a seat for herself. Draco sat, never taking his gaze off her. Dumbledore settled behind his desk, but Severus stayed on his feet, leaning against a bookcase.

Narcissa, never one to beat around the bush, looked at Draco and said, "Your father has been arrested."

Draco sucked in a sharp breath. "What for?"

Narcissa looked as if she was sucking on a lemon. "He thought it was a good idea to lock a man in the cellar for fifteen years."

Draco looked baffled for a moment, then gasped, looking to Snape and Dumbledore. "Does this have something to do with James Potter?"

They all nodded. Draco leant back in his chair, even paler than usual. "It's really him then? Evans' father. He's alive. Because Father kept him locked up all this time?"

"Yes," Narcissa said. "Potter escaped today, and the Aurors arrested your father this evening. I didn't want you to read about it in the paper tomorrow morning. I'm taking you home tonight."

Draco nodded absently, but looked to Dumbledore. "Does Evans know all this?"

"Yes."

Draco grimaced. No doubt he realised his chances of gaining Harry's favour, slim as they were already, had just vanished.

"Are we leaving now?" he asked Narcissa.

"If you've everything ready."

Draco nodded, looking around at his trunk. "Professor Snape said I should bring everything."

"Then we'll leave. Your owl will find his own way."

There was little else to say. Draco and Narcissa prepared to go, leaving through the fireplace, but as Draco took a handful of floo powder from Dumbledore's beehive-shaped pot, he looked to Severus.

"Sir, will you make sure Evans knows I had no idea about this?"

Severus nodded, though he knew he wouldn't speak to Harry anytime soon. Even when they did, Severus didn't look forward to the conversation they'd have.

When Draco and Narcissa were gone, Severus asked Dumbledore, "What's happening with Potter?"

Dumbledore leant back in his chair. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me, headmaster," Severus snapped, moving forward and gripping the back of a chair. "He's spent fourteen years as Lucius Malfoy's… pet. You heard the way Potter spoke about him, and the Dark Lord knows about him. Are we really to believe that after so long Potter miraculously managed to escape now? Right under the Dark Lord's nose?"

"The circumstances are suspect, however I will not treat James as an enemy. Don't look at me like that," Dumbledore scolded him. "Kirith found no evidence of active spells or enchantments on James, dark or otherwise, and neither did I. She'll be back tomorrow to do a second check, but she believes all his attachment to Lucius is psychological, not magical. James has been very violently abused and—"

"He looked healthy enough to me," Severus muttered, rolling his shoulders as his own recently healed wounds twitched.

"You did not see his scars," Dumbledore replied. "Nor the results when Kirith checked for dark magic cast on him, but I know you noticed how he cringed from anyone who raised a wand against him."

Severus straightened up, looking away with a scowl. He had. As a teenager, he'd have relished James Potter cowering in fear from him; today he'd found it surprisingly unfulfilling.

"I won't be inviting James to Order meetings until we've determined more of his mental state and interviewed Lucius, but for now he must be treated with compassion and understanding."

Severus didn't respond to that, refusing to agree to give any such emotion to James Potter but not refuting it either. "And what do you plan to do with him? He can't remain in the Hospital Wing forever."

"I don't know," Dumbledore admitted. "Harry has not made things easy."

"Harry isn't responsible for Potter."

Dumbledore looked over his glasses at him. "I am aware of that, Severus. However, living with Sirius and Remus would be the obvious option, but it wouldn't be fair on anyone to settle James with his old friends only for Harry to come back and say he doesn't want to live with James, nor could we tell Harry that he has no right to an opinion on the matter. Something else will have to be figured out, but it'll wait until we know more about James' mental state."

Severus had his own opinions on Potter's mental state, but he doubted Dumbledore would care for them.

With nothing else to say, he turned to leave,

"Severus."

He stopped at the door, turning to look back at the headmaster.

"You won't try to stop Sirius being Harry's godfather."

"As long as Black doesn't forsake him, and Harry doesn't object to him." He started to go again, but Dumbledore called his name once more, and he sighed irritably. "I do have things to do, headmaster."

"I was just curious as to who you would have chosen for Harry's godfather."

Severus didn't look back. "No one. No one at all."

He let the door slam shut behind him and headed for the dungeons.

His path took him past Minerva's office. He paused outside the closed door, looked around, then stepped closer. Listening closely, he heard the faint sound of movement inside. He lifted a hand, hesitated, then knocked.

"Come in."

He entered and found Minerva rifling through a filing cabinet. She looked around, pausing in surprise.

"Severus. How's your back?"

"Fine," he answered tersely. "I have a favour to ask you."

He had to get it out before he lost his nerve. She pushed the drawer shut and moved to her desk, gesturing at the chair on the far side. Severus shook his head so she remained standing as well.

"What sort of favour?"

"If Black rejects Harry, would you be his godmother?"

It was a rare pleasure to see Minerva gobsmacked. Normally he'd relish it, but today he was too tense.

"You want me to…?"

"He trusts you. He likes you. Right now he hates me, Minerva, but he's still just a child. He needs someone to look out for him and I don't trust Black not to abandon him once he's over the shock of Potter's return."

Minerva sat. "I'm sure he won't."

"Perhaps," Severus said, but he didn't believe it. "Will you accept?"

She scoffed. "Of course I will. Did you really think I wouldn't?"

"I didn't know if you wanted the responsibility. He's difficult to handle."

She sighed. "Severus, don't take this the wrong way, but thinking of children as responsibilities is exactly why you have so much trouble with them."

He folded his arms over his chest and drummed the fingers of one hand against his biceps.

"I'm a teacher; how else am I supposed to think of them?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "As people. Especially when one of those children is your son."

Severus turned away. "According to Harry, he's not. He's been functionally orphaned since Lily died; there's no reason for that to change now."

The morning headline announced Potter's existence and Lucius' arrest, but Harry and Draco's absence from the school meant there was no trouble over it, just an awful lot of gossip. Severus was more glad than usual to finally see the students gone. After the past year's events, and especially the past day's, he was extremely grateful to finally get a bit of peace and quiet in the castle.

Black and Lupin turned up in the afternoon. Severus met them outside the Hospital Wing after conferring with Poppy on what potions were left in stock. She'd had few enough injuries in the past week to get a head start on stocktaking. Some could be kept for next year, but others would go off by September; it let Severus know what he'd need to brew over the summer.

"Severus," Lupin greeted politely. Severus gave him a cold look.

"I assume there's no been no word from Harry."

Lupin shook his head.

"No thanks to you," Black sneered.

Severus stared at him until Black shifted warily and eyed him suspiciously, then stepped past and headed on his way. He had his own end of term arrangements to deal with.

It took him a week. Black and Lupin were annoyingly common features around the castle in that time, and Potter remained resident in the Hospital Wing. The psychologist who came apparently decided he was too mental to diagnose in one day.

Not that that was the phrasing Dumbledore used, but it was the general idea.

Severus fortunately rarely had to see them, busy in the dungeons sorting out the store cupboards, tidying out his office and classroom, and arranging his own rooms. But the day before he intended to go home, Potter turned up at his office door, alone. Severus was glad not to have to deal with Black or Lupin, but suspicious; every time he'd glimpsed Potter over the past week, he'd always been accompanied by someone, whether his old friends or one of the other staff members.

Severus was writing out a list of things to do when he came back in August, but at Potter's appearance he laid down his quill and reached for the wand sitting on the edge of his desk.

"Going to hex me, Snape?" Potter asked, lingering in the doorway. "You couldn't do anything nastier than what my—than what's already been done to me."

"I wouldn't be sure of that, Potter. What do you want? Where's whoever's supposed to be babysitting you right now?"

"I don't have a babysitter, and I wanted to talk to you."

"I don't see what we have to talk about. Piss off."

"I want to talk about Harry."

"No," Severus said bluntly.

"He's my stepson, I have a right to know—"

"You have no rights," Severus interrupted, standing. Potter tensed, hand dropping to the wand at his hip. "You've spent fourteen years in a cellar, Potter. You've got no relationship with Harry at all."

"I spent over a year changing his nappies and teaching him to walk and talk," Potter said. "That's more than you've ever done, isn't it? Did he ever call you 'dada'?"

Severus burst out of his seat, wand coming up. Potter brought his own wand up, holding it defensively, but backed up a step.

"You know nothing of what I've done for Harry."

"I know you weren't there for him," Potter said, eyes fixed on Snape's wand. "Sirius and Remus told me, and I saw the news articles. Harry grew up with Lily's bitch of a sister and her husband. They abused him. They're the reason he lost the sight in one eye. Why didn't you take him in?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you," Severus snarled.

"Remus said Harry hated you last year, when he was teaching here, but he only found out you're his father last week. What'd you do to make him hate you?"

Severus flourished his wand. Potter dropped his own and staggered back with a pained cry, hitting the wall outside the office and sliding down it, staring at his hands as they twisted at the wrist until they faced the wrong way.

Severus moved around the desk, wand still pointed at Potter as he slowly approached.

"I said, I don't have to explain myself to pathetic, beaten little cowards like you, Potter."

Potter grimaced, but tilted his head back and looked up at him. "Is this it?"

"I assure you I can do much worse."

"I know, but is this why Harry hates you? Because you still favour the Dark Arts? Because you're still loyal to the Dark Lord? Is that why you didn't help him in February?"

Severus froze. "What?"

"My Master told me all about it. You were there, and you never raised a finger to help Harry. You didn't speak up for him. Would you have let him die and rejoiced with the rest at his demise?"

"So this is it," Severus said. "This is why they let you go. To determine my loyalty?"

Potter laughed. Severus frowned, stepped back, wary now.

"Do you think you're really that important?" Potter asked, grinning at him. "Snivellus?"

"You piece of—"

"Shut up, Snivellus. I might be a beaten little coward, but at least I've got an excuse. Where's yours? Fourteen years and you still went running straight back to the Dark Lord, looking for someone bigger and tougher than you to hide behind."

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Potter."

Potter's grin didn't falter. "My master would never just let me go. He always kept me waiting for the Dark Lord. It was always his intention to hand me over to be killed. That day I escaped—it wasn't the first time I tried, but it was the last time I'd ever get the chance. I'd have died that day if I hadn't got away. But you think they just released me, to spy on you?" He laughed. "You're not that important, Snivellus. You never were. Lily recognised it, and now Harry recognised it, too."

Severus' hand shook with anger. "Lily thought I was important enough to shag when you weren't there," he spat.

"That was a mistake," Potter said, but his grin faded. "She told me all about it, Snape. She regretted it as soon as it was done."

"Not enough to tell you about it until two years later. Not enough to get rid of the child we made."

"Because she knew a child shouldn't pay for her mistakes." He leant his head against the wall, his expression cool now. "But he paid for yours, didn't he? Is there anything you've done for Harry that wasn't a mistake?"

Severus brandished his wand, but before he could complete his incantation—

"Severus!"

He lowered his wand with an irritable sigh, stepping back as Dumbledore hurried up to them, wand already out. He crouched by Potter, carefully examining his hands before turning angry eyes up to Severus. Severus avoided meeting them.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing he doesn't deserve," Severus muttered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore's face grow thunderous.

"It's okay, headmaster," Potter said, drawing a startled, suspicious look from Severus. "It's not that bad. I've dealt with worse. The counter-curse is simple enough."

"That you've suffered worse is no excuse for Severus' behaviour," Dumbledore said, but his voice was softer than when he spoke to Severus.

Severus made a sharp gesture with his wand and spoke the counter-curse, and Potter grimaced and whined as his hands twisted back to their normal position. Dumbledore helped him to his feet and summoned his dropped wand.

"You should return to the Hospital Wing and get Poppy to check on them, just in case."

Potter nodded and gave the headmaster a weak smile. His expression was distinctly cooler when he looked at Severus, but he said nothing, just set off.

"You've no excuse for attacking him, Severus," Dumbledore said, his voice cold enough to make Severus want to squirm like a recalcitrant student. "I think you should go home tonight,"

"Fine," he snapped, and spun on his heel, stalked into his office, and slammed the door shut.

Six hours later he arrived on the doorstep of his house on Spinner's End. It was dark, wet, and miserable, and he swore as he dispelled the locking charms on his front door. When he finally got it open, he vanished the pile of junk mail just inside, dragged his luggage through, and kicked the door shut.

He left his trunk dropped in the middle of the living room, lit the stumpy candles in the lamp, and banished his cloak to its hook by the door, heading into the kitchen. He dug out a dusty bottle of vodka and felt a lot better after downing a couple of shots.

He took his belongings upstairs, ran a bath, and unpacked as it filled. He was tempted to summon the vodka and drink as he bathed, but it had a tendency to make him drowsy and he didn't fancy drowning in the bath. Potter, Black, and Lupin would have a field day with that.

He picked a book instead, levitating it above the tub as he soaked, but by the time the water grew tepid he'd only read one page, and that several times. His mind kept drifting to his conversation with Potter, and to Harry, and it just made him angry—at Potter and himself, because Potter was right. He'd failed Harry, and what he'd done in the past few years didn't make up for all the things he should have done for Harry.

He climbed out the bath, dried, and then summoned the vodka, intending to crawl into bed with it, but it didn't come. He frowned, listening, but couldn't hear it crashing into the doors. Cursing, he pulled on a dressing gown and stomped downstairs, muttering irritably as he went.

He'd doused the candle lamp earlier, knowing better than to waste candles or risk burning his house down, so he lit his wand with Lumos—and then froze. There was a figure in his armchair, a familiar figure, but one he'd never thought he'd see there. He might almost have thought it was an apparition, but he knew his own mind well enough to distinguish the real from the imaginary.

The light of his wand reflected off alabaster skin as Lord Voldemort set down the bottle of vodka Severus tried to summon, and red eyes gleamed in the surrounding darkness as he looked up at him.

"Hello, Severus."