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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CONSENT

They apparated directly to James and Lily's home, the place the boy had last been loved and protected by his parents, clasping hands, Snape's heart pounding in his chest. The location was seared on his very soul, his aim as certain as was the boy's, never mind that it had been nearly seventeen years since he had dared set foot in Godric's Hollow. They stood before the house, visible to them and any other wizard, but warded against Muggles. When Potter reached out his hand, a sign rose out of the wild grasses and flowers that grew behind the gate. It was inscribed with a memorial to James and Lily, and to the power of love. Witches and wizards had written in magic all over the sign, around its edges and over the inscription.

Long Live Harry Potter.

If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!

Good luck, Harry, wherever you are.

And more recently, Thank you, Harry! and To the Boy Who Lived – again – thank you.

He could barely make himself look at the blasted second floor, where Lily had died… where he had found her. His heart burned. Were it not for the boy by his side, he would have let himself die of it… would have wanted to nearly as much as he had seventeen years before… maybe more. But the boy was next to him, and he could not do that to him, so he placed his hand on the boy's where it held onto the gate, and allowed the boy to lean against him for a long while.

Together, they turned to the small church and the tiny graveyard next to it, their guard pacing them at a distance, then setting themselves at each of the graveyard's four corners.

A hand touched his elbow and he turned his glittering black eyes to look down into the boy's startlingly green ones, searching the boy's face.

"It'll be okay," the boy said softly.

Black eyes held on green, so much calmer and more at peace than his own. He drew courage from the unflagging acceptance and understanding he saw there. He took a breath, still keeping eye contact, straightened his hunched shoulders, tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat, and gave a sharp nod.

The boy turned to accompany him, but he drew away, shaking his head.

"I have to do this myself," he said, his voice trembling as lightly as the hand he drew across his brow...

He didn't know how long he had been standing there, in front of Lily and James' grave, while the boy waited for him to… make his peace… decide… He struggled to pull his mind out of recollection, out of the past, out of even the last few months, stuck in a whirling Pensieve of memory, reliving it. But he did not want to… would not let himself escape, despite the painful constricting of his heart. He had to do this… for the boy… for his boy, maybe. For their future. Whether he lived or died, he had to do this. And if it hurt, if it killed him – well, he deserved that, had earned it, so long ago. He straightened his waistcoat again and continued.

"Lily… I wish you'd been here to see him…" he whispered. "You'd be so proud. He's such a good boy… such a brave…" His throat tightened and tears ran down his face again. Oh Merlin, what the boy had been through!

"He's such a brave soul," he managed to choke out. "I'm so proud of him."

Where had that come from? Not that it wasn't true. The boy had much to be proud of.

But – that wasn't his nature, was it? He'd never been, really, as confident as Lily had been, the moment she'd gotten her letter, the letter that proved it was all true, what nine and ten year old Snape had been telling her. And he'd never assumed like his father had, never took it for granted. Not that James had been wrong for taking it for granted.

"He's a good man," Snape said. "James…" He shook his head. "Your son… I'd do anything…" and his voice broke again and his chest hurt, but he did not raise his hand against the pain, knowing the boy would be watching. "I promise… if you allow it… if he allows it, I would do anything… I would give my life…"

Then he saw them – as he saw Lupin leaning on his tombstone, just like that. James and Lily, their arms around each other, watching him. He nearly died of it – not their togetherness, just the… difference of it. They appeared as they had in Potter's memories, not his; as father and mother rather than as teenaged classmates. He could barely look at them, fearing judgment and condemnation, meriting it… but he had to do this. For Potter… for the boy… their boy.

"I promise… I promise I'll take care of him… I promise I'll protect him." No – he could not promise that. "I promise I'll try," he corrected. "I promise I'll be here for him, as long as he needs me, as long as I can, as long as I'm alive. I promise I'll treat him as if he is my own… as if he is yours, Lily. James… I promise I'll be fair… I'll listen… I'll try to see him for himself. I promise… if you let me… if he wants it… I'd do anything…"

And he knew it was for Potter, more than for Lily, and he looked to her for forgiveness for that, for loving her son, now, more than her… looked to James for forgiveness for seeing his son more clearly than he had ever seen James himself.

They nodded at him, James shaking his head ruefully, Lily smiling gently. He knew it was not, could not be, real… but it comforted him nonetheless.

"I don't ask forgiveness," he said. "I just ask your… blessing. He's your boy. I have no right…"

But Potter did have the right… to anything Snape could give. That thought calmed him, though he still felt conflicted.

Why?

Because… he wanted this, he realized. And somehow, that felt wrong… he felt unworthy… it felt indulgent. How could he be sure it was for the boy, if he, himself, wanted it?

A soft footfall warned him of the boy's approach. He thought for a moment to wipe his face, hide his tears, but that movement would as much as tell the boy what would otherwise be evident on his face anyway… so he let himself stand there, unguarded, regardless of what the boy would see. The boy came to stand next to him, and looked at his parents' grave.

He thought his heart would surely break from it then, from his guilt and remorse, from his loss and his overwhelming need to protect the boy, to see that he was, would ever be, safe… safe… safe… From not daring, not coming close to dare, that he and the boy…

He did not allow himself to grab at his chest, despite the fact that he thought he might die from it.

How long they stood there, he did not know – Lily and James, he and Potter. A tear fell from his face to his hands, clasped in front of him. Potter reached out a hand and wiped it off, turned to look at him, tears in his own Lily-green eyes, and Snape could not help it. His arm rose involuntarily to pull the boy to him, to comfort him. The boy came willingly, almost desperately, and clung to him, sobbing, releasing Snape's own tears. He held him as tightly, as reassuringly as he could, whispering "Shh… It's all right… It's all right, Potter. It's going to be all right…"

And after a long, long while, after he could work it from his heart up his gullet, into his mind and out his mouth, form his heart and his lips around it, he murmured into the boy's dark hair, "All right. All right, Potter… All right… It's all right," and did not notice that James and Lily had faded into the air.

At lunch the next day, Snape tented his fingers, looking at the boy across from him, trying to wrap his mind around it. "If we do this, Potter…" He rolled his eyes at the boy's sudden, brilliant smile. "If we do this, we'll still need to do the inheritance bond as well."

"Why?"

"A civil adoption will not prevent questions…"

"Civil adoption? Why?"

"It is not necessary to…"

"But I want to," the boy protested.

Snape growled at him. The boy laughed. Snape frowned. "What?"

"You do that a lot," the boy said. "You used to hiss at me… but now you growl instead. I just think it's funny. You used to be a Slytherin snake and now you're a Gryffindor lion… so you growl." He grinned.

Caught completely off guard, Snape laughed uncomfortably and frowned. What?

"I like it," the boy said. "I like the sound of it… it's like… like a friendly lion."

What?

He laughed weakly and raised a hand to his forehead. His heart thumped, but it did not hurt.

"Potter," he… growled. The boy laughed at him, then sobered.

"It's Harry… Dad."

Snape went still and this time the irregular thumping of his heart did hurt. "I am not your father… yet… Potter. We have not yet determined… we have not yet decided…"

"I have," the boy said defiantly. "Is that why you don't want to do the adoption bond? Because you don't really want to? Because you don't really want…"

Snape narrowed his eyes at the boy and his heart thumped more painfully. Don't do this, Potter. His chest rose and fell rapidly and he stared at the boy then closed his eyes against the hope in the boy's eyes, his pleading.

Merlin and all the gods… He shook his head… and it hit him again, how much he did want it… but… Gods, could he do this? What if the boy only thought he wanted it? What if, when it came down to it, he, Snape, wanted it, but in his heart the boy did not? An inheritance bond was… simple… nearly risk-free… but an adoption bond…

"You have to mean it, Potter," he said, opening his eyes. His heat beat at a frantic rhythm. Oh gods, this could hurt. "You have to mean it." He realized he was… almost pleading.

The boy looked at him a long moment. "I do, Profess… Dad."

Snape growled.

"Trust me."

Yes… well… that would rather be the point, wouldn't it?

He stared at the boy, wishing he knew… but refusing to intrude on his mind. It must have shown, or perhaps the boy saw it in his open mind, because the boy leaned forward across the table and repeated, "Trust me."

He inhaled a slow breath, and, just as slowly, nodded.

"Can I tell… can I tell Ron and Hermione… and Ginny?"

Snape gazed at him, a protest dying on his lips before it was formed. Well… it would have to be public eventually… at least the boy's friends would have to know. And Minerva. And no doubt Hagrid… and Kingsley of course… and Bartley… and he could hardly expect, could hardly ask the boy to keep it secret… and why should he? he realized. He shook his head. What am I doing? He nearly laughed at himself. Severus, what in bloody hell are you doing?

However, the boy was watching, waiting for his answer. In for a feather, in for a hippogriff, he realized.

"Yes." What am I doing? "How would you like to do that?"

"Could I have them over?" the boy asked eagerly. "And Neville, too?"

Snape looked around his quarters – their quarters – imagining it overrun with teenagers. Then he did laugh. In for a feather… "Certainly, if you wish. When did you…?"

"Saturday. Saturday night. Then Ron can come."

"Of course."

Snape wondered if he could absent himself for that, but realized first that he was not sure how he felt about his quarters being invaded without his supervision, and second… what was the point? He'd have to face the boy's friends, their potential disapproval, eventually. Better now than… at the ritual… or worse, afterward. Again picturing a group of students – teenagers, anyway – in his quarters, he snorted. Well, that would be… different.

And that brought up the fact that they had not told anyone yet – not Arthur or Kingsley or Minerva. At least they knew the boy had proposed it… but not that Snape had agreed. His stomach twisted at the thought of those conversations, but strangely, his chest did not hurt.

Arthur first, he decided. Then McGonagall. Arthur could let Kingsley know for him, perhaps. And he would send a letter to Bartley…

"Minerva… if Potter and I could have a moment of your time?" Snape asked.

The Headmistress looked from him to the boy and back and her eyes gleamed expectantly. "Certainly, Severus. Come on up to my quarters…"

Snape thought of the portraits lining the Headmistress' walls and balked. "If you don't mind, Headmistress, I would prefer to have the discussion in… in our quarters." He looked sideways at the boy, who nodded in agreement.

Minerva nodded. "I'll meet you there directly after I speak with Filch."

Snape paced his study nervously. Potter watched him, his eyes glinting in amusement. "Potter," he growled.

"It'll be all right… Dad."

Snape growled again, resisting the urge to snap at the boy. "Potter, if you refer to me that way in front of the Headmistress – or anyone else – I shall hex your lips shut. Do you understand me?"

The boy laughed.

"I mean it, you insolent boy," he said without heat, still pacing. The boy grinned but nodded his agreement. Snape's stomach relaxed its hold minutely.

Minerva's knock startled him. Merlin, what was the matter with him? Potter jumped from his chair and sped to the door almost before Snape turned from his pacing near the fireplace.

"Come in, Professor," the boy said, eagerness apparent in his tone.

Calm yourself… control your emotions, Snape thought at him automatically… and tried to follow those instructions himself.

"Minerva," he nodded with a calm he did not feel. He saw her take in the furnishings, including the tartan-upholstered chairs by the fireplace, the boy's Order of Merlin, his broom leaning against the bookcase near the door, two sets of books on the table, and Potter's room, visible through its open door. She did not seem surprised by his nearly completely barren shelves. She turned from her survey of their quarters and smiled at him warmly.

"I like what you've done with the place, Severus."

"Thank you," he murmured after a moment. "Let's sit here, shall we?" he said, motioning to the chairs and sofa in front of the fireplace. Minerva took a chair. Potter, trailing after her, waited until Snape sat on the other chair, and took a seat on the sofa so close to Snape that their knees almost touched. Minerva noticed, her eyes sparkling. Snape felt unaccountably calmed by the boy at his side – their united front, perhaps, strengthening his resolve. He straightened his shoulders.

"We – that is, Potter and I – wanted to let you know that we have decided…" He hesitated, then looked McGonagall in the eyes. "I have decided to adopt him," he said, suddenly firmer. He glanced at the boy. Potter grinned at him and turned to McGonagall, his eyes gleaming in satisfaction. Snape turned to Minerva, whose eyes lit with an even warmer smile as she watched them.

"As you recall, Minerva, I told you that Potter…"

"It's Harry, D – Professor."

Snape narrowed his eyes at the boy, who winced, then smiled and shrugged apologetically.

"… had requested that I adopt him, and I have, after much consideration, agreed," he finished, somewhat awkwardly, he thought.

"Does this have anything to do with your visit to Godric's Hollow?" Minerva asked unexpectedly.

What? How did she…? He turned to look questioningly at Potter, who ducked his head and scratched at his scar. Don't pull that on me, cheeky boy he thought, narrowing his eyes at the boy. He turned back to Minerva.

"Yes… I did not want to proceed without… that is, I wished to… to visit Lily and James' graves."

Minerva nodded in comprehension and approval.

Snape wondered why he had thought this would be difficult. "In any case," he continued, "as we have decided to proceed, I wondered if you are still willing to serve as my – our – one of our witnesses."

"Of course, Severus," she said. "That is, if you are in agreement, Mr. Potter?" she asked, turning to the boy.

"Oh – yes, Professor," he said, "that is… if it's okay with you."

"Of course, Mr. Potter," Minerva said tremulously.

"It's Harry," he said.

"Harry," she corrected.

He turned to look at Snape accusingly. Snape lifted one eyebrow at him.

"When did you think to have the ceremony?"

Snape's mind went blank. When? He felt the boy's eyes on him. "I… we hadn't discussed a… we hadn't discussed when," he acknowledged, turning back to the boy, an eyebrow raised in question, this time.

The boy swallowed, but just looked back at him, waiting.

He sorted through the possibilities rapidly. "We could wait until spring…" He looked at Potter and realized the boy would never agree to that. He shook his head. The boy's next birthday was even further away. He rejected consideration of his own birthday, his shoulders twitching at the very thought. Birthdays had never been cause for celebration in his life, other than the blessed day he received his letter from Hogwarts and the day he attained his majority and never needed to set foot in his parents' house at Spinner's End again – until he inherited it.

"Christmas?" he asked.

Potter looked positively alarmed at that, for some reason.

"Thanksgiving?"

The boy looked reluctant.

"Well, when did you have in mind, you silly boy?" he demanded.

"I thought we should do it before school starts," Potter said, looking at Snape as if he expected Snape to utterly reject the suggestion. Perversely, that caused him to consider the boy's suggestion seriously.

"And… what would be your rationale for that?" he asked, as if they were discussing potions.

"Oh – well…" The boy thought it through. "If we start the year that way, if we get it done before then… Hermione and Ginny and Neville… and Professor McGonagall and Hagrid… they would all already know, and it wouldn't be such a… such a…"

"… Shock?" he suggested wryly, his lips twitching. His eyes flicked to Minerva's and he saw amusement on her face as well.

"Yeah," the boy said, scratching his scar again.

"Though… if we let your classmates know beforehand, it would also give them time to adjust to the idea before we proceed," he suggested.

Potter slashed a hand at the air in rejection of that possibility. "No," he said. "First of all, it's no one's business but mine and yours," he began. "I won't have anyone question it."

"They will anyway, Potter."

"Harry, Dad," the boy said. Snape hardly flinched, his eyes on the boy. Minerva made a sound, but her face revealed nothing by the time he flicked his eyes to her.

"And they can question it after we do it, then," Potter said.

"In that case, what does it matter when?"

"I want to do it. I… I just… I just…"

And the boy looked him in the eyes, pleadingly, and drew Snape in. I just want to belong to somebody… belong somewhere… the boy thought at him. I just… I don't want to be an orphan anymore. Please…

Snape could practically feel the boy's need as if it were his own… to belong… He understood that.

Potter…

"Please," the boy said aloud.

He looked the boy in the eyes and nodded slowly, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. "As you wish," he said.

He had practically forgotten that Minerva was in the room, and looked up to find her watching them, a bemused smile on her lips. "Well," she said, standing up, "it seems you hardly need anyone else's consent, Severus, Po… Harry."

The boy glared up at Snape again at McGonagall's use of his given name. Snape narrowed his eyes at the boy until the boy relented.

Saturday, Neville was at the school by lunchtime, wanting to consult with Pomona Sprout about his advanced studies. The two herbologists carried on such an obscure discussion at lunch that Trelawney took her meal up to her rooms in the North Tower, though Snape and Firenze listened with interest, Snape's mind automatically sorting through relevant potions.

When Neville looked hesitant about whether to follow Sprout or Potter after lunch, Potter waved him off, laughing. "Clearly you have things to discuss with Professor Sprout, Neville. Just… just be back by five, will you?" He looked suddenly anxious, and Snape stifled the urge to reach out to him in reassurance.

Neville knocked at barely half past three, and he and the boy went off to wander the castle – or so Snape thought until they returned laden with butterbeer and firewhiskey just as Snape was clearing his desk of paperwork.

"We went to the Hogshead," Potter said, "through the Room of Requirement."

Snape stifled his alarm, but flicked his eyes to Neville's.

"We stayed in Aberforth's quarters, Severus," the boy said.

He frowned at them anyway, nodded, and then confiscated the stronger spirits. "I'll not have a group of drunken teenagers in my quarters, Potter," he said, but relented when the boy pulled him aside to ask permission for a single, celebratory drink after dinner.

"And… I told Aberforth. I hope that's okay," the boy said, looking anxious.

Snape nodded. He'd intended to tell the barkeep himself, but it was as much Potter's prerogative as his. "However… the next time you leave the school grounds, let me know, will you?" he said, making it both a request and an order.

The boy's eyes sparkled. "Sure – Dad."

Snape took a swipe at the back of his head with the sheaf of papers in his hand when the boy turned away, grinning.

The Weasleys and Granger arrived shortly before five, taking the floo network directly to their hearth rather than the Room of Requirement this time. Ron came first. Neville and Potter were in the lab, doing who-knew-what – not that Snape didn't trust them.

"Profess… Severus," Ron said when he emerged from the flames.

Snape nodded at him from his desk, where he was reading. "Ron…" The boy turned to help Miss Granger out next, followed by his sister.

Granger and Miss Weasley looked around his quarters – their quarters – appraisingly. Miss Weasley's gaze was coolly assessing, Miss Granger's rather warmer. "Professor! It's so good of you to let us come visit!" she greeted him.

"Of course, Miss Granger… Miss Weasley," he nodded. "You have only to ask…" He shook his head. What was he saying?

Their voices called Potter and Neville out of the lab, and between the greetings and Potter showing them around, they all began to get comfortable. Miss Weasley came to investigate the Order of Merlin on the shelf beside his desk. She shook her head, but her eyes lit on his merrily. "Bleeding idiots, aren't they – the Ministry?" she asked quietly.

"Indeed," he murmured.

"Harry's got yours in his room," she observed.

He shrugged and nodded. That was evident, wasn't it?

She smiled at him warmly then, and… that was that. One down, he thought, realizing he had been holding his breath and feeling rather shaky until that approval, tacit as it was. His face twitched in a swift smile.

It was a bit anticlimactic, actually. As they sat over the end of their dinner, Potter caught his eye and Snape nodded. Ready. Potter took a breath and his friends went quiet, almost as if they had been waiting for it.

"The… the professor and I have something to tell you," he began.

Snape's eyes flicked to Granger's. She was smiling at him. Neville's eyes were on Potter's, and Ron's shifted between Potter and Snape. Ginny's – he'd started thinking in first names at dinner, just to keep everything straight – rested calmly on Potter's face as she sat at his side.

"We've decided…" Potter stopped and started again, and Snape felt a momentary satisfaction in the boy's stumbling approach, mimicking his with Minerva. His eyes glittered at the boy, who glared at him, then straightened up in his chair.

"I asked him to adopt me," he said in a firmer voice, "and he agreed."

Granger yelped, "Oh, Harry!" and threw her arms around the boy. He returned the girl's hug then untangled himself, his eyes on Ron's across the table from him. The boy snorted, but nodded in wry acceptance.

"I knew it wasn't safe to leave you here with him," he said. "You've gone barmy. What'd he do – hex you?" but he laughed as he said it, flicking his eyes to Snape and shrugging.

"Ron!" Granger said in exasperation.

"Idiot," his sister said matter-of-factly, reaching for a pumpkin pasty.

Neville looked from Potter to Snape. "I think it's brilliant," he said quietly. Snape cocked his head at him, wondering why on earth the boy would have concluded that. But he met the boy's eyes and saw that the boy had utterly accepted Snape's changed status, no longer the villain… one of the good guys. He felt surprisingly grateful at that. He snorted softly, closed his eyes a moment, and shook his head. When he opened his eyes, Neville gave him a warm half smile.

"Weird," Ron said.

They talked about the boy's need for witnesses, then, the fact that he had already asked Arthur ruling out either of the Weasleys, and for some reason, Granger as well. It took a moment for Snape to figure that out; then he realized that the teens were assuming Ron and Granger… He eyed them speculatively, appreciating the way they balanced each other's personalities, much like Arthur and Molly. He could see how Ron would be good for the girl… and visa versa.

He suddenly realized that Potter was working his way toward telling them he had asked Neville to be his second witness, giving his rationale as he went along so that his closest friends would not be surprised or offended at not being asked. He settled back to watch the boy manage it, which he did quite skillfully, he admitted, all four of his friends endorsing his choice.


That was Chapter 28 of 30. Continuing...