"In class! He did it in class? How stupid can the boy be? She is a professor not one of those little Gryffindors, who are turning on him! She's with the Ministry for Merlin's sake!"
McGonagall sighed. "I know, Severus. I was aware her bitchiness came from under Fudge."
Severus looked surprised. "Why, McGonagall, I would have never expected you to be so crass."
She rolled her eyes. "She brings out the worst in me I'm afraid."
Severus grinned. "With my son as well."
She glared. "You should tell him, Severus. He could use the support now. Everyone has left him or betrayed him one too many times for him to go to them. Myself included."
"And you think he wants me? Minerva, you have truly gone completely mental as one of my students would say."
"Or your son," she added with impish intent.
He glared at her. "Or my son," he conceded.
"Well, I am not mental, Severus Snape," she said with an imperial air around her. "I know what the boy wants and what he needs, and both of those has always been a family that loves him unconditionally. You are undoubtedly the only one who could provide."
He snorted. "You are delusional as well then. My son would never want to know I am his father. He has a family, a godmutt, and friends. He has no need for me."
"That family has never been his, I assure you. He has never gone home on holidays to them or rarely even speaks of his home or his summers there. His godfather, while having his heart in the right place, has never been a mature adult one can lean on even before the weight of Azkaban was on his mind and mental health, and as for his friends, they have always been children. He needs an adult to care for him. Your son needs you."
"My son is a handsome, smart, athletic, sociable young man. He does not need me nor would he want me."
"You tell yourself that to mask how much you love and want to know him."
"And so what if I do? Masks are meant to be worn. They were created for such a use."
"Masks are deceiving. What do you think your son uses to hide his pain?"
With that, she stormed down the hallway, turning into her feline form as she stalked. She was surprised to smell the other presence hiding behind the statue, but it could not be helped now. Harry at least knew some things and could put it together himself easily.
000
Harry stood there staring at the one-eyed witch statue's back. He blinked, then did it again, and once he realized he had yet to breathe again, he let out the breath he had been holding. He pinched himself and then gave his face a quick slap just to be sure. Not a dream then.
Snape's son. I'm Snape's bloody son!
He was the only person he knew who had yelled at the pink puff ball of shit and lies that was Umbitch, and so that also made him Snape's son. Snape's of all people. But how and why and where and when and what?! And if so, why was he living with his god-awful relatives if Snape was alive and well, and well, his… father? Because you're an evil freak that no one will ever want or could ever love, his mind, greatly nursed by his Uncle's hatred, happily supplied.
No, he was that of course, but Snape seemed to be under the impression that he would hate the idea, and while not thrilled over who his father was, the idea he had someone out there who could love him and give him the family he had always wanted was too good of an opportunity to make his greatest desire to come true to pass up. Though the idea that Snape loved him was laughable, but McGonagall, the surprisingly insightful witch that she was, had said Snape loved him, and as all her other insights had been so spot on, he found it hard to dismiss her thoughts on the matter. But one issue was Snape seemed not to want to tell him, and well, Harry didn't know how to really bring this up. He was crouched in a secret tunnel with his hand bleeding and in a great deal of pain. How did one broach the subject of secret paternity learned in those circumstances?
He needed to do something to get past the man, but he was just standing there only about ten feet away from the statue. Harry sighed and gave up trying to be sly about this. He whispered the password, sliding out from behind the statue and creeping in the other direction of Snape. He was almost down the hall when he heard the one man he did not want to see right now shout his name. "Potter!"
Harry closed his eyes and stood stalk still. "Shite," he hissed under his breath.
The man was already storming his way to him with that stalking walk he did. It was almost interesting to think that maybe he could get his robes to billow like that since it had to be genetic (or he hoped at least cos it was bloody brilliant). Then he remembered he was here in the hall far from Umbitch's office after curfew and out of bed, and Snape, while also his father, was the most ruthless, Potter hating teacher to live. Or at least Harry had thought so until like ten minutes ago.
The man grabbed his elbow and turned him about. Harry sucked in a breath at the contact. His elbow was still hurting severely from Uncle Vernon throwing him around before he left, and the touch to his elbow had hurt him more than he would care to ever admit to Snape. He hid the pain, deciding to keep face with the dour potions master turned father. "Sir," he hissed.
The man's eyebrow lifted to his hairline. Harry wondered if he was supposed to look like Snape or if he had just gotten lucky and inherited everything from his mother but then there was something he wasn't even admitting to himself beneath his glamours. Man, I am so out of it right now. Where are these thoughts even coming from? But that eyebrow thing is kinda cool. Bet I could do it.
He realized he was getting off track again and looked back to the man. "Turning into a snake, Potter," Snape said with the usual bite and venom.
Ha, bite and venom. Get it?
"That is two words you have hissed at me."
He felt surprised for a moment and confused. Had he switched to parseltongue without even realizing it? Had he done it before, and if not, why was he doing it right now? "Um… I-I…"
The man rolled his eyes and shifted his position. He folded his arms across his chest and made it look as if he had no care about this at all but was intimidating at the same time. Kinda like a 'I don't care about you, but I will make your life Hell if you lie.' Harry had seen it many times, but now that he knew, observing the man was more of a priority. Did he stand like that? Did he roll his eyes like that? His arms definitely didn't tense like that because he was a stick and didn't have that kinda muscle in his arms. Why did Snape?
"Fine, Potter, let's move on to easier questions for the sake of your mind and my sanity, shall we?"
And to think the man had called him smart not ten minutes ago? Can't remind him of that now though.
"What is a Gryffindor like yourself doing in the third floor corridor after curfew? I am certain Gryffindor tower is on the seventh floor."
The harshness of his words was making the slight pain-filled haze around his mind fall away and anger was ebbing forward. "Needed a stroll to clear the cobwebs from my head. Not that that has ever helped me any. I am eternally dimwitted, as you well know."
At least he now knew where his sarcasm came from and his pessimistic outlook on life. The man scowled in anger. "The truth, Mr. Potter. I am aware you do not wander aimlessly. You must be up to something. Is there a damsel in need of rescue? A monster in need of slaying? Come now, there is always a reason."
Harry felt the anger turn into a cold rage. How dare the man talk about any of that, especially after last year. After Cedric… Well, no one should bring that up. Not Snape, not anyone. Harry knew it was his fault. He didn't need the sodding git to bring it up. He was already guilty enough as it was. He channelled the anger into his sardonic mind. "Oh, but I do wander aimlessly. I wander impertinently and stalk the halls like I own them. Quite like my father," he said with a significant look at Snape.
The man seemed to pale then shake his head, probably to reassure himself that Harry didn't know anything. Oh, how wrong the man was. Not really often he could claim this except really any time the man mentioned him. Really for a father, he knew nothing of his son beyond the regular mask he wore for the school populace.
"Potter, I am losing what little patience I can have with you. Now why are you out here?"
Harry's resilience at not letting the man know about his hand almost fell. He would kill Umbitch for what she did to him. No, no. He wasn't a real father. He wouldn't care about me. No one does.
He steeled himself for the next paree. "I came to be an arrogant ass, just like my father, and just as stubborn too!"
The look this time couldn't be mistaken. He jutted out his chin almost nodding to the man and glared at the man. He was sure it could not be misinterpreted, and though he didn't want to hear his father tell him to get lost that he didn't want him just like everyone else, the waiting would have been ten times worse. "Potter, do you know something?"
The man was peering at him, searching him so hard he had to be trying to peer inside his mind, but Harry didn't look into his eyes but glared at his nose. He felt a burst of rebellious indignation for all the lies that had had too adverse an effect on his life that countered his nervousness. "I know a lot of things, Professor," he hissed this time on purpose, "counter to what you believe about me," he said flippantly, and was greatly amused to see the anger in the man's eyes, "so you will have to be a quite bit more specific," he said with one more enhancing hiss.
The man scowled darkly and took a menacing step forward. He heard the man growl and resisted the reaction to cower into a protective stance to preserve his head from a hit. The man had never hit him and would probably never do so, and as well as he knew this, he could never resist his inherent instincts, which was why his hands still warded off the attack and his eyes closed to protect them. He waited for his proof that even his true father hated him enough to beat him, but no hit came.
He opened his eyes and was surprised to see Snape looking at him in confusion and was that… fear. "Did you think I would hit you?"
The true undeniable shock and pain in Snape's voice threw Harry off. Why wouldn't he think that he'd get hit? He scoffed at the man though when his defenses threw themselves up. "No, of course not."
The man sneered and rolled his eyes in an over exaggerated way that Harry could remember doing to Dudley so many times. Oh Merlin! He is my father!
"Yes, of course not, Potter. People only throw up their arms to ward off an attack for their own amusement."
Wow! Am I this bad as well?
Harry glared and sneered like the bat himself. "Why do you happen to care, Professor?"
The man looked like Harry had just slapped him and seen a ghost at the same time, and Harry reviewed his actions and realized just how much like Snape he had sounded. Freaky!
"Harry… I."
Harry rolled his eyes at the usually composed man's weakness. "Just leave me alone."
The man seemed to gather himself then and took a step forward. "No, Harry, I will not just leave you alone. It is not normal for a child to flinch from someone who has never attempted to hurt them."
Harry thought about how much his family had hurt him, beaten him, hated him. All family hurt him, eventually. Sure, Snape had never hit him, but there was a time when Uncle Vernon hadn't as well, and that time was way past now. If he let Snape, he'd end up just the same. "Not physically hurt, but you aren't innocent either, Professor."
The man didn't seem to even be listening to him anymore, and Harry was slightly put out that his theatrics that he'd obviously gotten from his father were wasted. Then he realized the man's gaze had caught on his hand. His eyes widened, and he brought his hand behind his back. The man's gaze finally reached his gaze again, and there was an anger and concern directed at him this time. The man took a step forward and while maybe not meant to be it was menacing as always. Harry took an involuntary step back in reaction.
"What happened to your hand, Potter?"
He scowled. "Nothing," he hissed.
The man raised an eyebrow. "I know I saw blood, Potter. Now let me see it," he barked.
"No!"
He couldn't let the man see. He'd tell him he deserved it for being such an ungrateful brat, and he wouldn't care it hurt or that Harry had to do it to himself. Well, he was used to hurting himself, but not like that without his control and his say. Not for someone else's pleasure, and he was sure that was what he saw on Umbitches's face. "Stop being so disrespectful and obey me!"
Harry reared back, feeling as if he'd been smacked by the man this time. "Disrespectful? Me? What about you, Sir? Is disgracing a dead man respectful or honorable when they are not around to defend their memory? Is it being a bully to a kid who never even knew you or the parents you hate? Respect, Sir… you don't know the word. Respect would mean coming clean to someone you care about when a secret is over their entire lives… but hey, maybe you just don't care about him," he said with a shrug of fake indifference.
And, hey, maybe he didn't care about him, but he couldn't lie to himself and tell himself that was okay. He cared that Snape did save him all the time, but he cared even more that he didn't want him as his son, not really, not how it mattered. "Harry, I…"
Harry turned on the man. "Forget it, Professor."
Then he walked away, aware the man was still standing there, watching him too stunned to move. He went to the common room right away where Ron and Hermione were waiting on him. He told them about his terrible detention, and Hermione, ever the brightest witch of their year, used some essence of Murtlap to help heal his wounds quicker.
He couldn't tell them about Snape. Not yet anyway He just wasn't sure about telling them. Hermione would probably understand and encourage him to get over his differences and bond with the man who sired him. Gross and not what he wanted to hear right now about the slimy git. Ron would likely turn on him just like last year for something he no way wanted or could control, like who got to pick the man that loved their mother.
No way. He would just slowly let it eat away at him, saying nothing to anyone. Yap, sounded like a great fucking plan. He left them there going over homework under the guise of needing some rest and drew the curtains around his bed. He removed his potions knife from under his pillow and stared at it while he contemplated his new reason to hate himself.
'So unlovable his father couldn't even stand him. Check!'
It was such a great way to leave a detention with Umbitch calling him a lying bastard. He took the knife and sliced his thigh. Arms were where people went wrong or right since they wanted to get caught, Harry just wanted to feel in control of his body for once. Well, now he wouldn't get caught. So, he cut a slice for each wrong of today and ended with six. He let them bleed for a moment, tilting his head back with a moan of bliss, before he clotted them with a spell before lying down to sleep.
He could breathe now. He could feel the peace the pain and the purge brought, blocking out all the people telling him he was worthless, deceitful, stupid, ungrateful, unnatural, unlovable, evil. Then he slept.
XXX
"Worthless."
Harry whimpered, curling away from them.
"Freak."
A moan of pain.
"Your own parents died to get away from you."
A scream of denial.
"Sirius won't even talk to you." Thrashing about. "Why would he, you're just an ungrateful whelp?"
Groans of pain.
"No one loves you."
Wounded murmurs.
"You're a bastard of a common slag, and look at your father…"
Thoughts of a horse-faced woman.
"He hates you."
Shivers wrack the small frame.
"He could never be proud of you. How could he love you?"
Tears flowing down drawn cheekbones.
"Trash," flinch. "Useless, hated… Evil! Liar!"
Sobs wracking the chest open.
"Can't even keep your friends without lying."
Shaking in fear, scratching the torso.
"How could anyone expect you to kill the Dark Lord? You're weak, pathetic, unlovable!"
Clawing at the neck.
The last face has red hair, green eyes. "Mum," disgust covers her face.
"How could I ever love you?"
XXX
He woke up gasping for air. He looked around hoping no one was there, letting out a sigh of relief as he saw that his silencing spells on the curtains must have held up. After a summer of being beaten for complaints by his Uncle over his nightmares, he could not imagine his friend's faces after hearing him. He wiped the tears from his cheeks, feeling so hollow after hearing his parents, friends, and enemies tell him how despised he was, that the blood on his hands didn't even register. They hadn't have bothered. He knew his place well after fourteen years with the Dursley's loving kindness to show him. It had been ingrained in him from the beginning at their home.
He got up and took his knife and his wand with him to the loo. He locked and warded the door to satisfaction before sitting on the toilet with his head in his hands. He had to sleep half-naked these days and still woke up covered in sweat and this time blood from the wounds open on his chest and neck. He raised his boxers and rubbed his fresh cuts before moving down the leg and drawing a few more. He made one longer and let them all bleed while he leaned back on the toilet, drinking in the bliss. He closed his eyes, keeping the peace it brought him, while he thought of all his pain, all the bad bleeding out of him.
He raised up, casting a quick spell to clot the cuts and scratches he'd gained. He swished his wand to clean himself and the toilet of any of his blood before going to the mirror. He saw his reflection looking out at him. The hair was different this year, cut short, but it wasn't as messy either. It seemed almost feathery now. He didn't know how though.
The face to any onlookers looked just as tan, just as rounded and boyish, but beneath his glamour was a hard-carved jaw, sharp cheek bones from lack of food, and a slightly longer nose. He could guess now why he'd changed so much considering who his father was. Maybe he had just looked like James Potter in passing. He took off his glasses and was surprised to find he could see. He'd rather they were gone anyway. He hated them, and they made it foggy and his head hurt. He tossed them into the rubbish bin and checked his glamours since he still needed to hide the hunger look of his face and the deep black circles under his eyes. No one needed to see those. No one would have card anyway.
He left the loo and headed to his bed. It was still dark out, probably five if he was guessing. He shrugged and pulled on some jeans, an old shirt, and his cloak before finding his shoes and broom to go. He went down to the common room and out the portrait, more than happy that no one had woken up yet. He left behind the sleeping portrait hole and ran his way up to the top of the astronomy tower. He smirked when he saw it empty and stepped to the edge of the large opening, mounting his broom for takeoff.
He kicked off into the skies, his body twisting the broom into barrel roles before shooting skyward, letting the wind streak through him. It only took that first little burst of wind whipping through his hair and his body to feel the only happiness he had felt in years to come back over him again. Harry was made to fly.
