Chapter Four

Harry's POV

Now I know what the word 'scared' means. Not 'frightened' or 'petrified', but 'scared'. As in the lesser component in fear. And I can't say I like it very much. I can't believe I just burst it out. I mean, I just said it right out, 'I love you like my dad, Severus'. Not exactly in those words, but the essence was the same.

A few hours have gone by since then, but we haven't gotten the chance to talk since then, as Sirius and Remus are still here. They are in the library for the moment, talking with Severus. Probably about Voldemort or something else they think I shouldn't hear about. But I'm fifteen darn it, soon sixteen. I won't die because I heard the word 'kill'. But do they listen to me? No.

So here I am, sitting in the cloud room, which is mine, reading a book Severus recommended me. 'The potions of Karol Mikerskij'. It lists a bunch of really weird potions you can make from very simple and common ingredients. And despite what one may think, it's actually interesting. I think I will test one at Malfoy when I have arrived back at Hogwarts, maybe the one that makes your skin glow with a sickish green colour. It could be fun to see his reaction.

Suddenly, I hear the faint sound of bells, signalling that Remus and Sirius have Apparated away. Driven by an urge to stall the talk with Severus I know is coming, I dive under the covers and start pretending to be asleep. Not far afterwards, Severus opens the door and looks at me.

"Harry?" he whispers. "You're awake?"

Trying to breath easily, I neglect to answer. Severus sighs and patters into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Strangely gently, he pushes my bangs out of my face, lingering on my cheek.

"What shall I do with you, Harry?" he whispers dejectedly. "I can't be a dad for anyone, I don't deserve it. Especially not to you. You're the Boy Who Lived, you deserve someone better than I."

A faint whisper suggests that he shakes his head, and then the weight next to me diminishes as he raises and walks back to the door. But before he closes it behind him, he utters one more sentence, the one I so badly want to hear.

"I love you too, Harry," he whispers. "And I truly wish that you were my son."

Sev's POV

It is well past midnight, and I still sit in my living room, watching the flames play in the open fire. My mind still can't get off that wave of bliss it's riding, hearing that Harry loves me and him calling me 'dad'. A word I thought no one would say to me after that fateful day seventeen years ago. And I sure as hell don't deserve it. Not after what I did.

A log falls down, drowning the sound of bare feet on the floor. So, I am surprised when a warm hand, rough from the work it has been forced to do in such a young age, is placed on my shoulder.

"Want to talk about it?"

He knows. But how can he? No one but Dumbledore knows, and he won't betray my trust like this. I must have looked nervous, because Harry hugs me from behind, sliding down next to me in the white couch.

"No one has told me" he softly assures me. "But I can sense there's something you're not telling me. Something important, something you feel strongly about. Your eyes get so guilty, so ashamed sometimes, so burdened with sorrow."

This adolescent is really smart. There's no use denying it. There's no use not telling him. He has to know, he has the right to know.

"It all began seventeen years ago."

My voice seems lifeless to me, unemotional. But I certainly don't feel that way. It hurt talking, hurt thinking. I don't want to.

"Four years after graduation, I had married another witch from Beauxbaton, Niamh Lind. The most beautiful blonde with the sunniest smile on earth. We had two children together, four year old Alisha with the blue eyes and a baby boy, Donal. We lived together in just this cottage, and we were happy. Niamh wrote books about gardening here at home, and I had a well-paid job at Hogwarts, teaching DADA. But then, everything changed.

"I guess you can say I fell into the wrong crowd, but that wouldn't be completely true. Instead, I would rather say that I was curious about Voldemort, who was a great wizard according to my good friend Lucius, the potions teacher. Because at that time, I didn't know that Tom Riddle and Voldemort was the same man.

"I was young then, I was power hungry as most are at that age. So I couldn't see anything wrong in wanting to be one of Voldemort's accomplices. And it was during this time, I told Lucius that I knew who was Sirius Black's and his parents' secret keeper. Because I knew Voldemort wanted to get a hold of them – or as I know now– kill them. That information became my ticket into Voldemort's closest circle.

"I became a Death Eater. Seduced by the power Voldemort had shown me, I didn't want anything but it. I stopped caring about other people, about my family. My wife was a 'mudblood' after all, a 'weak' wizard. But I allowed her to live; she had bore me children after all.

"That peace was shattered the day I came home to find the wife of an Auror, Arabella Figg, talking to my wife. I freaked out, killing my wife with the Avada Kedavra. Then I placed the Cruciatus curse on my daughter who'd been with me and turned to take care of Figg. But she had evidently grabbed my baby and disappeared, because she was gone. In rage, I increased the strength of the curse until blood poured out of her. She died shortly after that, her last words being 'daddy'. But I didn't care. I just left the bodies where they were, and went back to my lord.

"My service with him didn't end until he one day confided in me that his name once had been Tom Riddle. I managed to keep my façade up, but as soon as I was out of there, I broke down, Apparated to the only father's figure I've ever had, Dumbledore, and told him everything."

I know my face is stony, I know it seems like I don't feel anything about it. But still, I am very much aware of the fact that Harry has grasped my hand, lending me the strength I need to finish my tale. And inside, I am a hurricane of feelings. Guilt, shame, self-blaming, hate. I can't let them out; I've kept them inside for so long. It's like I have been petrified emotionally, like I can feel but not show.

"You're not the person you were then, Severus"

His voice managed to penetrate my misted in brain.

"And who you were before you met Voldemort, isn't whom you were when you saw your family for the last time."

I know he means well, but his words do not help. He don't know how it feels to have killed your family, killed them and taken pleasure it.

"I understand that you really can't take this right now. I know you believe that this is something you can't be forgiven."

Damn right I can't!

"But then again, you are pigheaded. Yes, it was you who killed your wife and tortured your daughter to death. Yes, it is your fault. But only a minor part of you. When you did that deed, you 'were seduced by the dark powers'. The dark arts are poisonous, you know. If you haven't got a truly strong mind, they will slowly take you over. Submitting you to their will."

How does this boy know so much? Because I know no one has told him. Yet, somehow, he takes what I'm feeling inside, grinding it into dust, and shredding it into pieces small enough to live with.

"You are still responsible for what you did in the matter that you chose to join Voldemort. You chose to submit into the dark side of magic. But you can't be made responsible for killing your family intentionally. You had as much to say about the matter as one under the Imperius curse."

How can he know this? I can't just stop asking myself this question as he slowly, piece by piece, takes apart my defence. He is almost sixteen, yet emotionally he is much older. Older than me, maybe even Dumbledore.

"I do understand the guilt you're feeling won't leave you alone. I can see that you want to make up for what you have done under Voldemort's influence. But you and I both know that you will never really get away from that guilt. But you can, and you will learn how to live with it, and do the best with the life you have created for yourself after cutting your bonds with Voldemort. Your past is no reason to push people who care for you away. You can make amends by letting those who wants to love you in, so making them content by being content."

I turn to him, staring at him. Now, I can see the tears falling down his cheeks; hear the desperate tone in his voice, begging me to see what he is trying to show me. That he is shaking, fighting for a family which has been promised him these last weeks. Consciously on my part. And frankly, I can't stand seeing anyone go through the hell I did.

Gently, I draw him into my embrace as he cries. Harry Potter may be the Boy Who Lived, but he's also a human being. He may be more adult than most, but he's also a very young orphan. But somehow, I think many people forget to see this fact. Instead, they only choose to see the smart, strong boy who has the ability to fight Voldemort and even defeat him. They neglect to see the human with feelings behind.

In some ways, we are just too much alike. But where his choices are chosen for him, I did mine by myself. As I absently stroke his messy hair, I can't help but think about what he has been telling me. He is right of course, which he almost always has, and I will try to put my past behind me, yet learn from it. It won't be easy, but I will try, for him, but mostly for me. We both need closure in our lives, and I think we are the right persons to give it to each other.

Harry's POV

I can't describe the feeling of having a pair of comforting arms around you after being without it for fifteen long years. It's simply heaven, to be held, to be comforted when you haven't had anyone but your fugitive godfather to be there for you before. Even if it is mutual this time. I think Severus needs this just as much I do.

My mind wanders as we sit together, me hugged to his chest, staring into the fire, letting ourselves comfort and be comforted. And for some reason, I keep coming back to one little part of the story he told me.

"Severus?" I softly ask.

He grunts in response, tightening his hold on me.

"What happened with your son? I mean, that lady took him away, didn't she?"

Severus nods behind me, tensing up slightly.

"Arabella Figg" he says. "When I had turned my back on Voldemort, I tried to find him, but failed. Arabella Figg had disappeared off the face of the earth, and with her, my son. I gave up hope of seeing him a long time ago now."

I frown. I know that name. A Mrs Figg used to watch me when I lived with the Dursleys. What if Arabella Figg and Mrs Figg is the same person? My thoughts are interrupted as Severus hesitantly starts to talk to me.

"About what you said before…"

He trails off, seemingly uncertain about the whole thing. I smile a little, deciding to help him onto the right track.

"That I love you and would love to call you my dad'?"

I'm pretty sure he blushed. Or at least it felt that way.

"Yes" he insecurely says. "It would be nice if…I mean…"

I turn around and give him my best smirk.

"Just spit it out already" I tease. "You won't die of it."

Severus laughs and shakes his head.

"Why should I do that when you already know what I'm going to say?" he teases right back.

I pout, hitting him on his shoulder. He gave me a sour look.

"If that's what you want…"

I glare at him.

"Stop teasing me!" I complain.

Severus smirks back at me.

"You started it" he points out, then gets serious. "Potter, I would be proud to call you my son."

I smile back.

"Well, I would be proud to be called you son" I reply, and then give him a mischievous smile. "Sev."

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