AN: This has been the hardest chapter to write yet. That's why its taken
longer than usual to get up. Sorry about that. But I hope it was worth it.
I hope you like this chapter.
Not much else to do, except acknowledge my reviewers, then let you get on with reading:
Elektra Joradees Gamblin: Thanks for not telling. ^_~ MAKE your Muses make you write stuff down. I want to read it!
Kat: It pleases me that you enjoy my story. =D
Eris wannabe: you really think my story is awesome? Thanks!
Lee Lee Potter: Thanks for holding off on the Haddocks Lee. Sorry I took longer than usual to update. I just hope it was worth the wait.
SilverMoon: you'll have to wait a little longer to see if Harry forgives Sev. But, rest assured, it will come.
Lady of Arundel: I can leave you there! I can do anything! I'm the author! But here's more for you now....
SilverWolf: *wipes sweating brow* Thanks for not donking me again. XD More is written
Tantz: Wow. I got four reviews from you. *major grin* About the bruise: why bother using magic on something so small? Also: I didn't really think about getting it healed *hides face* Everybody keeps on complimenting on keeping Sev in character. Thanks. It's not the easiest thing to do. Especially when you're trying to subtly change that character. I'm glad you liked the cliffhanger.
I just hope you all like chapter.
*can anyone tell I'm majorly insecure about this chap?*
I'm not sure how this chapter will be received. And so, it is with treat trepidation that I bid you, read on.
Chapter Eight: Daddy Dearest
A dead silence had just settled over the hospital wing that fine summer afternoon. The tableau was frozen.
Hermione clutched Ron's arm tightly, both barely inside the room, neither game enough to move and break the tension. Their eyes were wide and they shifted between the two primary players of the drama unfolding before them.
From his seat at the bedside, Remus could smell the tension in the air. The werewolf fiercely resisted the urge to sneeze as the scents of strong emotions tickled his nose. There was anger, shock, hurt and confusion permeating the air about him. And the strongest scents were emanating from the man in the bed next to him and the boy at its foot.
Severus was tense, to put it mildly. It was too soon. He wasn't ready for this confrontation. If it ever had to come, he would have preferred it to have been on his own terms. Not like this. Not with him confined to a sick bed and Harry having cobbled facts together, then leapt to a conclusion.
Severus allowed his eyes to slide closed. Not like this. Never like this. Some many times over the years he had watched his son as he grew and wanted to take him in his arms and tell the child who he was. But he never had. He never risked it. To do so would be putting the boy in danger.
And now... now it was too late. Harry knew too much to ever believe any story Severus might want to spin. No matter how much Severus didn't want to be here, didn't want to be doing this, he no longer had a choice. He owed his son the truth.
His eyes slid open again.
Harry's hands were beginning to hurt from the intense hold he had on the end of the bed, but he was only distantly aware of the pain. Everything in him was focused on the man in the bed before him. He had been lied to his entire life. He had been told his parents had died in a car crash. He had been told there was no such thing as magic. He had found out his parents had been murdered by an evil wizard.
He had never been told *why* the evil bastard had been after his family. He was never told everything about himself. It had taken him years to find out who his parents were, and years more to come to terms with who that made him. And now the carpet had been ripped out from beneath his feet again.
Now he had found out that his father wasn't his father at all. Harry was losing hold of his already shaky identity. He had no idea what to feel. He was hurt, deeply: Snape had always known Harry was his son but didn't take him in. He was confused: what possible reason could they all have for keeping the truth from him? He was happy: he finally had someone to call his own; Snape was his father and no one else's. He was angry: they had denied him his heritage.
Harry settled on the anger as the easiest emotion to accept and understand. He feed it and allowed it to sustain and control him. His hands unclenched from the end of the bed and clenched again into fists, the nails scoring his palms. He was aware of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and this only served to fuel his anger.
Harry's jaw ached as his released the pressure on his gritted teeth to spit out his next words, aimed to wound.
'You knew all along and you never told me. Was it because you were ashamed? Was it because you *raped* my mother....?'
The tears spilled from his eyes and started to roll down his cheeks. Harry clenched his teeth again and dug his nails deeper into his palms, straining desperately for control.
Severus blanched. He had been expecting angry and bitter comments from the boy, but that had hurt, however much he wanted to pretend it hadn't. Beside him, Remus stirred angrily. His friend was furious with Harry for making such a wild accusation without first asking for the truth.
The werewolf moved to berate the boy. Snape laid a warning hand on his arm, holding him still. Remus glanced at his friend; Severus was pale, gazing only at the boy, but his shook his head at Remus. Remus reluctantly sat back, allowing Severus to deal with the situation.
His voice was held strictly level as he addressed Harry.
'Harry, you've jumped to the wrong conclusion....'
Harry never gave him a chance to finish, riding over his words.
'So, what? Now you're going to deny that you're my father?' He pivoted sharply and yanked his shirt from his shoulder, clearly displaying the wizard-mark, 'How do you explain this then..?'
Remus was shocked at how calmly Severus was taking the whole thing; he simply nodded softly at Harry's accusation.
'And our hands? And our blood-magic type?' The flatness of Snape's tone and the sheer weight of sadness and regret he could sense behind it jolted Harry from his irrational rage. He released his shirt, allowing it to slide up and cover the wizard-mark. He turned slowly and solemnly nodded.
'Harry, I'm not going to deny that I am your father. But you are wrong,' Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but Severus raised a hand, silencing him, 'Let me finish. I *am* your father, and so was James.'
Behind him, Harry heard Ron and Hermione suck in shocked breaths, but he didn't react at all. He didn't think he could. Physical movement seemed to be beyond him. He didn't understand. What Snape was saying simply didn't make sense. It was impossible. A child could have only one father.... couldn't it?
Harry realised movement had returned to him, and he was shaking his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. His eyes were wide, confused, and he had no voice.
Severus sat forward, in some vain hope that being closer to the boy would make him understand and believe him as he explained.
'James was my husband, Harry,' by the door, Harry's best friends gasped again, but no one paid them any mind. Severus's eyes were locked to Harry's; 'I carried you inside me for nine months, Harry, in a magically sustained womb.'
Harry's head shaking had become more pronounced. Severus bowed his head. His son was not going to be so easily convinced. He leant back and retrieved something from his nightstand. He handed it to Harry. Reacting automatically, Harry took the object and looked down at it. It was the same photograph that had captured his attention the day Severus had woken up.
The young Severus Snape still held the black-haired, green-eyed baby protectively in his arms, but now the other man was standing upright as well. Harry knew him. It was James Potter. He stood beside Snape; one arm wrapped possessively about his waist, the opposite hand resting on the bundle of blankets the child was wrapped in.
Harry couldn't tear his eyes from the picture. The two men in it shifted; turned their faces to one another and smiled softly. As they looked down at the baby in Severus's arms again, Harry noticed they wore matching silver chains about their necks.
Harry was aware of Severus's voice speaking again, the only thing able to penetrate the haze about Harry's mind. He dragged his eyes from the picture to look at the man. He noticed it then: the silver chain about the Potions Master's neck. Then the words the voice spoke sunk in.
'You are *my* son. Mine and James's.'
Harry's head began to shake again, harder than before, and his hands started to tremble.
'No,' he whispered. He met the black eyes staring earnestly at him. For a moment he thought he detected hope swimming there. But that was impossible, wasn't it? He shouted this time: 'NO!'
The photograph floated towards the ground in Harry's wake as he pushed by his best friends and fled out to door. Remus darted forwards and snatched the photo from the air before it could reach the floor. The room was enveloped in a dead silence again. Ron and Hermione made a very shell- shocked pair, standing in disarray by the door. Severus had a carefully blank expression on his face, but it didn't quite reach the eyes. Remus could see some unfathomable emotion lurking there. He looked down at the photo in his hands and smiled when James waved up at him.
'Well,' he said brightly, 'That went well didn't it?'
He was rewarded with a black glare from Severus. He decided that perhaps it would be prudent for him to simply shut up.
The only thing that halted Harry's frenetic retreat was falling. His unwary toe snagged on a hiccup of the lawn and he landed with bruising force on his knees. He had no idea how long he had run or where he had ended up. But that didn't matter.
Nothing mattered but the miserable lies that greasy git had spewed at him. Because that was all they could be. Nothing else made sense. Certainly not Harry having two fathers, both of whom were purported to despise the other.
His face was stark. His eyes were dry. He was struggling. Struggling to process the truth of his parentage. Struggling to deal with the emotions evoked. Struggling to *understand*. Harry heaved a dry sob that spoke volumes about his abject confusion and utter desolation.
He was confused. So abjectly bewildered. It was another lie. One he had no handle on. His entire life, there had been one constant, one thing that had never changed, no matter what else: his father was James Potter and his mother was Lily Evans. In ten short minutes, a flicker in eternity, his very perception of himself had been tipped on its head, then shaken for good measure.
Suddenly, he wasn't an orphan. Suddenly, he was in no way related to the muggles that had raised him. Suddenly, he had no mother. Suddenly, he had two fathers: one dead, the other hating him virulently.
Suddenly, he didn't know who he was any more. The sense of self he had struggled *so* hard to build and maintain was crumbling about him and he was absolutely powerless to stop it. The situation was simply beyond him to comprehend.
Snape hated James. Everybody knew that. He hated him because everybody else had loved him. He hated him because he had saved his life. He hated him because James was *Gryffindor* and Snape was *Slytherin*. And amidst that hate, they were married and bore a child? No.
And *why*, why lie to Harry? What possible justification could there be for a father to turn his back on his child? There was no reason in the world for Harry to have been raised by muggles who despised him when he had a parent alive and well able to care for a child. Why had no one told him?
A sob wracked Harry's frame and he gave himself over to another facet of the emotional morass that was the limits of his world. He began to mourn the loss of the mother he had never known but loved dearly. Lily Evans wasn't.... his. She wasn't his mother and he had no claim on her memory. And they had all lied to him. Sirius, Lupin, Dumbledore, *Snape*. They had lied and called him her son. And he *wasn't*. He wasn't Harry, son of Lily. He never had been.
And the grief turned to anger, pure and fierce. Every figure of authority in his life, every person he was meant to model his own character after, had *lied* to him. Worse, they had forced him to *live* a lie. Every time he thought he finally knew who he was, someone came out and told him something new. They would never tell him the whole truth. No matter that it was *his* life and he deserved to know who he was.
They all toyed with his life as though it was a plaything, to be tossed any which way they desired. They denied him a home. They denied him a father. They denied him an identity, and saw no problem with what they did.
They had denied him his heritage; knowledge of who his ancestors were, the knowledge that his great-uncle Filbert had developed a new charm or that his three-times-great-grandmother had kept a pet dragon, or that.... It didn't matter what. It didn't matter because Harry didn't *know*. He didn't know because no one had thought he had the right to know. Harry's fists convulsed in the turf. He was furious.
But shining through the fury was a bright ray of pure happiness. No matter how it came to be, no matter he had been denied it so long: he had a family. Someone who was *his* to call father. For the first time in his life, Harry had somewhere he might conceivably belong. No longer would he have to live vicariously through his friends when they spoke of their families; he had one of his own, now. If he was wanted....
Oh gods! Again, a dry sob heaved in Harry's chest. Snape didn't want him, he *hated* him. From the moment Harry had arrived at Hogwarts, Snape had gone out of his way to show Harry how utterly without redemption he found the boy. And it hadn't even begun there. Fourteen years ago, when James was killed, Snape could have claimed his son, but instead he had allowed Harry to be sent into the unwelcoming hands of the muggle Dursleys. No man that felt the slightest iota of *any*thing for his son would have allowed him to be remain in the care of those abusive bigots.
Harry could only conclude that his *father* despised him. He had certainly seen ample proof of that fact in the four short years he had known the man. Not once had he shown the smallest hint of compassion or sympathy for or paternal interest in his son.
No one had ever actually cared about Harry enough to tell him the truth about his parentage. Harry began to believe that he simply wasn't worthy of love. If his own *father* hated him, what other person could ever feel more than indifference for him? Harry wrapped his arms about his middle and pressed his forehead to the ground. His inner turmoil seemed to spill over into a physical manifestation of pain.
He was *hurting*! He was hurting... He... hurt.
Harry was still in the same attitude when a voice intruded unwelcomely into his vicious reverie.
'He worries himself sick about you, you know.'
Harry's head snapped up. For the first time, he took in his surroundings. In his wild flight, he had quit the castle entirely and was now collapsed on the lawn, half way about the lake.
Standing beside him, staring out over the lake, was Professor Dumbledore.
The anger surged to the fore in him again. Harry spat, not caring to whom he spoke, 'What are *you* doing here?'
Dumbledore never turned from his perusal of the still waters. He ignored Harry's comment completely, elaborating instead on his own.
'Regular as clockwork, whenever you got yourself in trouble, I could rely on Severus to turn up in my office shortly after, pale and trembling, ranting at me to monitor your actions more closely.'
Harry glared at his headmaster, not wanting to here anyone speak anything but ill of the Potions Professor at the moment. His glare received no recognition and Dumbledore continued to speak.
'The evening after your first Quidditch match, he came to my office. He wanted you off the team. He said it was against school policy to allow first years to compete. His hands were trembling, Harry. Have you ever seen Severus's hands tremble?'
Harry looked away. Dumbledore nodded his head.
'I have. The interesting thing is, I only ever see his hands tremble when you have managed to put yourself in the way of danger once again.' There was a pause.
'He threatened to resign when he found out I had given you James's invisibility cloak. Made some excuse about banned items or some such nonsense. His hands were trembling again.'
Dumbledore lapsed into silence; never once looking at the boy still huddled on the ground beside him. Harry ground his teeth. He was still angry with the headmaster for having kept so much from him over the years. He wasn't particularly willing to listen to the wise old wizard's words now.
'What's your point?' Harry's tone was heavily laced with anger.
'My point, Harry, is that you should give him a chance to explain,' Dumbledore's own tone was even, as though he was simply commenting on the weather.
'What do you care?' Harry wanted to know.
'Of course I care,' was the professor's simple reply.
Harry's fists clenched on his knees, 'Never enough to tell me the truth.'
For the first time, Dumbledore looked at Harry. His expression was surprised, as though his reasons should have been obvious to the boy, 'It was never *my* place to tell you, Harry. No one had that right, except your fathers.'
Harry laughed bitterly, 'No wonder I didn't know then. James is dead and Snape hates me.'
Dumbledore's tone was infinitely gentle; 'Severus doesn't hate you Harry.'
Harry made no reply but deliberately turned his head away again. For a long time, no more words were exchanged.
At length, Dumbledore stirred again. He turned fully to face Harry and spoke purposefully.
'Regardless of what has gone before Harry, he is your father and, as such, deserves a chance to explain.'
He watched the side of Harry's face for a moment, but when the boy made no response, indeed appeared not to have heard a word he spoke, he sighed and turned away, returning to the castle. Harry would have to come to terms with this on his own.
Harry ignored the retreat of his headmaster, staring fixedly into the forest. Soon, he began to succumb to his emotions again, dragged back into the vicious cycle of utter confusion.
TBC
AN: *wrings hands* Was it okay?
Now I DO and I DON'T want to know what everyone thinks of my twist. The thing I really want to know is: Did anyone expect it?
Do you like it?
Sev's reaction will be in the next chapter... I'll try to get that up by tomorrow.
Not much else to do, except acknowledge my reviewers, then let you get on with reading:
Elektra Joradees Gamblin: Thanks for not telling. ^_~ MAKE your Muses make you write stuff down. I want to read it!
Kat: It pleases me that you enjoy my story. =D
Eris wannabe: you really think my story is awesome? Thanks!
Lee Lee Potter: Thanks for holding off on the Haddocks Lee. Sorry I took longer than usual to update. I just hope it was worth the wait.
SilverMoon: you'll have to wait a little longer to see if Harry forgives Sev. But, rest assured, it will come.
Lady of Arundel: I can leave you there! I can do anything! I'm the author! But here's more for you now....
SilverWolf: *wipes sweating brow* Thanks for not donking me again. XD More is written
Tantz: Wow. I got four reviews from you. *major grin* About the bruise: why bother using magic on something so small? Also: I didn't really think about getting it healed *hides face* Everybody keeps on complimenting on keeping Sev in character. Thanks. It's not the easiest thing to do. Especially when you're trying to subtly change that character. I'm glad you liked the cliffhanger.
I just hope you all like chapter.
*can anyone tell I'm majorly insecure about this chap?*
I'm not sure how this chapter will be received. And so, it is with treat trepidation that I bid you, read on.
Chapter Eight: Daddy Dearest
A dead silence had just settled over the hospital wing that fine summer afternoon. The tableau was frozen.
Hermione clutched Ron's arm tightly, both barely inside the room, neither game enough to move and break the tension. Their eyes were wide and they shifted between the two primary players of the drama unfolding before them.
From his seat at the bedside, Remus could smell the tension in the air. The werewolf fiercely resisted the urge to sneeze as the scents of strong emotions tickled his nose. There was anger, shock, hurt and confusion permeating the air about him. And the strongest scents were emanating from the man in the bed next to him and the boy at its foot.
Severus was tense, to put it mildly. It was too soon. He wasn't ready for this confrontation. If it ever had to come, he would have preferred it to have been on his own terms. Not like this. Not with him confined to a sick bed and Harry having cobbled facts together, then leapt to a conclusion.
Severus allowed his eyes to slide closed. Not like this. Never like this. Some many times over the years he had watched his son as he grew and wanted to take him in his arms and tell the child who he was. But he never had. He never risked it. To do so would be putting the boy in danger.
And now... now it was too late. Harry knew too much to ever believe any story Severus might want to spin. No matter how much Severus didn't want to be here, didn't want to be doing this, he no longer had a choice. He owed his son the truth.
His eyes slid open again.
Harry's hands were beginning to hurt from the intense hold he had on the end of the bed, but he was only distantly aware of the pain. Everything in him was focused on the man in the bed before him. He had been lied to his entire life. He had been told his parents had died in a car crash. He had been told there was no such thing as magic. He had found out his parents had been murdered by an evil wizard.
He had never been told *why* the evil bastard had been after his family. He was never told everything about himself. It had taken him years to find out who his parents were, and years more to come to terms with who that made him. And now the carpet had been ripped out from beneath his feet again.
Now he had found out that his father wasn't his father at all. Harry was losing hold of his already shaky identity. He had no idea what to feel. He was hurt, deeply: Snape had always known Harry was his son but didn't take him in. He was confused: what possible reason could they all have for keeping the truth from him? He was happy: he finally had someone to call his own; Snape was his father and no one else's. He was angry: they had denied him his heritage.
Harry settled on the anger as the easiest emotion to accept and understand. He feed it and allowed it to sustain and control him. His hands unclenched from the end of the bed and clenched again into fists, the nails scoring his palms. He was aware of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and this only served to fuel his anger.
Harry's jaw ached as his released the pressure on his gritted teeth to spit out his next words, aimed to wound.
'You knew all along and you never told me. Was it because you were ashamed? Was it because you *raped* my mother....?'
The tears spilled from his eyes and started to roll down his cheeks. Harry clenched his teeth again and dug his nails deeper into his palms, straining desperately for control.
Severus blanched. He had been expecting angry and bitter comments from the boy, but that had hurt, however much he wanted to pretend it hadn't. Beside him, Remus stirred angrily. His friend was furious with Harry for making such a wild accusation without first asking for the truth.
The werewolf moved to berate the boy. Snape laid a warning hand on his arm, holding him still. Remus glanced at his friend; Severus was pale, gazing only at the boy, but his shook his head at Remus. Remus reluctantly sat back, allowing Severus to deal with the situation.
His voice was held strictly level as he addressed Harry.
'Harry, you've jumped to the wrong conclusion....'
Harry never gave him a chance to finish, riding over his words.
'So, what? Now you're going to deny that you're my father?' He pivoted sharply and yanked his shirt from his shoulder, clearly displaying the wizard-mark, 'How do you explain this then..?'
Remus was shocked at how calmly Severus was taking the whole thing; he simply nodded softly at Harry's accusation.
'And our hands? And our blood-magic type?' The flatness of Snape's tone and the sheer weight of sadness and regret he could sense behind it jolted Harry from his irrational rage. He released his shirt, allowing it to slide up and cover the wizard-mark. He turned slowly and solemnly nodded.
'Harry, I'm not going to deny that I am your father. But you are wrong,' Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but Severus raised a hand, silencing him, 'Let me finish. I *am* your father, and so was James.'
Behind him, Harry heard Ron and Hermione suck in shocked breaths, but he didn't react at all. He didn't think he could. Physical movement seemed to be beyond him. He didn't understand. What Snape was saying simply didn't make sense. It was impossible. A child could have only one father.... couldn't it?
Harry realised movement had returned to him, and he was shaking his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. His eyes were wide, confused, and he had no voice.
Severus sat forward, in some vain hope that being closer to the boy would make him understand and believe him as he explained.
'James was my husband, Harry,' by the door, Harry's best friends gasped again, but no one paid them any mind. Severus's eyes were locked to Harry's; 'I carried you inside me for nine months, Harry, in a magically sustained womb.'
Harry's head shaking had become more pronounced. Severus bowed his head. His son was not going to be so easily convinced. He leant back and retrieved something from his nightstand. He handed it to Harry. Reacting automatically, Harry took the object and looked down at it. It was the same photograph that had captured his attention the day Severus had woken up.
The young Severus Snape still held the black-haired, green-eyed baby protectively in his arms, but now the other man was standing upright as well. Harry knew him. It was James Potter. He stood beside Snape; one arm wrapped possessively about his waist, the opposite hand resting on the bundle of blankets the child was wrapped in.
Harry couldn't tear his eyes from the picture. The two men in it shifted; turned their faces to one another and smiled softly. As they looked down at the baby in Severus's arms again, Harry noticed they wore matching silver chains about their necks.
Harry was aware of Severus's voice speaking again, the only thing able to penetrate the haze about Harry's mind. He dragged his eyes from the picture to look at the man. He noticed it then: the silver chain about the Potions Master's neck. Then the words the voice spoke sunk in.
'You are *my* son. Mine and James's.'
Harry's head began to shake again, harder than before, and his hands started to tremble.
'No,' he whispered. He met the black eyes staring earnestly at him. For a moment he thought he detected hope swimming there. But that was impossible, wasn't it? He shouted this time: 'NO!'
The photograph floated towards the ground in Harry's wake as he pushed by his best friends and fled out to door. Remus darted forwards and snatched the photo from the air before it could reach the floor. The room was enveloped in a dead silence again. Ron and Hermione made a very shell- shocked pair, standing in disarray by the door. Severus had a carefully blank expression on his face, but it didn't quite reach the eyes. Remus could see some unfathomable emotion lurking there. He looked down at the photo in his hands and smiled when James waved up at him.
'Well,' he said brightly, 'That went well didn't it?'
He was rewarded with a black glare from Severus. He decided that perhaps it would be prudent for him to simply shut up.
The only thing that halted Harry's frenetic retreat was falling. His unwary toe snagged on a hiccup of the lawn and he landed with bruising force on his knees. He had no idea how long he had run or where he had ended up. But that didn't matter.
Nothing mattered but the miserable lies that greasy git had spewed at him. Because that was all they could be. Nothing else made sense. Certainly not Harry having two fathers, both of whom were purported to despise the other.
His face was stark. His eyes were dry. He was struggling. Struggling to process the truth of his parentage. Struggling to deal with the emotions evoked. Struggling to *understand*. Harry heaved a dry sob that spoke volumes about his abject confusion and utter desolation.
He was confused. So abjectly bewildered. It was another lie. One he had no handle on. His entire life, there had been one constant, one thing that had never changed, no matter what else: his father was James Potter and his mother was Lily Evans. In ten short minutes, a flicker in eternity, his very perception of himself had been tipped on its head, then shaken for good measure.
Suddenly, he wasn't an orphan. Suddenly, he was in no way related to the muggles that had raised him. Suddenly, he had no mother. Suddenly, he had two fathers: one dead, the other hating him virulently.
Suddenly, he didn't know who he was any more. The sense of self he had struggled *so* hard to build and maintain was crumbling about him and he was absolutely powerless to stop it. The situation was simply beyond him to comprehend.
Snape hated James. Everybody knew that. He hated him because everybody else had loved him. He hated him because he had saved his life. He hated him because James was *Gryffindor* and Snape was *Slytherin*. And amidst that hate, they were married and bore a child? No.
And *why*, why lie to Harry? What possible justification could there be for a father to turn his back on his child? There was no reason in the world for Harry to have been raised by muggles who despised him when he had a parent alive and well able to care for a child. Why had no one told him?
A sob wracked Harry's frame and he gave himself over to another facet of the emotional morass that was the limits of his world. He began to mourn the loss of the mother he had never known but loved dearly. Lily Evans wasn't.... his. She wasn't his mother and he had no claim on her memory. And they had all lied to him. Sirius, Lupin, Dumbledore, *Snape*. They had lied and called him her son. And he *wasn't*. He wasn't Harry, son of Lily. He never had been.
And the grief turned to anger, pure and fierce. Every figure of authority in his life, every person he was meant to model his own character after, had *lied* to him. Worse, they had forced him to *live* a lie. Every time he thought he finally knew who he was, someone came out and told him something new. They would never tell him the whole truth. No matter that it was *his* life and he deserved to know who he was.
They all toyed with his life as though it was a plaything, to be tossed any which way they desired. They denied him a home. They denied him a father. They denied him an identity, and saw no problem with what they did.
They had denied him his heritage; knowledge of who his ancestors were, the knowledge that his great-uncle Filbert had developed a new charm or that his three-times-great-grandmother had kept a pet dragon, or that.... It didn't matter what. It didn't matter because Harry didn't *know*. He didn't know because no one had thought he had the right to know. Harry's fists convulsed in the turf. He was furious.
But shining through the fury was a bright ray of pure happiness. No matter how it came to be, no matter he had been denied it so long: he had a family. Someone who was *his* to call father. For the first time in his life, Harry had somewhere he might conceivably belong. No longer would he have to live vicariously through his friends when they spoke of their families; he had one of his own, now. If he was wanted....
Oh gods! Again, a dry sob heaved in Harry's chest. Snape didn't want him, he *hated* him. From the moment Harry had arrived at Hogwarts, Snape had gone out of his way to show Harry how utterly without redemption he found the boy. And it hadn't even begun there. Fourteen years ago, when James was killed, Snape could have claimed his son, but instead he had allowed Harry to be sent into the unwelcoming hands of the muggle Dursleys. No man that felt the slightest iota of *any*thing for his son would have allowed him to be remain in the care of those abusive bigots.
Harry could only conclude that his *father* despised him. He had certainly seen ample proof of that fact in the four short years he had known the man. Not once had he shown the smallest hint of compassion or sympathy for or paternal interest in his son.
No one had ever actually cared about Harry enough to tell him the truth about his parentage. Harry began to believe that he simply wasn't worthy of love. If his own *father* hated him, what other person could ever feel more than indifference for him? Harry wrapped his arms about his middle and pressed his forehead to the ground. His inner turmoil seemed to spill over into a physical manifestation of pain.
He was *hurting*! He was hurting... He... hurt.
Harry was still in the same attitude when a voice intruded unwelcomely into his vicious reverie.
'He worries himself sick about you, you know.'
Harry's head snapped up. For the first time, he took in his surroundings. In his wild flight, he had quit the castle entirely and was now collapsed on the lawn, half way about the lake.
Standing beside him, staring out over the lake, was Professor Dumbledore.
The anger surged to the fore in him again. Harry spat, not caring to whom he spoke, 'What are *you* doing here?'
Dumbledore never turned from his perusal of the still waters. He ignored Harry's comment completely, elaborating instead on his own.
'Regular as clockwork, whenever you got yourself in trouble, I could rely on Severus to turn up in my office shortly after, pale and trembling, ranting at me to monitor your actions more closely.'
Harry glared at his headmaster, not wanting to here anyone speak anything but ill of the Potions Professor at the moment. His glare received no recognition and Dumbledore continued to speak.
'The evening after your first Quidditch match, he came to my office. He wanted you off the team. He said it was against school policy to allow first years to compete. His hands were trembling, Harry. Have you ever seen Severus's hands tremble?'
Harry looked away. Dumbledore nodded his head.
'I have. The interesting thing is, I only ever see his hands tremble when you have managed to put yourself in the way of danger once again.' There was a pause.
'He threatened to resign when he found out I had given you James's invisibility cloak. Made some excuse about banned items or some such nonsense. His hands were trembling again.'
Dumbledore lapsed into silence; never once looking at the boy still huddled on the ground beside him. Harry ground his teeth. He was still angry with the headmaster for having kept so much from him over the years. He wasn't particularly willing to listen to the wise old wizard's words now.
'What's your point?' Harry's tone was heavily laced with anger.
'My point, Harry, is that you should give him a chance to explain,' Dumbledore's own tone was even, as though he was simply commenting on the weather.
'What do you care?' Harry wanted to know.
'Of course I care,' was the professor's simple reply.
Harry's fists clenched on his knees, 'Never enough to tell me the truth.'
For the first time, Dumbledore looked at Harry. His expression was surprised, as though his reasons should have been obvious to the boy, 'It was never *my* place to tell you, Harry. No one had that right, except your fathers.'
Harry laughed bitterly, 'No wonder I didn't know then. James is dead and Snape hates me.'
Dumbledore's tone was infinitely gentle; 'Severus doesn't hate you Harry.'
Harry made no reply but deliberately turned his head away again. For a long time, no more words were exchanged.
At length, Dumbledore stirred again. He turned fully to face Harry and spoke purposefully.
'Regardless of what has gone before Harry, he is your father and, as such, deserves a chance to explain.'
He watched the side of Harry's face for a moment, but when the boy made no response, indeed appeared not to have heard a word he spoke, he sighed and turned away, returning to the castle. Harry would have to come to terms with this on his own.
Harry ignored the retreat of his headmaster, staring fixedly into the forest. Soon, he began to succumb to his emotions again, dragged back into the vicious cycle of utter confusion.
TBC
AN: *wrings hands* Was it okay?
Now I DO and I DON'T want to know what everyone thinks of my twist. The thing I really want to know is: Did anyone expect it?
Do you like it?
Sev's reaction will be in the next chapter... I'll try to get that up by tomorrow.