A/N: And here's the last chapter before OotP! Book Five will not affect this story, as it's AU. Four days left!!

Chapter Seven — The House

He scooted up onto the chair and frowned up at the professor. "I want to go home," he murmured in Greek and Auntie Min patted his shoulder before dropping the nasty old hat on his head — and then the hat spoke to him in Greek! "Not a Hufflepuff, nor a Ravenclaw, I'm afraid, my boy. Too much of your father in you. And while you have plenty of cunning, Slytherin would destroy you before you could learn the language... You take after your mother, too, you know. So go on, then... GRYFFINDOR!!"

The Gryffindor table sent up a half-hearted cheer, and Harry risked a peek back to find his papa smiling proudly. Maybe it wouldn't all be terrible... maybe he could learn about his mum and his birth... maybe he could make new friends, and learn how to speak to them in their own language, and teach them how to speak in his... maybe he would have adventures and make his papa proud... Smiling, Harry lept up to take his seat with Gryffindor. He was going home.

At the table, though, his mind was no longer quite so at ease. While Neville had saved him a seat, the others gave him funny looks. Harry reflexively smoothed down his messy hair. His papa always teased him about it, and Aunt Hestia could never get it to stay trimmed. Sometimes she got mad at him for growing it back out — but really, it wasn't his fault. He couldn't control his magic yet. "They do not like me?" Harry whispered to Neville, trying to avoid the identical glares of two red-headed boys.

Neville shrugged. "Maybe they don't like your dad as a professor?" Neville poked at his plate. "I'm hungry. When do you think they'll bring the food out?"

"After the Sorting's over," another red-head told them. The Gryffindor table seemed to be full of them. If Harry didn't know better, he'd easily guess the entire population of Great Britain to be ginger haired. "I'm Percy Weasley, by the way. 5th year prefect."

Harry didn't hear the most of it — when the name Weasley' came out, he perked up in his seat. "Weasley! You are... you are Bill's cousin? Brother? But relative, yes?"

Percy's eyes narrowed, and the twins across the table seemed to take notice, too. "Yes..." Percy said hesitantly. "Bill's my eldest brother... how do you know him...?"

But then Auntie Min called out, "Weasley, Ronald," and one of the twins shushed the rest of the table. Only a few moments passed before the hat sent Ronald over to Gryffindor to join his brothers.

While the twins celebrated, Harry turned back to talk to Percy again. "Uncle Bill went to school with Papa. Cairo is not so far from Athens, he comes to visit often. Sometimes more often than Papa, during the school year. Uncle Bill is very fun; he took me to see pyramids in Cairo."

"Bill hasn't taken us to see the pyramids," Ronald whined. "How come he never told us he went to school with Snape?"

One of the twins smirked. "Well, who'd want to adm- OW!" He stopped short as his brother jabbed him in the ribs. "What'd you do that for, George?"

"It's his kid, wanker. C'mon, let's go see Oliver about practices," the twin presumably called George answered. The two were up and gone without another word.

Harry hadn't even realized that food had appeared on the table. He dug in and turned back to Neville, who was talking to the bushy-haired girl from the train. "I live with my gran," Neville was saying. "My family's been magical on both sides for ages. What's it like, seeing everything for the first time?"

"Oh, it's simply enchanting!" she gushed, before noticing Harry listening. "Oh, hallo, there! My name's Hermione Granger. I didn't catch yours?"

Harry gave a half smile. "Herodos Snape. Harry is my... my nickname. Please, I beg your pardon, but it is hard to understand when you speak so quickly."

Hermione practically bounced from her seat in enthusiasm. "A foreigner! How marvelous! You'll simply have to tell me everything about your home, Harry. Your name is Greek? You're from Greece?"

Harry nodded sheepishly. "Yes. Athens. I was born in this castle, Papa says."

"Oooh," she gushed, "I was just sure your father was a professor! You look just like the one on the end there — of course, you went over and started talking to him, so I just assumed -"

"Hey, slow down!" Neville grinned. "Even I can't keep up, and I speak the Queen's English! I was so worried I'd end up a Hufflepuff, or worse yet, that I'd sit under the Hat and it would tell me to leave." He blushed. "For a long time, Gran thought I might be a Squib."

Hermione looked fascinated, of course. "A squib? What's a squib? I'ver read all the books for this year, and I even bought more in Diagon Alley to try to catch up, but I'm afraid I simply don't have the breadth of knowledge to catch up!"

"Squib is... when two magic families have a baby with no magic. You have no magic parents, but have magic? You are Muggleborn?" Harry asked.

She nodded as rapidly as her speech. "Oh, I hope I do fit in. When Professor McGonagall brought me my letter, I almost died of the excitement. I'd always been a bit odd, you see, but my parents are both dentists, so they didn't quite know what to do about it."

"Dentist? What is... dentist?" Harry asked. "The word... I do not know the word."

Neville shrugged. "You've got me there, mate. What's a dentist?"

Hermione gasped. "You don't know what a dentist is! Well, a dentist... in the Muggle world, I mean to say... a dentist fixes teeth. Cleans them, makes them straighter and whiter. My parents would just die — no dentists? How do you make your teeth clean?"

"Magic," Neville shrugged. "How else would we do it?"

"Oooh..." Hermione looked envious. "You mean you don't have to carry around a caddy with a toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, flouride mouth wash -"

"You do not speak English!" Harry exclaimed, laughing. "What is... flodide?"

"Flouride. It's... I don't know what it is," Hermione answered, astonished. "It's an element. But... I guess it strengthens teeth. Mum and Dad always make me use it. How odd — no mouth wash."

"It's not odd," Neville protested. "Dental floss is odd, whatever that is." He shrugged and kept shoveling down food. "The chicken's good," he commented.

The deserts were even better, and then it was time to follow Percy the prefect to the Gryffindor dorm. He pointed out the sights on the way: the moving staircases, the multitude of wizarding portraits from past masters, and various hallways leading to classes. Harry promised to give Hermione and Neville a special tour after they were in for the school year. He spent the time watching the other first years.

There was Ronald Weasley, the one who'd been rude to him on the train. Seamus Finnigan was an Irishman, with whom Ronald had spent dinner — his accent made him incomprehensible to Harry's Greek sensibilities. Dean Thomas rounded out the boys; he was tagging along with Parvati Patil, one of the twins who'd laughed at Harry's accent, and Lavender Brown, a pretty girl whose name sounded somewhat familiar to Harry. The class was small, as Harry remembered Papa explaining, because of the decline in births during Kyrios Voldemort's reign of terror.

"They took our things to our rooms, right?" Neville whispered.

Harry nodded. "Yes. Papa said we get some clothes in our house colours. Papa wears his- his -" Harry mimed tossing a length of cloth around his neck.

"Scarf," Hermione supplied.

"Yes. His Slytherin scarf. Papa wears the scarf to Quidditch matches."

Hermione frowned. "I've read all about Quidditch, but I simply can't figure out why people are so obsessed with it. It's worse than the football craze: what seems so fascinating about it?"

"When we have flying lessons, we will teach Quidditch to you," Harry said, beaming. "Papa teached- no, Papa taught me during summers. I am Beater. Neville — do you play?"

"Not well," he blushed. "I hate broomsticks."

"We will fix. You follow Quidditch, yes?"

Neville's face morphed into a smirk. "Of course. I follow all the teams — at the family picnic, we fill out brackets every summer. I've won the European cup four times running, and always pick the team to win England."

Harry grinned. "We will speak. My team — the Trojan Horses — they win the Mediterranean Cup every year."

"This is the Fat Lady," Percy was explaining, bringing them back into reality. "Speak the password and she will let you into our Common Room. The password is Caput Draconis."

The portrait swung open, and the first years followed him inside. Harry kept grinning. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad in England, after all.

+

While Hermione went with the girls to their dormitory, Harry and Neville made their way up to the tallest room in the boy's side of the tower; round and filled with five beds covered in red draperies. Harry was between Ronald and Neville. Grabbing up his brand new scarf, in red and yellow, he tossed it around his neck jauntily and hopped over onto Neville's bed. "Neville! Do you have — have photographs? Of your family?"

Neville beamed, looking honoured to have been asked. "Of course. D'you?"

Harry nodded. "Papa made a book for them. I will show you my photographs?"

Just then, Ronald and Seamus came over. "Hey, mates, d'you think maybe you could shut up? We've got classes tomorrow and all," Seamus said.

"Who cares about classes?" Ronald countered. "I'm just bloody tired from the train. Keep it down?"

Harry shrugged and slid off Neville's bed to rummage through his own trunk, finally coming up with his album. "Do you want to go to the — the Common Room? To look at the photographs?"

Neville nodded eagerly and searched rather noisily for his own album. They passed most of the older Gryffindors on their way back down the twisting staircases before sitting down on a comfy, red tapestry couch. Harry's friend flipped open his album first, to show a picture of a stocky brown-haired man and a petite, pretty blonde woman, holding a giggling baby between them. They were tickling the baby, and both looked happy. "This is my mum and dad. They're sick, so I don't live with them; I live with my gran." He turned the page to show a four- or five-year-old being held by a stern older woman in a green dress and large hat, topped with a vulture. "That's me gran." He continued flipping through, showing Harry their house, their neighborhood, pictures of dozens of aunts and uncles. By the end, he was looking homesick, but Harry knew better than to comment on that.

"I do not have pictures from when I was very small," Harry admitted when it was his turn. "Papa said they were — they were -" He mimed an explosion.

"They were blown up?" Neville offered. "Blimey. Was it You-Know-Who?"

Harry nodded and scratched absently at his forehead. "My mater died. Papa does not talk about her. But Papa did not want me to grow up at Hogwarts. I live in Greece instead with Papa's distant relative, who is Aunt Hestia. And this is Aunt Merinae. Cousin Paulos is at school in Athens, Cousin Alexandros and Cousin Miriam go to school in Jerusalem. This is Auntie Min," Harry was saying. Auntie Min looked very different in her strictly tailored school robes and tartan witch's hat, Harry mused.

Neville was gaping at the group photo of Harry with all of his Scotland relatives.' "Wait. Auntie Min is Professor McGonagall? And — isn't that Headmaster Dumbledore? There are at least two other professors here..."

Harry shrugged. "Granpa, Uncle Re, Ma'm Pomfrey, and that is Uncle Bill standing next to Papa. We are in Cairo. See? Pyramids," he pointed. The pyramids were infinitely more interesting to him than the family members, especially since most of them were around the castle right now. He missed Paulos already.

"Uncle Re?" Neville asked. "Ma'm Pomfrey?"

"Uncle Re is... dada professor? I do not know what that means. He is Remus Lupin. He was... Auror, yes, that is it. Ma'm Pomfrey is nurse. Poppy is her proper name." Harry gave another shrug. "I do not wish to be at school here. I do not wish to have classes with my family teaching."

At that moment, the portrait swung open and the very subject of their conversations stepped in: Papa, scowling his finest. Harry scowled back and Neville, staring at the Potions Professor in abject terror, sunk into his seat. With a swift glare at Harry's new friend, Papa slipped into Greek. "Herodos, I was coming up to find you. Your friend there shouldn't be awake. If he keeps breaking rules like that -"

"Papa, we're sharing pictures!" Harry snapped, waving his album around. "I'm showing him Uncle Re and Uncle Bill and Granpa. Did you know Uncle Bill's brothers are at Hogwarts right now?"

"Of course I did," Papa replied imperiously. He switched to English for a moment, as though reacting to the confusion on Neville's face. "Mister... Longbottom, is it? I wish to speak to my son alone. If you would be so kind?" He gestured to the stairs.

"Night, mate," Neville muttered, taking off in a terror. He left his pictures behind.

Harry picked them up and opened to the first picture, of baby Neville with his parents, as Papa rounded to sit next to him. "Neville has pictures of his mother," he said resentfully. "I don't know anything about mine at all."

Papa peered over Harry's shoulder. "Frank and Hannah," he said, moving effortlessly back to his native Greek. "I knew them, a bit. They were a few years above me in school. Frank was a Gryffindor. Hannah was a Ravenclaw. The way they..." he shuddered, shaking his head. "It's not my story to tell, Herodos. Perhaps someday Neville will be ready to tell you about his parents. As for you... when the time is right, you will learn as well. I just feel it's too soon."

"I'm eleven," Harry protested feebly. "I'm old enough to go to a boarding school. Even if you're here. It's not like you were at home most of the year anyway."

Papa didn't respond for what seemed a long time, before reaching into the front pocket of his black robes. "If your mother hadn't died, you wouldn't know me at all," he admitted. He put a photo on the top of Harry's album, pointing to the three figures. "This is you," he said, pointing to a chubby, grinning baby. "You're about a year old. This is your mum." She was beautiful to Harry; this was the first portrait he'd seen of her. Her hair was as red as Uncle Bill's, making him wonder if maybe they really were related, and her eyes sparkled the same green as his.

The third figure was an unfamiliar man with thick glasses, mussy black hair, and blue eyes. "Who's that?" Harry demanded. And where was Papa? Harry had seen pictures of Papa when he was younger. He looked much the same as now, though with fewer scowl wrinkles and a sillier looking hairstyle.

"That was your mother's husband," Papa said hesitantly. "James. James and Lily were going to raise you together. Lily wasn't going to tell me that you were my son."

Harry stared at his father dumbly. "You and Mater were... divorced?" he asked hopefully.

Papa winced. "If only I could let you think that... but no, Harry. Your mater was going to leave James. She'd promised me she would. And then... she didn't. And you were born. I thought you to be his son; that's why you lived with your mater's sister for those few years."

Green light. An impression of being shoved into a tiny room beneath the stairs. Shadows outside the vent, shouting ringing through his ears. Fear. Harry winced and closed his eyes to fight off the flashback. "Yes, Papa. I remember Aunt Petunia." Even if it was only barely. "You... you and Mater were... not married?"

"I only wish we had been," Papa whispered mournfully. He reached over to touch the picture lightly, as Mater leaned over to peck baby Herodos on the cheek. "The reason I choose not to talk about your mater is because of the pain she caused the both of us through her decision. Because of her, you lived with Muggles for years. Terrible Muggles. I made mistakes in my time, too. You will as well..." He smoothed down Harry's fringe. "I wouldn't suggest telling anyone about your mater and James. They make think less of you for your mater's actions. Don't let them."

Seeking silent permission, Harry finally tucked the picture away into the back of his album. "I won't tell," he promised.

Papa nodded. "Well, then. That's done. I also came to tell you about your English lessons. You've completed the Potions syllabus through your seventh year so, to help in relearning English, you will be attending the class normally for the first year and reading the text in English. The rest of your texts are translated to Greek. Your work will be accepted in Greek for the first semester, then you will need to submit work in English for the next term. Beginning next year, you will take Muggle Studies in place of your Potions work; you'll be spending the holidays at our family home in Argyllshire. With me. Any questions?"

"It sounds alright to me," he admitted. Then he looked down at the album for a moment, wondering if in this moment of candor, Papa would answer any question at all. "Just one... Papa, what is James' last name?"

Papa's cheek seemed to twitch. "Not tonight, Herodos. James died with your mater. They're buried together. That's all you need to know." He stood, patting Harry's shoulder. "Go to bed, son. You've a full day tomorrow. Remus wants you for tea."

After Papa left, Harry took the photo back out of the album to stare at it for a bit more. He had a goal now — somehow, he had to find out who James was.