A/N: Sorry for the long delay! I'm afraid my crossover muse has hit full force: I'm deep in the midst of two crossover fics at the moment. One's the second part of Buffy/West Wing crossover I've posted here on ff.net for your reading pleasure; the second is a HP/Buffy crossover soon to premiere here and on Twisting the Hellmouth, pending an actual plot with climax and resolution.

You see, I generally don't post fics until they're nearly completed. This one was supposed to end with Harry finding Snape as his father, with the jump into "The Future" just an epilogue. I was surprised by the reader response to this, however, and decided to go where the muse decided to take me. With events of the past semester unfolding, the muse took a little stumble. I'm not sure if I've picked it up yet... though there's a challenge posted at the end of this chapter which may just inspire me...

But, for now, enjoy chapter eight.

Chapter Eight — The Family

Herodos didn't share any of his new information with his friends the next morning, though he was planning to tell them of his father's admissions at some point. He was afraid of their responses, as Papa suggested they'd be mean because his parents were not married, and was afraid they wouldn't be his friends anymore. However, he was also far too excited to begin classes to worry much about things beyond his control. At breakfast, he huddled at the professor-end of the table with Hermione and Neville, staring at their course schedules. "Charms," he whispered, sounding the words aloud to figure out what they were. "Potions. That is with Papa. Her- Herb- what is?"

"Herbology," offered Neville. "The study of magical plants."

Harry made a face and nodded. "Astronomy. We have that at Athenos Day Academy. Auntie Min teaches class where we change one thing to another, but I cannot pronounce it."

"Transfiguration," said Hermione. "It's right here, tomorrow." She leaned over to point. "And Defense Against the Dark Arts is this afternoon, with Professors Lupin and Quirrell. Quirrell's the assistant, I think. The one with the funny-smelling turban."

"Garlic," said Harry. "He smells as the vampire hunters in Sparta. Uncle Re is — is sickly. Yes? Sickly? Ill often?"

Neville nodded. "That's the right word. Is it a chronic disorder — a disease which doesn't go away?"

"Yes. Chronic. I cannot say... but there is no cure," Harry said. He didn't like to think about his favourite uncle being a drooling wolf for three nights every month, but it wasn't Uncle Re's fault. Papa did not like Uncle Re much, but they were family, so it was alright. "Uncle Re told to me that Professor Quirrell went to research in Albania. He was... attacked, by a vampire, and is scared of them now. Uncle Re thinks he is funny, but a good teacher."

"I expect you'll have to call your professors by their proper names in class, Harry," Hermione said, and it took a long moment for him to translate her rapid speech. Proper names? He would have to call Auntie Min Professor'? How awful.

He checked his watch — twenty minutes yet before their first charms class. "Please wait, I will not be long," he said, jumping up to hurry to the Head Table. Auntie Min and Granpa were still there, finishing their food, even though Papa was gone. "Granpa!" he called, switching into Greek, "Granpa, will I have to call everyone by their last names? In class? Even Papa?"

Granpa leaned over the table and ruffled Harry's hair. "I'm afraid so, my boy. Even your papa. If you don't, other students might accuse us of favouritism, where none exists."

"Your papa mentioned that you weren't in your room at lights out, Herodos. You may want to work on that," Auntie Min said, and gave a wink. "I wouldn't want to discipline my favourite nephew." Her Greek was clumbsy and accented, as a non-native speaker. Granpa's was smooth and perfect, even though Papa said he wasn't born in Greece.

Harry giggled and nodded. "Yes, Auntie Min. I didn't know we weren't allowed into the Common Room at that time. I can't read the rules posted." He grinned and leaned forward, across the table. "Besides, I'm your only nephew."

+

In Charms they learned how to float feathers, and Seamus Finnigan blew his up right in Ron Weasley's face, though Harry floated his just fine. The first interesting class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, taught in a dark classroom that had the skeleton of a dragon hanging from the ceiling. Professor Quirrell kept shooting it scared looks as he cowered next to Professor Lupin, who looked tired and worn. "In this class," Uncle Re introduced, "we'll be studying on a survey level the basic areas of defense: against spell attacks, against physical attacks, against creature attacks, and against unknown attacks. In second through fifth year, we'll be looking more deeply at each of those areas in turn, all of which will appear on your OWLs after fifth year. Those of you who are interested in the creature aspect of this course may wish to add Care of Magical Creatures to your schedule for third year; those with continuing interest will need to receive an E or O on this subject's OWL to qualify for future study. This subject is not for everyone," he said seriously. "In the past, Gryffindors and Slytherins have seemed more likely to excell than Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, for some reason. I suppose Ravenclaws enjoy the theoretical level more than practical, and Hufflepuffs tend to enjoy classes requiring patience, while defense includes split-second decisionmaking."

"One w-w-wrong ch-choice c-could mean a dis-disaster," Quirrell sputtered, wringing his hands. He smelled of garlic and something else; something darker and deeper. Harry wondered how he'd liked Albania. For some reason, that country's name seemed to spark a memory just out of reach.

"Exactly," Professor Lupin was saying. "Before teaching here at Hogwarts, I was an Auror for the Minstry of Magic. I saw terrible things. Devistation, while working at the end of You-Know-Who's reign of teror. However, I also saw surprising joy and amazing feats of survival. Our fifth unit this year will teach some of those methods — basic survival in the face of overwhelming odds. Survival methods may sound like something you'll never need, but you'd be surprised. The Hogwarts Express might break down and leave you stranded in the Scottish wilderness. You might get lost hiking in Wales. You might try to hitchhike across Europe on holiday and end up stranded in the Alps. Or another Dark Lord may rise, and you might find yourself someday fighting for your very survival, as your parents did fewer than twenty years ago. Survival skills training is incredibly important, and a failure to pass just that unit will equal a failure to pass the class as a whole."

Harry panicked for a moment. He was terrible at camping things. Luckily, it sounded like the survival training would be at the end of the year. He hoped he could pick up a few tips from Papa before it began. He felt he was much more like the Ravenclaws; enjoying theory rather than method.

Next to him, Hermione's hand shot into the air, and Professor Lupin called on her. "Is there much practical experiental learning in this course?" she asked, pen posed over an already-full sheet of notes. Harry was surprised, he hadn't bothered to take any at all.

"Plenty of practicals, Miss..." he consulted his seating chart. "Miss Granger. In fact, the only days which are pure lecture are those unfortunate days I find myself too ill to teach. Professor Quirrell is not to fond of pracice skill teaching, and will only engage in it if I become ill mere days before an exam." He paused, but no one else asked any questions. "Alright, let's get started with the information introduction. Due ot the types of magic being taught in this classroom, several of the cleaning and regulatory spells have been lifeted... Quirrell, would you take notes for me?"

The other professor nodded and turned his back to the students — and, without warning, Harry's forehead exploded in pain beyond the migranes he'd developed. The migranes didn't happen often; they were concentrated in an area almost at the centre of his forehead and couldn't be cured by any of Aunt Merinae's magical means. The last had been in July, before his birthday. But this pain, though located in the same area as the earlier ones, was twice as painful as any.

Harry was aware of slumping to the side and letting out a cry, grabbing the sides of his head to try to somehow relieve the hurt. It didn't work. He was conscious enough to see Uncle Re come to his side and scoop him up off the stone floor, and was fairly certain people were talking loudly all around him. His focus, so much as it was left, was on Professor Quirrell, who looked both baffled and knowing as he stood at the front of the room. Baffled, knowing, and afraid — afraid of Harry. He couldn't imagine a teacher Papa's age being scared of something he could do, but the look that flashed across Quirrell's face, just for that split second, could be nothing but.

And then they were out of the room, and the pain slowly lessened. "Uncle Re?" he asked weakly, curling his fingers into the professor's ice blue robe. "I don't understand — Professor Quirrell looked afraid and looked like he knew something."

"Don't be silly," the werewolf murmued back in his stilted Greek, hugging his nephew to him. "That's the migrane talking. We'll get you to Poppy, now, and get your Papa from his class."

Harry shook his head violently, then tried to fight down the urge to be sick as his pained head caught up with the motion. "Urrg... no, don't get Papa, he'll be angry..."

"He certainly won't be," Uncle Re snapped, "And if he is, I'll give him what for."

"Why do you fight with Papa? You were yelling about Harry Potter, and you were yelling about Mater. Do all families fight?" The question had been coming for a long time, especially after seeing smiling faces in Diagon Alley when they went to pick up school books. Papa and Uncle Re never stopped frowing when they were in the same room together. He hadn't thought about it before, but he and Uncle Re had different last names. He'd always just assumed that Uncle Re was Papa's brother, because sometimes brothers didn't get along. Hermes Thermopoli's pater and uncle got in a fight so loud outside of Harry's old school in Athens one time that the Aurors were called in to quiet them, for fear the Muggles would be too interested in their actions. "You're my uncle, so you're Mater's brother? Will you tell me about Mater?"

They weren't far from the Infirmary, but Uncle Re stopped shortly, face going white. Had he asked something wrong? Papa didn't like to talk about Mater; maybe it was the same for Uncle Re. Harry started to apologize for mentioning her, but he'd already started speaking. "I was good friends with your mater at school. We weren't siblings, no, but we were very close." He sighed. "Your mater had a sister, but Petunia was a Muggle. I've not heard what happened to her, after Lily died."

"A Muggle?" Harry whispered. "Not a Squib? Wouldn't she be a Squib?"

Uncle Re shook his head. "I'll answer your questions in a moment. Let's get to the Infirmary first." And Harry didn't argue. Ma'm Pomfrey checked him over, clucking as she always did about how thin he was. Uncle Re called Papa from the fireplace in Ma'm Pomfrey's office and came back a few minutes later, once Harry had been tucked onto a cot. "Poppy, Severus will be up in a moment to join us. I'd like to talk to Herodos?"

"Don't tire him out," she growled. "Those migranes of his are beyond the magical sciences. We've no idea why he gets them." She was muttering to herself about the problem, then, tottering off to her office.

"Petunia was a Muggle," Uncle Re said, taking a seat next to Harry's bedside, "because her parents, your grandparents, were Muggles."

Harry sat and pulled his knees to his chest, trying to work over what that meant for who he was. "Mater was Muggleborn," he said dully. He remembered the Muggleborn boy in his class at his old school. There'd only been one, and the boy's parents could never be allowed to truly be part of his life. They dropped him at the school gates but couldn't see the real school because of anti-Muggle security. He was excited to be a wizard, the first of his family, but had to learn twice as much.

Here, in the midst of a different life and culture, Harry could sympathize with Dicaeopolis just a little more. "But... Papa said..." Actually, he couldn't remember what Papa said on the subject. He just remembered that Muggleborns were rather rare and discriminated against fairly often. Sure, Hermione was a nice enough person, but she just wasn't at the same level of knowledge as Harry and Neville because of the accident of her birth... right? He pursed his lips.

"Yes," Uncle Re said softly. "Lily was Muggleborn. But that wasn't very important. She was a witch and became a thriving member of the community. She fought against Voldemort."

"And she didn't marry Papa," Harry muttered. "Why didn't she marry Papa? Why did she marry — James?"

Uncle Re's paleness became green. "He told you that? He told you about James? Why would he... he promised he'd..."

Harry glared. "I should've been told I'm a bastard a long time ago."

He closed his eyes, sighinng deeply. "Yes, you should've, I suppose. We didn't want to tell you... James was... James was a very close friend of mine, too. We were at school here, together. Your papa didn't much like James, actually, though I guess I'm not surprised as to why... we were good friends, though. I had no idea that he and Lily weren't perfectly happy."

"Well, they weren't happy. Papa said Mater promised to marry him," Harry snapped, slumping down against the pillow and crossing his arms.

Uncle Re gave a mournful sigh. "Many things weren't as they seemed, then. There were four of us when we were at Hogwarts... I'm the only one left. Pete and Jim are dead, Padfoot's in prison..." He rubbed at the stubble on his chin with his hand, closing his eyes in visible pain. "I'm sorry, Harry, I can't talk about it anymore. I'm the only one left. Your dad... he wasn't my friend then. He's not really my friend now, he only puts up with me because I care for you."

"You aren't my uncle," Harry said dully. The words didn't seem to connect. "Why did Papa lie?"

"You never asked," Papa said from the doorway, taking Harry's attention from Uncle Re. He was leaning against the wall, scowling, and with his face half in the dark, he looked almost demonic. "We haven't lied to you, Herodos, not ever."

Uncle Re stood and ruffled Harry's fringe before sneaking out of the Infirmary and leaving father and son together. "Is Granpa my grandfather?" Harry asked, not acknowledging Lupin leaving the room. "Is Auntie Min related? Or Ma'm Pomfrey? You always call them family... are they really?"

Papa shook his head. "They've been my family since I left Greece for good, but they aren't truly related. Minerva is distantly related, Headmaster Dumbledore not at all, and Poppy a third cousin. There's blood there, but nothing direct. I've told you this once before, you know... your only relations are the Muggles and Merinae."

And suddenly, he did remember, though only faintly. A photo album and a stack of chocolate digestives when he was small, and the terrible aunt with whom he'd spent a few years. He remembered meeting Uncle Bill (who obviously wasn't an Uncle at all), and remembered a Slytherin girl who watched him for Papa, the term he spent living at Hogwarts.

Without thinking about it, he'd started scratching the middle of his forehead, though he caught himself and stopped. "Papa... who was James?"

"Not yet," Papa said simply, shaking his head. "There will be a time when you'll need to know. When the time is here, I'll tell you everything. But it's safer — safer for you, safer for me, safer for Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger — that you do not know. Don't go looking into this, Herodos, it's for your own good."

Harry crossed his arms and glared out the window silently.

"Now, that migrane of yours," Papa began, "has it gotten better? I'd rather like for you to be in Potions this afternoon, as I wish to quiz you over what you remember from our sessions last summer."

Harry didn't respond. Maybe it was childish of him, but he felt it wrong that Papa was keeping information from him. However, maybe it wouldn't be too hard to find the answers... after all, he now knew that James had been friends with Uncle Re at Hogwarts, and that a Pete had been involved, too. Papa had been there as well. There were class books down in the library; that's where he'd first caught a fleeting glimpse of Mater, many years earlier. "It's better," he muttered finally.

Papa nodded and pulled Harry to his feet. "Come along. We won't have you staying here and taking up beds when you don't need it. Lunch will be soon, then Potions, and I'm sure your classmates will be eager to ask about your disruption of Defense today." They were out the door, then, and a group of older Ravenclaws were leaving their classroom, careful to avoid Papa. "Harry," he said softly, startling his son with the use of his first name, "when precisely did you s- migrane start?"

His eyes narrowed. Papa had been about to say something else. Papa never stuttered... there was no way to inquire about it, however. "Uncle Re was explaining the class objectives and Professor Quirrell turned to write something on the board."

"Right," Papa said slowly.

"Why? Do you think class had something to do with the migrane?" Papa was acting very oddly, Harry thought.

There was a long pause, as though Papa wasn't sure how much information to give. "It's probably nothing," Papa said finally. "It's just that — he wasn't in the castle this morning, and I wondered — he said he'd gone down to the bank -" Papa cut himself off, shaking his head. "It's nothing, Herodos. Just another migrane."

And that would've been that, except for the fact that, only moments later, Harry caught word of the news of a break-in at Gringotts bank, which had taken place that very morning.

A/N2: The plot thickens. Many of you have asked whether or not this story will follow the plots of the books. It will, but only so long as it's useful. You see, why would Herodos Snape have an invisibility cloak, or talk to Hagrid about dragons, or know about the vault in Gringotts? The Philospher's Stone will be a part of this; but not in the way you may think. And that's the only hint I'm giving!

About that Challenge... I've had a number of readers ask about Harry's childhood in Greece. Here's the challenge: write a short fic, no more than 2000 words, about Harry living in Greece. He can be visiting Athens with Aunt Merinae or going to his day school with Paulos. Whatever the story is, either post it under your name at ff.net and I'll give a heads up in a coming chapter... or you could email me at the address on my author page with the subject line of "[Prayer Challenge]" and I'll post each and every entry (so long as they're edited and/or betaed) after chapters, as a sort of epilogue. For any I particularly like, I may add it into the text itself as a pensieve moment! I'm looking for something to boost my muse; if you're enjoying this story, take it upon yourself to help me with some inspiration! So go ahead, find your pen (or boot up your word processor) and give me something to write about!

~Indarae