AN : FINALLY ! Yes, I know, I've been a bad author, real life kinda got in the way. Exams, new home, etc... I'm really sorry about the loooooooong delay... forgive me ? I hope you're still with me anyway ;-) As always, a huge Thanks goes to all those who reviewed and kicked me in the ass to make me continue this ! (See Zhemshug, I've updated, go me). I repeat, I WILL finish this story.

This chapter is not betaed, but I've re-read him as many times as I could to eliminate most of my mistakes.

Finally, some of you might not like the name I chose for Harry, and I know it is not original, but it kept coming back to me every time I tried to find something else... besides, this name had already been mentioned in earlier chapters, so I couldn't do anything about it...

Anyway, Enjoy !

What Am I

Chapter 8

Severus watched the sleeping boy , millions of thoughts fighting in his head. The boy was his son. That was a disturbing thought. Curious, and almost afraid of what he would see, Severus careful took in every detail of the boy, truly looking at him for the first time.

His skin was extraordinarily white, a paleness only accentuated by the angry brown-red scars that the grazing twigs had left on the teen's left cheek. The boy had fainted in the forest and was now resting in Snapes Manor, his labored breath revealing that he was not sleeping peacefully. Severus chased the memory of the pursuit away and returned to his detailed study of the boy. His light complexion came from Lily's side, but his nose didn't. It wasn't large and hooked like Severus' –courtesy of his father— nor was it small and delicate like Lily's. The boy's nose was thin, had well defined nostrils, and was slightly aquiline, just like Severus' mother's and Icar's had been. The last few days, the boy had been reminding him of someone, but Severus hadn't been able to remember who this person was. Now he knew. It was Icar, his Uncle, his mother's brother. He hadn't known the man very well, given that Icar had been rather asocial and used to prefer the company of his own thoughts rather than the presence of other human beings. He had committed suicide when Severus was only fifteen, but the Potion Master could clearly remember the weird glint in his Uncle's eyes, the one who spoke about madness. Fortunately, the sleeping boy wasn't familiar with this glint, and the resemblance between Severus' son and Icar was merely a physical one.

The high cheekbones and the jaw, however, had clearly been inherited from Severus. The boy's hair was black –or maybe it was just a very dark brown— straight, and silky, reminding Severus of his own hair before it had become greasy because of the potions.

All in all, even if the resemblance was not striking, there was no denying the boy was his. Severus sighed and put his head into his hands, trying to sort his feelings out. One of them was anger.

One night. One crazy night that he had almost managed to forget. Only one night, and it had been enough to create this mess. He had just discovered that he had a son, a sixteen year old son, and a constant reminder of this shameful night when he had stolen James' wife and satisfied his primary urges. He would have liked to remember Lily as a nice and faithful young woman. A little too Gryffindor, maybe, but not as insufferable as her husband had been. But no, he would remember her drunk and lost, and he would always know that it was his own doing.

Another feeling was confusion. The boy who was currently sleeping in front of him had always looked like James, in his behavior, in his actions, and even in his looks. But this boy was not a Potter, even worse, he was a Snape ! So how comes he had seen so much of James Potter in the boy ?

'Maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see,' acknowledged Severus with a tired sigh.

Now that he thought about it, he could remember some times when the boy had surprised him by thinking like Severus himself would have. At these times, he had brushed it off, but now that he was paying more attention to those small details, he could clearly see the Snape side of the boy.

This aroused ambiguous feelings in him. Truth be told, he still considered the boy as Potter's son, not his, and he had the strange impression that the boy was a spy, that it was all one of the Marauders' bad joke, destined to break his shields and embarrass him.

But somewhere, deep inside, he felt an odd sense of pride at seeing the resemblance between himself and his... son. The word still felt weird, even if he was not actually pronouncing it. The notion sent a shiver down his spine. He could not afford to have a son. This was one weakness he could do without. However, and as unfortunate as the situation might be, he did not have a choice in the matter.

He sighed once again, overwhelmed by the enormity of the mess they were in, and decided that he would make an effort. He new he wouldn't be 'nice', it wasn't in his nature, but he would at least try to put the boy at ease. Merlin knew it would be easier to sort things out if the boy was cooperating.

Harry woke up slowly, not opening his eyes. It was a habit he had picked along the years, never to open his eyes before having fully identified where he was. It was as much a game as a survival technique. Harry heard a second respiration and deduced that he wasn't alone in the room. He concentrated on breathing deeply and slowly, as not to alert the other person that he was awake. As he inhaled deeply, he recognized the scent of the place.

'Great,' he thought, 'back in this bloody manor.'

He was gradually remembering the events that had lead him to wake up in this room.

'Right,' he thought, 'I remember now. My father happens to be a greasy git who's made my life a living hell for those past five years and who – surprise, surprise – doesn't want to know me. And why the hell am I back at HIS place ? Knowing him, he's upset by the mere presence of my filthy self in his home.'

Harry quickly realized that being sarcastic and slightly hysterical with himself was highly inefficient as well as counter-productive, and didn't successfully lessen the burning feeling in his chest. Why did it have to be Snape ? Of all the people, why did Snape have to be his bloody father ? Reminding himself to breath deeply, he tried to ignore his sudden need to throw up.

Why was he so... disappointed ? After all, he had never had anything remotely close to a loving family and still, he had always managed to get by, so why should he want a father ? He didn't need one, he was stronger than that. He had grown up in a hostile environment for the past fifteen years and had managed to survive on his own in the streets three months, he was almost an adult. This desire for a father was ridiculous.

But even as Harry repeated those words over and over in his head, he felt a lump growing in his throat. With each thought destined to reassure himslef, the burning sensation grew, squashing Harry's every attempts at getting over the fact that his father didn't want him. He grimly understood that the problem was not that his father was Snape. Of course, he was the last person Harry would have wanted for a father, but after a whole life of not having a true family, he would have accepted anyone as his father, even Lucius Malfoy.

No, the problem was that Snape had rejected him. Harry could stand to be rejected by his Aunt, Uncle and cousin. After all, they hated everything related to magic, this was a known fact, nothing to write home about. But knowing that his own father had refused to acknowledge him was the last straw. Harry felt his need to throw up increase. He was disgusted. Disgusted with himself for being so weak, for daring to believe that he could have a family, for having once again been fooled by his screwed-up fate. But now wasn't the time to wallow in self-pity, especially not when...

"I know you're awake."

Oops. Harry had forgotten to keep his breath steady, and now there was no point in pretending to be asleep. He opened his eyes, grateful for the semi- darkness of the room, and tried to sit up. After a lot of efforts and a few pains, he finally succeeded, aware that his Professor's mocking eyes had been watching each of his movements.

"I guess you're feeling better." Snape's voice held no kindness, but Harry failed to notice that, by Snape's standard, this remark could almost be considered as 'nice'.

"I guess," was Harry's dry answer. His throat was stinging painfully and it showed in his raspy voice. Hoping that Snape would attribute his sore throat to his previous ordeal, Harry softly cleared his throat.

Snape was about to speak but Harry beat him to it. He didn't feel like he could endure a long monologue about how useless he was and how there was no way Snape would ever acknowledge being related to him. It was hard enough to know that the man rejected him, hearing it would only make Harry's emotional shields collapse even more than they already had.

"I know what you're going to say, sir," said Harry in a drained voice, "I have a suggestion. We go back to our student-teacher relationship – if there ever was such a thing – and we forget everything we learned in Dumbledore's office. It never happened. What do you think ?"

Harry's heart was beating madly. He couldn't prevent himself from hoping against hope that Snape wouldn't agree. He was yearning for the Potions Master to suddenly embrace him in a fatherly hug, and explain that it had all been an act, that he had only been pretending to be an uncaring bastard. What was wrong with him ? The day before he would have been disgusted by the mere idea of having Snape as a father and now he wanted this man to accept his role, more than anything.

Almost afraid to look, Harry observed Snape's reaction through the obsidian eyes of the man. All he saw was rage. Harry interpreted this anger as Snape's displeasure with being told what to do. He never understood that what this furor was hiding was in fact, pain.

"Agreed," growled Snape.

Both men watched each other silently, until Snape spoke up again, his voice calm and composed.

"When you ran away, what was your full name ?"

"Why do you want to know ?" bit Harry defensively.

Snape sighed in frustration and annoyance, "I need to call you something, you idiot boy ! 'Potter' seems hardly appropriate given the circumstances, don't even dare think I would call you by your first name, and using 'boy' all the time would be quite awkward. I suggest we use your alias. You become this person again, I won't have to deal with Harry Potter anymore."

Harry took a few seconds to think about it. He had mixed feelings about the whole thing. On the one hand, he was already used to that name and knew he would always respond to it, but on the other hand, this name had been his escape. A mean to escape the magical world and be just another muggle. Deciding that it couldn't be helped, Harry gave the older man his alias.

"Sebastian Arlan," spoke Harry softly, almost reverently. Then, shaking himself out of his memories, he added in a neutral tone, "also known as 'Seb'. No middle name." He shrugged.

Severus cringed a little when he heard the name. 'Sebastian' was all right, but 'Arlan' was as far from 'Snape' as a name could be. 'Don't think that,' Severus chastised himself, 'the boy... no, Sebastian Arlan has made it clear that he doesn't want to have anything to do with you, and that's a good thing. Remember Severus, you don't want him in your family, you can't allow yourself to have any weakness.'

Even as he tried to convince himself that he didn't care, he felt a pang of disappointment stinging painfully in his chest, but only for a few seconds. Raising all his shields back to top level, Severus only said, "'Sebastian Arlan' will do," burying his shameful pain behind a new-found hatred for the boy.

Harry, or rather Sebastian, looked deeply into the man's eyes, and all he saw there was hatred. Severus Snape hated Sebastian Arlan almost as much as he had loathed Harry Potter.

The silence was getting more than just a little uncomfortable when Har... Seb asked, "How long have I slept, sir ?" The question was asked in a formal and polite way.

"It's half past six and you've been asleep since this morning when you fainted in the forest." Snape emphasized the word 'fainted' and finished his sentence with a mocking smirk.

"I had a vision..." Seb trailed off, only just remembering this specific incident.

"You had a vision ??" That was yet another turn of events that Severus had not anticipated. "A vision," added Snape, "from the Dark Lord ?" There was something in his voice which clearly said 'you'd better have occluded your mind, or else...'

"No," blurted out Seb as quickly as possible, not wanting to receive another tongue lashing.

"It wasn't the Dark Lord," he continued, "it was something blurry... some kind of magma. Different colors. And so much power... waves of different colors were trying to separate from each other, but there was something holding them back..."

The youth stopped, not knowing how to explain the painful feeling he had experienced during this vision.

"Where did it take place ?" urged Snape, not liking one bit what the boy was saying, "the magma, could you tell where it was ?"

"In me."

Harry, or rather, Sebastian, slept through the end of the day and the following night. When he went down for breakfast in the morning, he found the house empty, and a note waiting for him on the kitchen table. It was a timetable. Snape had placed lessons on each day of the week, except on Sundays.

'Weird,' thought Seb, 'if Snape teaches me, how is he going to handle his Hogwarts lessons ?'

He quickly scanned the timetable and discovered that the cursus was slightly different from the one he would have followed at Hogwarts. Sure, there was still Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and Potion, but there was also Spell Theory, Legal Magic (this one would be boring, he thought) and Strategy. Oh, and of course, the dear old Occlumency lessons.

Stuffing his timetable into his back pocket, he sat down to have breakfast.

There was no one in the house. He could have escaped. But he didn't. It was too soon or too late to do that. He needed to stay, and see how the situation would evolve. To leave now, would truly have been a disastrous tactic.

It had taken him less time than he had thought it would, to once again think of himself as Sebastian and not Harry. In fact, it felt more right. He had stopped being Harry Potter when he had stopped looking like the Boy- Who-Lived. Harry Potter had been a small bony boy with untamable hair. Sebastian Arlan was taller, though not nearly as tall as Snape, paler, and had flat straight hair which tended to get greasy rather easily. Harry Potter didn't exist anymore. Sebastian Arlan did. And it felt right. Funny how some sadistic God had always played with him. Harry Potter had started his life as a muggle, only to discover that he was a wizard. And now, Sebastian Arlan, the perfect muggle, had also become a wizard. Seb shook his head. No matter where he ran, fate always found him.

Snape reappeared an hour later. He stalked past Seb, ignoring him completely, and stepped up the stairs with all the grace and power which gave the man so much confidence. However, Seb noticed that the professor was limping ever so slightly. How the man could limp and still be so gracefully was something he didn't even try to understand, but the limp meant one thing. Death Eater meeting. How long until he was finally killed in one of these ? He didn't know whether he would be sad or relieved if it came to happen. After all, it would be much easier to pretend that none of this had ever happened.

"Concentrate, you stupid boy !"

"I am concentrating, sir ! But how am I supposed to succeed when you don't even tell me how to do it !"

Seb threw his wand on the floor. Occlumency lessons were as bad as ever and both wizards were extremely aggravated. From the teen's point of view, this latest lesson had only managed to cancel all the improvements he had made during his stay in the muggle world.

"I already told you what you had to do, Mister Arlan, but maybe my words are still too complicated for a simple mind such as yours to understand ? Or maybe you don't realize that Occlumency might, one day, be your only mean to save your pathetic little life ?"

Yes, everything was back to normal. Sebastian was shouting, Snape was sneering, and both were too proud and too furious to stop the argument.

"Yeah, yeah, I know that !" said the infuriated teen, "The Dark Lord, bla bla, I'm stupid, bla bla. Can't you be a little more creative ? Or could you, at least, try teaching me instead of just insulting me ?"

Snape visibly paled as he muttered something under his breath. Seb couldn't hear what he was saying, but what the Potion Master had done became obvious when he realized that something was not right with his tongue. He was unable to move it, and it seemed to be stuck in a rigid position. Seb rolled his eyes and groaned when he noticed the coldness emanating from his own mouth. A freezing charm. Great.

"This, Mister Arlan, will help you remember that sometimes, it's preferable to stay silent. Your behavior during this lesson has been totally unacceptable, and I will NOT let you get away with this kind of display. Enjoy this nice charm, Arlan, I'll come back in a few hours."

With these words, Severus left the room, locking the door behind him.

"BAHHRCARG !!" yelled Seb after him, even though he knew that his tongue didn't allow him to insult his teacher as much as he would have wanted.

Seb slumped on the nearest chair and put his head in his hands. Why was it that he could never do anything right when it came to Occlumency lessons ? Surprising as it may be, the other classes he had taken with Snape had gone relatively well until this one. They hadn't exactly been enjoyable, but they had definitely turned out to be better than what he had imagined. Legal Magic was actually all right, and very useful : how to avoid being thrown to Azkaban was particularly interesting, given that a few spells that Seb would be using were bordering on dark. Snape was still refusing to teach him the Dark Arts in their integrality, but a few minor dark spells were thrown here and there in his cursus.

According to Dumbledore, evil could not be conquered by evil, but Seb had some doubts on the subject. Knowing the manipulative old man, these words had probably been lies, destined to minimize Seb's rebellious behavior. He snorted at the idea of becoming a second Dark Lord. Not a chance, that was much too stressful.

But back to the subject at hand. Potion and Transfiguration were still not his favorite classes, but most of the time, he managed to get through them without being yelled at too much. He could take a few insults here and there, after all, he was used to it. Strategy lessons were not what he had expected. He had thought it would be like playing chess, but with a more complicated game. However up to now, it had only been a lecture on different tactics in the fields. Good to know, but it could become boring pretty quickly.

Spell Theory turned out to be quite interesting, giving Sebastian a better understanding of his own magic. This subject was however, very complicated, and Snape had more than once launched himself in a long monologue, unaware that Sebastian had long ago given up on understanding what the Potions Master was talking about. Once or twice, Snape and his student had, much to their surprise, caught themselves talking animatedly about one of the theory's many subtleties. But most of the time, Snape tended to forget that Sebastian had only just discovered this particular aspect of magic. Seb shook his head, annoyed by his teacher's inability to be realistic about such things. The man was just too difficult to satisfy. Not that Seb cared. He was studying and training for himself, not for the cold and bitter man's praise... But still, some part of him wanted the older man to be proud of him. After all, the man was his... no, better not go there.

Seb abruptly stopped this train of thoughts, and chose a safest subject to think about. Defense Against the Dark Arts. At least, he was still good at Defense. Some things would, luckily, never change. The tiniest of smile appeared on the teen's face as he recalled a specific lesson.

Snape had challenged him to execute the "Belinera" spell, a spell that creates a wave of power around the caster which, if it is properly executed, knocks every person standing in the room, off their feet. The potion Master had only showed him the spell once, before stepping away, leaving his student the space to practice.

Seb had waved his wand and said the word exactly like his professor had done, but nothing had happened. Absolutely nothing. Snape had walked back toward him, a condescending smirk adorning his sour face.

"Please sir," Seb had said, holding up his hand, "I'd like to try again." The older man had agreed with a mocking sneer, convinced that he would not succeed.

Seb had noticed that the movement of the wand looked like a spiral, and it had triggered his memory. 'That's right', he had thought, remembering the Spell Theory lesson, 'the spiral means that I should not see my magic going through my wand, but I should rather visualize it as a blanket wrapped around me.'

Eyes closed, he had whispered "Belinera", too concentrated on feeling the magic around him to bother saying the word any louder. He had opened his eyes just in time to see the surprised look on Snape's face as he had stumbled. The Potions Master had however managed to stay on his feet, causing Sebastian to sigh in disappointment, and Snape to smirk.

"Why, Mister Arlan, it seems that you've finally figured out how to use this simple brain of yours," Snape had sneered, but his voice had held no venom. The teen had almost rolled his eyes. Coming from Snape, this was as close to a compliment as Seb would ever hear. Of course, this small victory had given Snape an excuse to make him work even harder. At least, at the end of the session, he had totally mastered the Belerina spell.

Seb tried to swallow, but he quickly discovered that the state of his tongue made it a lot more difficult than it should. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he found a good technique, whose major flaw was that he had to emit a loud and not very discreet "gulp" to make it work. It made him look ridiculous, but it was better than to drown in his own saliva.

Damn Snape and his sadistic ideas. Sebastian's tongue was aching and he was starting to get bored. He couldn't even practice Defense given that he couldn't talk properly. He tried anyway, having heard of Silent Magic. He was still trying—unsuccessfully—to cast the Belinera spell without speaking, an hour later when Snape stepped in the room.

Seb sent a murderous look at his teacher as he tried to swallow without making a fool of himself. Snape only looked at him, an amused smirk on his face as he realized what his student what doing.

"You seem to have some difficulty in swallowing," Snape mocked him, shaking his head dramatically, "Come on, Mr. Arlan, surely you can achieve such a simple task." He paused before continuing, "Clearly, I have overestimated you." With a flick of Snape's wand, Seb's tongue turned back to normal. As he swallowed his saliva, Seb could feel his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

"Remember, Arlan," Snape growled, all traces of amusement gone, "you'd better not use this tone with me again. You got away easily this time, but next time you choose to talk to me without the proper respect, don't expect me to hold back." Snape's voice was deadly serious, and Seb couldn't prevent the chill that ran down his spine as he thought about everything the Potions Master's words promised.

Knowing better than to argue, Seb used his most polite and deceivingly submissive tone to answer, "Yes, Sir."

"Good boy." For a moment, a pensive expression took the place of Snape's usually blank face, until he turned his gaze back on the still silent youth.

"I've just had a small chat with the Headmaster, about your vision."

Seb arched an eyebrow, indicating his semi-interest in whatever the old man might have to say. Snape only cast him a disapproving glance, but didn't say anything.

"It seems that he had anticipated this turn of events." Sebastian barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, Dumbledore would have anticipated ANY kind of events. Who did the old man think he was fooling ?

"The green wave you felt would be the Dark Lord's power. You do know that you stole a small part of the Dark Lord's power, when he attacked you fifteen years ago ?"

Seb nodded, not bothering to point out that "stole" was not exactly an appropriate word. He had never intended to take those powers, he had never done anything to put himself in this mess.

"These powers want to retrieve their master. They're more than just powers, they're a part of the Dark Lord's essence, that's why they can't stay with you." Snape sighed, "according to Headmaster Dumbledore, this alien essence in your body could explain your ineptitude at Occlumency. This could be the reason why you felt I was opening your mind to the Dark Lord, last year."

This could make sense. But then, they had a problem. And a big one.

"What you're telling me, Sir, is that either way I lose," said Seb carefully, "if I let those powers go, Voldemort will be even more powerful, and if I don't, I'll never be able to keep him out of my mind, right?"

Snape nodded, "These powers might even prevent you from learning properly any kind of magic, not only Occlumency."

Sebastian frowned. "I might not have had the best grades, Sir, but I'm not totally hopeless at magic either..." glancing toward his teacher, he added quickly, "I mean, apart from Occlumency..."

"It does not prevent you from learning magic, Mr. Arlan, it just makes it harder," clarified Snape, "You managed to produce a full corporal Patronus when you were only thirteen years old, which would be the mark of great power. However, apart from a few other demonstration of impressing magic, you are disappointingly average. My theory is that the Dark Lord's essence which you carry in you, stop your own magic from expressing itself fully, except in those rare situations when your magic was the strongest."

Snape's gaze penetrated Seb's green eyes as he began talking again, "You're magic is growing, it's begun to fight the Dark Lord's. It's rejecting it, and the Dark Lord's magic also wants to escape, so we need to act quickly if we don't want He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named to regain all his powers."

Sebastian sighed as he realized that getting rid of those powers were not an option. One cannot destroy magic, one can only manipulate it.

"But, Sir, if his magic is stopping mine, I will never have the advantage when I face him. Even without all his powers, he's still stronger than me, and if I keep his powers, I won't be able to improve my skills enough to kill him..." A wave of despair hit Seb as he realized the absurdity of the situation. Snape's face didn't reveal anything.

"Don't start to whine, Mr. Arlan, there is a solution !" snapped the Potions Master, "But I doubt you will like it, and besides, I don't know if you would even be able to make it work."

Despair was replaced by determination.

"Please, Sir," Seb said, enunciating each word slowly and clearly, "tell me about this 'solution'."

AN : So what do you think ?