As it turned out, Voldemort didn't need to do anything to destroy Harry's hopes. Dumbledore did that quite well without any assistance whatsoever.
Harry buried his face in his pillow to muffle his groan. Try as he might, he just couldn't clear his mind enough for sleep. The memories refused to give him any respite. Images of the battle flashed through his mind; he saw the faces of his friends, Sirius, Remus, Voldemort, Dumbledore...Dumbledore. A sneer tugged at Harry's upper lip at the name. Their last conversation, after the conclusion to the battle, Harry was sure he'd never forget.
"Harry," the old man said, his hand firmly gripping Harry's shoulder, "You can't begin to know how very proud I am of you!"
"We all are, son," put in Sirius, who was grinning at him from beneath his heavily bandaged brow.
Remus, who sat beside him nursing his own assorted wounds, smiled and nodded his acquiescence.
"You were so brave, doing what you did. And I must tell you, Harry, I have never seen anybody act so coolly when confronted by Dementors."
Harry's smile, which had been threatening to stretch all the way around his head at the praise, suddenly faltered. The dementors.
The fighting had barely begun when Harry had first felt the familiar feeling of bone-chilling dread. In the next moment the fighting crowd on the platform turned almost as one to stare in terror at the cloud of figures moving toward them, almost blacking out the sun.
"M-Merlin," gasped Sirius, his face ashen, "I've never seen so many, not even in..."
He didn't finish, but there was no need. Every Dementor in Britain and beyond seemed to be flocking their way.
"Dumbledore was right," exclaimed Sirius, "They've turned on us."
Harry nodded numbly. The familiar terror was building up inside him. 'Mom...Dad...Cedric...' he thought. Soon the screaming would start; oh God, he couldn't take that, not now! It was too soon, the memories too fresh. He doubted he'd be able to manage conjuring a patronus, and even if he could, what could it possibly do against so many? At any rate, there was no way they'd be able to defeat both the Dementors and the Death Eaters at the same time.
Harry then noticed something odd. The Death Eaters were staring at the approaching Dementors not with triumph, but with the same abject terror as everyone else. Harry looked wildly around for Voldemort. He was standing, wand in one hand, Ghol knife in the other, staring at the creatures in absolute confusion. The expression on his face, in a different situation, would have been almost comical. Fear and utter bewilderment played across the bone-white, serpentine face, and the blood-red eyes showed absolute shock.
Harry had time for no more observation as, as if released from a trance, the people on the platform exploded in panic.
The screams of children and adults, Light and Dark alike, were joined a split second later by echoes of screaming voices in Harry's mind he'd hoped he'd never hear again. Sirius, seeing his Godson's distress, grabbed him by the arm and shook him.
"Come on Harry, come on son, fight it, come on!"
The Dementors were among them, gliding in packs around the platform. Harry opened his eyes and tried to focus his gaze on Sirius. He'd called him "son!" Again! Then it was true! Sirius loved him, and he'd called him SON! He was going to have a family, a real one at last! After everyone had seen Sirius fighting against the Death Eaters, there could be no question as to his loyalty! All at once, Harry felt the oppressive weight of all his worst nightmares lift, and he was left with that one glorious thought-that one glorious word-SON!
Harry shook his head and looked toward Voldemort once again. He could no longer see him; a mass of dark figures blocked his way, making a protective shield between him and their master.
"Your bodyguards won't save you, Tom," snarled Harry, as he snatched Sirius's wand out of his hand and replaced it with his own.
Sirius blinked a few times at the wand that now lay in his hand, completely clueless about what was going on, but did not attempt to question Harry.
Summoning all his joy, all his strength, Harry pointed the wand directly into the crowd of Dementors, and shouted, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
A blinding white light shot out of his wand, which again took the form of a brilliant white stag, only this time it was as if light had been made flesh; a majestic, gigantic beast which radiated pure white light.
Sirius gasped. "Prongs," he whispered, as the patronus blazed a trail through the Dementors. As more and more of the creatures were driven away, cringing from the light of the glowing stag, Harry noticed something odd. The Demntors all had their backs to him, facing the centre of the giant ring they had made around...Voldemort. The bodies of dozens of his followers lay at his feet, and the last few were struggling against their assailants. Voldemort himself seemed to have lost his wand, and was slashing wildly in the air with the Ghol knife. The enraged Dementors were struggling desperately against the shield cast by the Patronus. Harry realized with a shock that the Dementors weren't protecting Voldemort, they were attacking him. His confusion ended when he heard Siruis, in a shaky voice, whisper,
"Is...is that a Ghol knife? Dear God!"
Harry remembered what Voldemort had told him earlier, while tormenting him with the knife. He'd made it sound as if the worst thing one could possibly do was to threaten a Dementor with a Ghol knife. Voldemort seemed to have realized his mistake as well, but there was nothing he could do. Noticing the break in attacking circle, he looked wild-eyed at Harry, fear and desperation in his eyes.
"Please," he mouthed. "Please!"
Harry stared at him for a few moments, his eyes never leaving his enemy's, then whispered two words.
"Finite Incantatem."
The scream that was ripped from Voldemort's throat almost made harry drop his wand as he covered his ears. It lasted only a few seconds, as the tide of black forms rushed in on him, and he was silenced, forever.
"Harry? Harry!"
Harry jerked in his seat and turned his focus to Dumbeldore, who was regarding him in mild amusement and concern.
"Where were you?" the old man asked. "You looked a million miles away."
Harry smiled slightly and shrugged. "Sorry. I was just thinking about...about before. The Dementors and everything." He sighed and looked down, running his hand through his hair. "You really don't have to be proud of me...I didn't actually do anything. Really, all I did was interrupt the Dementors for a few moments."
The adults in the room exchanged glances beneath raised eyebrows.
"I don't think you understand, Harry," said Remus Lupin, speaking up for the first time, "Your Patronus, whether it was a factor in destroying Voldemort or not, was an extremely powerful piece of magic. Even more so than the one you produced last year, and..." here he offered a wink, "that's saying something. The point is, you were able to stay focused in the face of incredible danger, and that is why we are so proud of you."
Harry felt his face reddening, and quickly looked down to hide his pleasure at the praise. Keeping his eyes carefully on his shoes, he said,
"If that's the case, Sirius really deserves as much credit as I do." He glanced shyly at his godfather, who was looking confused.
"Oh, really," said a voice from the corner, "And what, exactly, did wonder pooch contribute to the situation? Gave the Dementors severe flea-irritation, did he?"
Sirius whipped around and shot a glare at the man who stood cloaked in shadows by the door. "Didn't here you come in, Snivellus. Got your cloak and mask all stowed away, have you?"
Snape sneered, and made to reply, but was cut off my Dumbledore, who said in a stern voice,
"Severus was with me when I received the floo message from Minerva, Sirius, and fought bravely once we arrived at the platform. Now, if you two could perhaps realize for the next few moments that the world does not, in fact, revolve around your petty disputes, I would be happy to set up a dueling platform for you as soon as Harry has finished talking. I'd be happy to officiate. Believe me. " He fixed each man with an equally stern look, then turned to Harry. "Now, Harry. What was this about Sirius?"
Harry glanced at the glowering men, nervously rubbing his palms on his robes.
"Well, what I meant was...I meant I couldn't have made the Patronus without Sirius there. There with me, I mean. Beside me...and after what...what he said to me. " He looked at Sirius and swallowed. His throat had become suddenly very dry.
Sirius had stopped glowering and was again looking confused.
"What I said? I don't know what you mean. You didn't seem like you needed any advice, Harry."
Harry shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. This was getting rather embarrassing.
"No, I meant before, when you showed up on the platform, and again later. You said...you called me..." Harry stopped and tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes. Maybe Sirius didn't even remember calling him that. Or maybe he just meant it in a really casual way, like if he'd called him "Buddy" or "Sport." He looked again at his godfather's concerned face, and whispered, "You called me 'son'."
Sirius' eyes widened and he seemed glued to his chair.
"So, that's what you were thinking when you..." he whispered, tear-blurred eyes never leaving his godson.
"Yeah," was all Harry managed to croak out before he was crushed into an embrace by Sirius.
They said nothing to each other, and the others in the room seemed to understand their need for silence. All except Snape, who muttered something that sounded like, "Oh, please! For the love of..." before he was silenced by a well-thrown pillow from Remus.
When Harry and Sirius finally managed to extricate themselves, room was made for them to sit together a couch, where they leaned against each other, as if each afraid the other would disappear.
"Well then," said Dumbledore, breaking the silence, "Now that we have that cleared up, back to the matter at hand. Does anyone have any questions about what transpired on the train platform?"
Harry sat up straighter, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I have one, professor," he said, frowning slightly, "I understand why the Dementors attacked Tom-he used the Ghol Knife against them-but why did they show up at the platform in the first place? I saw the look on Tom's face when the Dementors appeared, and he was as surprised as anybody."
Dumbledore gave one of his usual twinkly-eyed smiles. "You always do ask the good questions, don't you Harry? The answer is fairly simple, one that Voldemort, or Tom, as you like to call him," he said with a wry smile, "seemed to have forgotten. There is a reason for which the Ghol knives are best left un-found. Dementors, like many other Dark Creatures, have the ability to sense others of their kind, and often to identify the individual. When Voldemort used the knife, they recognized its power for the object that caused them to become what they are today, and all of that anger and hatred caused by the original betrayal that sealed their fate was called up. A fate which we, in our foolishness, have perpetuated."
Harry frowned, "What do you mean, Professor? What have we done?"
"When Azkaban was first built, many hundreds of years ago, the then Minister of Magic recognized the value of the Dementors' powers and how they might be used to our benefit. It was, politically, an intelligent move on his part; it provided fail-proof security and at the same time isolated the Dementors from the rest of the Wizarding world."
"Makes sense," commented Sirius, nodding, "The Dementors basically had an "all-you-can-eat buffet" of bad guys, so there was no reason for them to go off looking for innocent witches and wizards."
"My, my, Black. How wonderfully colloquial of you," said Snape.
"Go do something inappropriate with a snake, Snivellus!" Sirius shot back.
"I do believe you're the one who enjoys intimacy with animals, Black," Snape replied, sneering at Remus.
"As I was saying," Dumbledore interrupted, "The problem with this arrangement was made apparent years later, when it was too late to reverse. Even after having consumed the tainted souls of the tribe of dark Wizards, the Agholyths were still not completely dark. However, after years of feeding on nothing but the souls of the worst of the wizarding world-for the most part" he added, smiling at Sirius, "The Agholyths became so steeped in evil that they truly became Dementors; creatures bent on nothing but destroying their victims.
"So you see," he said, sighing, "We took away any chance the Agholyths may have had to revert to their former selves."
"And there's no way of turning them back? Of making them like they were before, I mean?" asked Harry.
"The question has been asked, of course, but the only answer that has made any sense is to allow the Dementors to feed on clean, pure souls...enough to counter the evil. Somehow, I don't think we'd be able to find sufficient volunteers." Dumbledore smiled.
"Oh, I don't know, Albus," said Snape, leaning causally against the wall, arms crossed with a smug look on his face, "I can think of a few Gryffindors with Hero complexes who'd be more than happy to sacrifice their lives for the greater good. Just tell them that if they don't, you're going to drop a puppy down a well, and they'll all come running, dragging their first-born children behind them." He paused, a thoughtful look on his face, "In fact, I'm really beginning to like this idea. I'll go place an add in the Daily Prophet."
Sirius stood up quickly, dragging Harry with him.
"Why you disgusting..." he stopped and drew a breath, closing his eyes. He then turned to Dumbledore, "Well, Professor, I think we've covered all we need to here. If you don't mind, I'll be taking Harry home now, away from certain....unpleasant individuals."
At the mention of 'home', Harry looked happily up at Sirius, then at the Headmaster.
"Ah, well, yes..." Dumbledore said, suddenly avoiding eye-contact as he polished his spotless half-moon spectacles, "I'm afraid, Sirius, that Harry won't be accompanying you just yet. As a matter of fact, that is a matter I very much need to discuss with you both. With everyone present, in fact."
Sirius' face was suddenly very serious. "What, exactly, do you mean?" he asked, placing an arm protectively around Harry's shoulders. "Voldemort is dead. I was seen publicly fighting against him, and one of the Death Eaters was positively identified as Peter. What is there to discuss? And no, professor, nobody here wants a Sherbet Lemon!"
Dumbledore sighed, placed the small tin back in his desk drawer, and tented his fingers.
"I want you to understand, both of you," he began, eyeing the man and boy standing before him, "That at the time, it was really the only choice I had. I truly believed, as I still do, that it was the best thing to do. I am getting there Sirius, be patient," he said, holding up a hand to silence the impatient man.
"I did not believe, thirteen years ago, that Voldemort had been destroyed for good. I knew he would return, or if he did not, one of his followers would attempt to kill Harry. So, the only way to protect Harry was to place him in the care of blood relatives..."
"I already know this, Professor!" Harry burst out, "You told me before: the Dursleys give me blood protection, because of my mother's sacrifice. But I don't need protection anymore!" He was becoming frantic; he could feel his life with Sirius slipping through his fingers.
"Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice almost patronizing, "You were eleven when I told you that. You needed answers, and I gave them to you, but not the full answers. What I told you was...an abridged version of the truth."
"So give me the unabridged version now," Harry said through gritted teeth. He could feel Sirius' arm tightening around his shoulders.
Dumbledore sighed.
"The warding spells I used are very complex, and one, in fact, is more of a binding spell than anything. This spell requires you to be living under the care of a blood relative at least two months out of the year. If this does not occur, there , of a most un-pleasant nature, I assure you. The problem is, the wards are transferable, but only to another blood relative, and they cannot be removed until your 19th birthday."
Harry stood perfectly still, staring straight ahead.
"My father has no living relatives, and the Dursley's were the only ones on Mum's side. Right?"
"Yes," said Sirius hoarsly, not looking at Harry, "That's right. James had nobody...no uncles, aunts, cousins..."
"Well, actually, that's where we run into a bit of a hitch," said Dumbledore, looking un-characteristically agitated. His eyes flickered to Remus, who met his eyes then looked immediately at his hands. "It seems," he said, clearing his throat, "that James did have one cousin on his mother's side who was alive at the time I was making the wards. A mister Marcus Oulette. A distant relation, a resident of France, but still sharing a blood link with James. I contacted him, and he was amenable to taking on guardianship of Harry, but when it came time to perform the binding, it...didn't take."
"What do you mean, it didn't take?" snarled Sirius. A look of horrified comprehension appeared on his face. "You aren't suggesting...Lily would never do that to James!"
Harry whirled on his godfather, "What's going on? Mum wouldn't do what?" he didn't at all like the direction in which this conversation was heading. "Sirius? Professor?" he looked wildly between the two, eyes wide and panicked.
"Harry..." this time it was Remus who spoke, in a soothing voice as much for Sirius' benefit as for Harry's, "What the Headmaster is trying to say is that, while James is related by blood to Marcus, you...aren't."
Harry was in a full-blown panic by now. "But that's impossible!! Whoever my Dad's related to, I have to be related to! You're not making any sense! You must have made a mistake...you can try again! It was probably just a miss-calculation..."
Remus reached out, concerned, and tried to lay hold of Harry, who shook him off.
"No, Harry, we...the Headmaster and I...did every test we could think of. We even used Muggle DNA testing with yours and James' DNA...they all cam back negative. Harry...James Potter was not your father."
Harry felt a weight slide off of his shoulders, and turned to look at Sirius, who was staring at him, arms hanging loosely by his sides, absolutely stricken. He regarded Harry for a time, slowly shaking his head. Then his eyes turned suddenly cold, and he turned his gaze away, focusing instead on Remus.
"We did every test we could think of?" Sirius' face showed nothing but pure anger and disgust. "You knew? Remus, what the hell is this? James' son, my godson is a bastard, and you just decided to keep it to yourself?"
Harry recoiled sharply from Sirius. He felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, but Sirius paid no notice to the boy he'd embraced as his own only minutes before.
Remus, becoming angry, hissed, "This isn't about you, Sirius. It's about Harry. And besides, we thought you'd knocked them off. How were we to know you hadn't knocked up Lily as well? Merlin knows you wanted to!"
Sirius shoved Remus sharply in the chest. "How dare you!! You were the one who was always trying to get alone with Lily, you pathetic half-breed. Were you there to make sure your tests didn't come out positive?Should we start locking Harry up during full-moons, Remus?"
"I was tested! As were you, along with every man Lily was known to have contact with within the previous two years, you officious prick!! Quit acting like the bloody victim here!"
The two men stood, noses nearly touching, glaring daggers at one another. Harry stared at the two of them in a new light. He had never seen how incredibly shallow Sirius was. He'd called Remus, his best friend, a 'half-breed'. And he'd called Harry a bastard.
"If the bastard in question might be allowed to speak," he said coolly, eyes narrowed, "Why does everyone tell me I look so much like James Potter? Another one of your spells, I suppose?" he directed at Dumbledore.
The old man smiled slightly and shook his head.
"No, Harry, I'm afraid no spell was required. You see, you really only resemble James in a superficial way. Your black hair, glasses and the roundness of your face are so reminiscent of James Potter that nobody really ever looks further than that. In fact, since you've been maturing, your face has thinned out. I imagine you will bear closer resemblance to your natural father once all of your baby fat has disappeared, but you really do favour your mother's side of the family. Aside from the hair, and what I imagine your face shape will eventually be, nearly all of your features come from your mother."
"So, what, all I know is that my...my father has black hair? That could be anybody." He glanced nervously at Sirius, who snarled and violently shook his head.
"No, Harry," said Remus, glancing nervously at Dumbledore, "Not just anybody. It had to be someone with black hair who had access to Lily Potter, and who had sexual intercourse with her in late October the year before you were born."
The room was silent, and then, from the corner, an ashen-faced Severus Snape said, "Halloween...oh, bloody hell."
For a moment, nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Nobody even breathed. Then,
"YOU BLOODY FUCKING SNAKE-KISSING BASTARD!!"
Sirius launched himself at Snape, who still looked to be in a daze. He snapped out of it when Sirius' fist connected squarely with his jaw; reeling back, he collected himself enough to dodge the next blow and grab his wand, which he used to spear his attacker in the groin. There followed a fierce, no-holds-barred fight. The two men punched, kicked and butted one another, never thinking to use their wands for anything other than eye-gouging, and Harry was fairly sure he saw Sirius bite Snape on the fore-arm.
This was confirmed moments later, when Dumbledore, annoyed, muttered a spell that flung the two men away from one another so hard that they slammed into the walls, knocking the wind out of them.
"Crazy bastard bit me!" Snape gasped out as he struggled to get to his feet. "I'm going to get Tetanus...or rabies!!"
"Severus, be Quiet!" Dumbledore shouted the last word, startling Snape into silence. "And you!" He growled, turning to the opposite wall where Sirius had just opened his mouth. He shut it again with a sharp click. "Yes. Severus is Harry's father. Yes, Remus and I knew about it. Yes, we kept it a secret from all of you. And yes, it truly was the only thing we could have done. I'm sorry Harry," he looked at the young boy standing alone in the middle of the room. He hadn't said anything yet, and he looked absolutely horrified.
"No," he finally spoke, shaking his head, "It's not true. It can't be! Mum would never...not with Snape!"
"Professor Snape, Harry..." Dumbledore gently, and unwisely, admonished.
Harry turned on him, eyes blazing.
"Shut up! Just everybody SHUT UP!! So, what...I'm just supposed to go live with him now, is that it? Is that why you needed to talk to us? Well, if that's it, you can just forget it! I'd rather live my entire life with the Dursleys than one second with...with him! You all can just go to hell!"
"Of course you're assuming that I would ever wish to acknowledge you. Do you think I want you living with me? You were an accident! You hear me? An accident! Unwanted. Unplanned. The product of a drunken one-night stand, where your mud-blood mother drank herself into my bed. Into the store-room of the Leaky Cauldron, actually..." Snape no longer looked shaken, and instead wore a look of mingled anger and disgust. He sneered at Harry as he spoke, and was interrupted by Sirius' angry shout.
"Shut your filthy mouth, Snape! Lily never would have touched you voluntarily. What did you do? Rape her, you greasy bastard?"
Snape half-laughed.
"Rape? She pushed me into the closet, and had her robes off and was working on mine before my eyes even adjusted to the dark. I took her, like she wanted me to, and then..." he smiled evily and leaned forward, leering at Sirius, "You think I have a filthy mouth, Black? If you only knew..."
Harry shook his head and pushed his hands to the sides of his head.
"Stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it..." he whispered to himself over and over again. This seemed to be becoming his mantra.
The digital clock flashed 5am. Wonderful. Aunt Petunia would be getting him up in a couple of hours, and he hadn't slept at all. This summer was shaping up to be the worst ever. Dumbledore and Remus had lied to him, his godfather had disowned him, his mother had been an adulteress, and his father...was no longer his father. Snape was.
In fact, he was no longer even Harry Potter. He was a Snape, not that either he or Snape would acknowledge it. He was glad that Snape didn't want him to move in with him, but that still didn't make him any happier about having to stay with the Dursleys until the bond wore off. He was just about to launch into another round of self-pity when he heard a familiar crack and sat bolt-upright in bed, flailing around for his wand. In doing so he fell off of his bed and landed with a thump, face on the floor next to a very large pair of bare feet.
"Ahem," said a voice not three feet from the ground.
Harry looked up into the disapproving face of a house elf clad in a pristine white tea cloth. Suddenly Harry felt very embarrassed at having acted so ineptly.
"Ah..." he said, trying to casually get into a more comfortable position, "May I help you with something?"
The house elf sniffed once, as if he found the whole business of dealing with Harry distasteful, then gave a small bow.
"You will please pack your things, Young Master. We are expected in a quarter hour."
Harry stared at the small creature blankly.
"Excuse me? Expected? Expected where? What are you talking about, who are you?" suddenly wary, and cursing himself for not being so earlier, Harry backed up and reached behind him for his wand, which he remembered having been stuffed into his pillow case.
The elf heaved an annoyed sigh and looked momentarily at the ceiling, as if cursing the heavens for having burdened him with the chore of having to deal with such a moronic individual.
"On the orders of his Master, Borrible is here to collect the Young Master and transport him to his father's home." The elf, Borrible, spoke in tones usually reserved for those with severe mental disabilities, small children, and animals.
Harry's eyes widened in shock.
"What? You're Snape's elf? No! No way! Listen, Borrible, you can just go back and tell your master that I'm not coming. He doesn't want me there anyways. He said so himself. I'm. Not. Going." He folded his arms across his chest and glared defiantly at the elf, who glared right back.
Through slightly gritted teeth, Borrible replied,
"Despite Young Master's objections, Borrible has his orders, and he will carry them out. Master does not like being disobeyed. Now, where are Young Master's things?"
Harry sat down on his bed, still glowering at the tiny yet imposing figure, and made a show of clamping his mouth shut.
Borrible made a decisive clicking noise in his throat, then raised one of his long, bony fingers.
"Very well. Master anticipated his son's in-cooperation and gave Borrible leave to deal with this in his own way."
With a click of his fingers, Harry's trunk materialized in the middle of the bedroom floor and the lid sprang open. Another click retrieved his clothing from the dresser and closet, and a third summoned every last thing hidden around his room, including his wand, which flew into the open trunk along with everything else. Before Harry could even summon the brain power required to close his gaping jaw, Borrible had everything he owned packed away. Hedwig's empty cage sat atop the trunk.
"Now," spoke the elf, hand on his hips and one of his over-large feet tapping on the floor, "Is Young Master ready to come on his own, or does Borrible need to force him?"
Harry looked at the elf for a moment, then made a desperate lunge for him, hoping to knock him off his feet. Borrible made no move, just looked at him with an annoyed frown and, before Harry could lay a finger on him, the elf clicked his fingers, and the smallest bedroom in Number 4 Privet Drive was empty.
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