Beta: Elsa2 (go and see her beautiful stories!) - Thank you very much!

Chapter 7 – Harry

First, he went to check at Fred's though he was pretty sure Barrys had convinced his brother to move in with him – why else would Barrys have decided to live an independent life right now? And Harry was very grateful for his older son's decision. Barrys was sometimes a bit hasty and impulsive, but this time Harry didn't care. Seren needed them like they needed him, and with Barrys's action he could remain in the family, and not all the ties had been cut.

Fred confirmed his suspicions, but even he didn't know where they had gone, because Seren had left the house sometime in the afternoon when he had been at work.

"But, Harry, I still agree with Hermione. You are making your biggest mistake by keeping the truth from him."

Harry clenched his hands in helpless rage.

"I told you my reasons, didn't I? And Hermione knows it, too. I made a promise and I'm not going to break it."

"But not even Dumbledore was infallible, Harry…"

"It's not about infallibility. I agreed with him even before he made me swear, and I still agree. But I promise, I will tell him part of the story as soon as I find him – the part he has to know."

"What part?" countered Fred in a sarcastic voice. "His identity? His family? His heritage?"

"Fred!" Harry interrupted angered. "I will tell him what he needs to know about himself and me. And about our families."

"That part you should have told him long ago."

"I didn't want to tell him anything, Fred. I wanted him to live as my son, to be a normal kid growing up in a supportive family, and I did believe I could give him that much! And I didn't do it for the memory of Dumbledore or Snape, but because I loved him like I loved Barrys, and I didn't want him to get involved in things that destroy, defile and break him!"

"But Harry, Seren is…"

"Seren is my son. He was only a couple of days old when we took him in! I brought him up! He's not a Snape any more! Why can't you see that?"

"But it's not true!"

"Even Hermione agrees with me about that!"

"Because she's biased, too!"

"You're blind!"

"I'm not, but you are! You love that boy too much to see this matter objectively!"

"What do you think objectivity would be in such a case? That I brought up a Death Eater in my home?"

"No, no, I…"

"What, then? You are saying that Seren is Severus Snape himself, the git who was unable to behave like a human for even a minute! Who was unable to go and make an appearance at his mentor's funeral? That conceited, arrogant son of a bitch?"

Fred stepped back in surprise.

"But… do you still hate Snape?"

Harry shrugged, and the anger suddenly left him.

"Why wouldn't I? Just because he doesn't exist any more?"

"But Seren…"

"Seren-is-not-a-Snape. Seren is Seren. He is not like Snape. He is a kind-hearted, caring child."

"But this means that…"

"Leave it, Fred. This quarrel is pointless and I have to go. I have to find them. If my new information is correct Rodolphus Lestrange is in the country, and this means Bellatrix and Malfoy too. And you know Malfoy…"

"I go with you," said Fred suddenly, but Harry shook his head.

"No. I'll go by myself. I want to talk to him or them alone. It will be hard enough as it is."

"I see," Fred replied, a bit put-off.

The next moment, Harry disapparated with a soft 'pop'.

He finished with Barrys's friends sooner than he thought, but to no avail. Nobody had even suspected that Barrys had wanted to move out, let alone heard about his new address. So after two hours of fruitless search Harry decided to have a drink in the Leaky Cauldron and try and come up with some other plan.

The wisest thing to do would be asking Barrys's latest girlfriend, but he had no idea who the actual witch was, and she would probably lead him nowhere: his girlfriends always knew less about Barrys than his friends.

Hermione was often a bit angry with Barrys because of his constant string of flirts and trifles, and she wished him to be a bit more conservative in this matter, more like herself and Harry. She tried to persuade Barrys, but it inevitably ended up nowhere: Barrys with his usual cheekiness and sneakiness changed the topic so subtly that no one noticed, and he never listened to her. Harry was very careful not to enter these arguments, but in his heart he supported Hermione. He didn't understand Barrys's behaviour and his thirst for fame: Barrys was a constant theme of the Witch Weekly's front page, and even the Prophet had a soft spot for him.

Barrys and he had at least one common feature: they had both given up quidditch after school and didn't enter the professional league. Barrys proved as talented as Harry. Barrys played beater just like Fred and George, Barrys's paragons of some sort, who encouraged him in his public appearances. But still Barrys declined all the professional offers and threw the letters into the fire, unread. Harry had asked him about his decision not to go professional several times, but Barrys never disclosed his reasons.

His work was in a way quidditch-related: he had been always outstanding in Charms (Flitwick always related it to his grandmother's, Lily Potter), and after school he had gone to work in a new but rapidly-expanding broomstick company, "The Reflection", where he charmed race brooms. The small company – thanks to Barrys's work – was flourishing, and his first models soon outshone the Nimbus series, although the Firebolts were still at the top of the market.

In the Leaky Cauldron, he ordered a butterbeer, and leaning against the bar counter, he vainly attempted to arrange a plot.

Finishing his work, Tom, the barman, sat down opposite and started a conversation, his eyes never leaving his customers.

"How are you doing, Mr Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but answered politely.

"Fine, thanks, and you?"

"Marvellous, marvellous," smiled Tom enthusiastically, as if Harry had genuine interest in his well-being. "I'm happy that you finally decided to pay a visit here, at an old friend's… Your son is a frequent customer, I see him here almost every day. And those nice girls in his company! They really are the most splendid witches in Britain!"

Oh, no, not this topic…! Harry didn't want to hear about it, but Tom ignoring or missing his uneasiness went on chattily,

"He always has really nice ladies in his company, that's true, but this latest one…" he laughed, and Harry had to resist the sudden urge to throw the bottle at him. "Black hair, pale skin, lovely features, and much more animated than the previous ones… and the young sir too seems to be more attached to her than any of the others…"

Harry suddenly paid attention to the barkeeper's murmur. Who could the girl be?

Tom, as though reading his mind, went on.

"I can't fathom where they met. I've never seen the lady before and I know almost everybody in our world, and I wouldn't miss such a splendid witch, I tell you…"

This was the point when Harry's alarms, which had been set since his meeting with Seremov, began to ring full volume. 'Never' was the keyword. Harry knew that in this matter Tom's observations were at least as reliable as Aberforth's, if not more so. He slipped his hand into his pocket and grabbed his wand. In the next moment he could see his son and the women through Tom's memories: they were sitting at the table opposite the counter.

Harry had seen his son with some of his girlfriends and knew quite well the way he behaved around them – this was his main reason to dislike Barrys's relationships rather than Hermione's hatred for the fact that Barrys was a lady-killer. For Barrys, girls were like a kind of decoration or like those lapdogs old ladies kept for entertainment. Although it wasn't impossible that those old ladies considered their lapdogs more as people than Barrys did with his partners. He scarcely spoke to them, only short words and sentences, asking for their wishes, buying everything they asked and smiling at them if needed.

This was, however, different. Barrys and the girl weren't with the usual company; it was just the two of them, and they were talking. Barrys seemed unable to take his eyes off the beautiful girl, but Harry saw he wasn't focusing on her beauty but on her, his brows knitted like Hermione's and small nods showing his deep attention. Sometimes he added something, but mostly he just listened. That went on for a time: Harry couldn't really estimate how long because one or two seconds of thought could contain hours of memories, even if not as precisely as a pensieve. In the centre of Tom's memories was the girl, so Harry couldn't really see anything else in the memory.

Perhaps he would need a pensieve later to revisit this memory to… or not. The girl was completely unknown to him, but he couldn't find any faults in her, she seemed beautiful and intelligent and behaved in a very polite, civilized way – and so did Barrys, to Harry's joy. If Hermione could see this…

But then, the girl laughed: she leaned her head a bit back, almost touching the booth's wall. Her hair which had been concealing her features now fell down her back. The memory was like a slow film so Harry had some moments to examine her more thoroughly. Still nothing, but suddenly, she laughed again and shook her hair back and Harry's heart almost stopped. The girl was unfamiliar, but the laughter and the gesture…

After Sirius's death, sometimes he borrowed Dumbledore's pensieve and replayed a couple of their times together. He could do that for hours: watching his godfather laughing, talking, joking – and it had been Hermione who had warned him of the danger of this behaviour. "Harry, living in memories is just as dangerous as living in dreams. It can't bring Sirius back; you just make harder to grieve for him and leave the past where it belongs."

Still, there were memories he had watched repeatedly, mostly those where Sirius had been laughing or joking, and they all came to mind as he watched the girl: the gesture, the black locks, the shape of the lips which now curled precisely the way Sirius' had done…

But Sirius had never had a child… and even if he had, he or she would have been older than this girl. She was the same age as Barrys, but, now, she didn't only remind him of Sirius; those features – a bit crumpled, a cruel smile…

It was maddening.

The girl reminded him of Sirius's mother in Grimmauld Place – no, not only reminded, she was just like her, the old witch with that terrible, screeching voice… they must be relatives, and close ones at that.

She couldn't be Sirius's or Regulus's offspring, and not that of Andomeda, Tonks or Narcissa, Lucius's deceased wife.

Only one other person remained.

Harry yanked himself out of Tom's memories. But when he opened his eyes and saw the pub around him, he was surprised. He needed some time to readjust the fact that the scene of the memory and real life was the same.

But he still didn't know what to do.

Panic gripped his throat.

The girl couldn't be other than a daughter of Bellatrix and Rodolphus, who, for obvious reasons, grew up abroad and returned only lately like her parents – or with them. And Barrys had decided to go out with her!

TRAP! – his instincts cried with full force.

He had to reach Barrys, now!

In spite of his panic, his experience kicked in. Almost unconsciously, his mind began to systematize the past hours' information. It was imperative to localize the headquarters of the regrouping Death Eaters it might be the only way to find the boys. And Seremov had showed them enough details: Bellatrix and Rodolphus had returned, most probably with Lucius. Their headquarters was an old pureblood family manor, and there were special family spells around it, Harry recalled.

He mentally went through the old families, their Death Eater relations, ruined or still existing homes, but he couldn't remember a fitting manor: the majority of them had been destroyed, the protections broken, now even the muggles could easily find them. The remainders, like the Nott or the Lestrange homes, were inhabited, but as the relatives of convicted men they had been heavily monitored, and no blood protections were allowed.

So, only one remained: the Snape manor.

No, it couldn't be anything else. Malfoy and his lot had to be there.

Harry laughed. Tom and the other customers cast a curious glance in his direction. It wasn't surprising: his laughter wasn't the usual joyful one, more the growl of the predator that had found the track of his pray.

It didn't matter he'd never been there and didn't have a clue about its whereabouts.

It didn't matter that not even the Ministry knew its whereabouts.

It didn't matter that Snape hadn't revealed its whereabouts to Dumbledore either.

He didn't have to do anything complicated; he had to remember only. He had been there, hadn't he? And now, he would again, but this time it would be his real self that went and surprised that disgusting lot skulking there.

And after that, he would find his sons and talk to them.

His heart clenched at the thought, and he prayed he would find them safe and sound.

His grip let go of the butterbeer bottle, and he closed his eyes.

The next moment, Tom and the usual Friday night clients could only see his empty seat as he Disapparated.

He had more memories about Snape manor than he'd suspected. He knew more than the place and the way: he remembered the family's squib servant living close to it. He decided to pay a visit to him first.

When the old man opened the door and instantly paled, Harry knew he was on the right track.

"When did Malfoy arrive?" he asked as he closed the door behind him, and – albeit quite pointlessly – pointed his wand at the squib.

The frightened eyes looked at him, searching for a way to fool the famous Harry Potter.

"I… I dunno…" he stuttered, but in his memories Harry could see Malfoy in a raincoat with an umbrella in his hand. That had been when these two met after so many years.

"End of winter? Spring?"

"February," the old squib blurted out in fear.

"And the others? A middle-aged couple with a daughter about twenty?"

"I don't know about the girl, sir. But the couple arrived sooner than Mr Malfoy."

"When?"

"Sometimes in November…"

That was too long ago. They had had a lot of time to make not only one, but several traps.

"Who else?" he demanded and at the same time he noticed that the man's nervousness decreased. It arose Harry's suspicions again: it was more than a simple illegal organisation.

"A couple of other men and women…"

Out of his memories, Harry could recognise two wanted Death Eaters and an old schoolmate, a Ravenclaw, one or two years ahead. He was someone who had never been suspected being one of Voldemort's followers.

But the memory and the previous nervousness were not related. something else had to be there… But he didn't know what to ask and in vain pushed harder into the squib's memories: the old man, on his squib level, was a well-trained occlumens. He was careful to keep his thoughts on the previous tracks. That was water under the bridge anyway.

"Who is in the house now?" Harry went on, and the previous pictures dimmed a bit.

Yes, that's the right way.

"Only family members," said the man evading a direct answer, but Harry couldn't be fooled.

"Who are these… family members?"

"Mr Malfoy, the couple, some other acquaintances and" he smiled an ugly, toothless smile "The Snape heir."

"Snape heir? But the Snapes died out!"

"Oh, but the young man is undoubtedly a Snape. The protecting charms recognised him!"

Harry didn't ask more: the memories told him everything. He erased the man's memory. Outside of the house, he stopped for a brief contemplation of what could be going on beyond those gates.

Seren – and most probably Barrys – were here in Snape Manor. It must have been Barrys's girlfriend who lured them here, where the old squib finished the work. He made Seren follow him to the manor, right into Malfoy's hands. Together with Barrys, he was sure about that: no blood protection spells around the house could keep Barrys Potter out – could keep him, Harry Potter out. And the pure-blooded ancestors could roll in their graves.

He flicked through his memories about the house with a hint of worry. He couldn't be late – could he?

He Apparated right to the gate and with a flick of his wand, opened it.

He was on his way to the house when a terrible cold bit into his soul. What could have happened with the boys? What was Malfoy planning? Were they still alive? It seemed likely, but he couldn't be entirely sure.

The worry gave place to a horrible fear: he'd never been this afraid in his life. He was terrified for his sons.

This anxiousness must have been the reason his reflexes slowed and he realised too late that more and more painful memories were swirling into his fears.

Memories – and not only his.

In a dull stupor he grabbed his wand, but the attacking images halted his hands, his moves. He was unable to fight them, unable to utter the words for a patronus…

He was in a dark, closed rooms: both his back and his stomach were on fire. And a sudden light: a door opened, and a big, fat man dragged him out, and punched his face hard.

"I should bloody well hope you'll behave next time! Now, get back to your place!"

And the next:

Somebody was holding the back of his neck, and pushing his face to the ground, while a dirty pair of shoes was tossed to him, and he knew they wanted him to lick the dirt off, or they would beat him, he had no chance…

Again and again came: the memories, the ones he'd kept locked away for so long, flooding his mind as if they had been waiting for precisely this moment to attack him, to destroy everything he'd built to protect himself against them. Everything – not only his memories, but his thoughts, his feelings, his very self… And they attacked as fiercely as they'd done that night, and he couldn't stop them, and the faceless demons were closing over him to suck his life from his collapsed body. He knew they were there but he couldn't see them, because the other's memories blinded him.

Harry felt the cold breaths around him as the dementors drew even closer.

Once more, he thought about the spell, the patronus, but by now, he was completely helpless, and he didn't have his father to send a patronus from across the lake, the patronus, the wonderful Prongs to deliver his soul from the evil, but perhaps it was meant to be this way…

Perhaps it was meant to be this way…

Next: as soon as I translate it. It will be probably non-betaed, because Elsa is away from civilization now. ;-)

Very, very sorry for the long delay. I don't make promises now. Still 6 chapters to go... I'll see...

Enahma