Chapter Thirty-Six
Snape was Grace's father.
It was almost laughable, how damn obvious it was.
Harry wandered out of Snape's office in a daze, as the realisation turned over and over in his mind. He just walked; aimlessly scaling the hallways, the grounds, nowhere in mind and caring nothing for anything but the thoughts that were going on in his head.
Harry remembered everything.
He remembered Grace showing him that wishing stone last Christmas – that she still treasured to this day – the one she claimed her father had given to her.
He remembered going to his mum about it, that stupid piece of rock, asking her if it was Remus – oh, how much better that possibility seemed now – and how she had denied it and he hadn't believed her.
Even back then, Harry knew better than to believe anything she said.
And he remembered asking, demanding, at that first dinner at Easter – just who was Grace's father, what was the big secret – and his mum revealing that, yes, it was a secret – a dangerous one – and don't look, don't look, don't look.
It was absolutely impossible for Harry not to see it now.
A dangerous secret – not a dangerous man, no – but someone who couldn't be there, not even if he wished it, and Harry had thought – oh if only it were true – that it simply must be, it had to be, Regulus Black. For he had swept to the rescue and lifted Grace into his arms when she called to him, her Daddy – Snape! – and whittled her away from the dangerous eyes in the room. His motivations were as clear as the bloody sun in the sky, now; Snape had been standing right there with him.
And Mr Black had denied it, when Harry had asked him, just as Remus had. No, I am not Grace's father; think harder, Harry, you're close, oh so close, we're not the liars here.
The liars, his mum – Lily Potter – and Severus Snape.
But, then, that wasn't entirely true.
Harry's steps brought him to his Uncle Remus' door.
To the person he trusted most in the world.
Harry would dare him to lie to him now.
He knocked once.
Twice.
Within seconds he was pounding on it, needing to see Remus, now.
The door pulled open and his Uncle Remus was there, looking at him, his face a picture of concern which quickly became one of dreaded realisation.
"It's Snape, isn't it?"
Remus simply stared at him.
It was almost comical, the look on his face, but Harry wasn't laughing.
Remus' mouth opened, as if to speak, for a second, before he actually did.
"What?"
Harry saw red. The words, the accusation bursting forth right there and then, in the hallway.
"How could you not tell me that's he's Grace's father?"
"Harry," Remus grasped him by the arm, pulling him into the chambers, but Harry didn't stop talking; he was so angry, so very angry, and hurt and betrayed and Remus knew, he knew, and he shook his head as Remus pulled him in.
"I know it's him, Uncle Remus, I know it," Harry said, as Remus pushed the door shut behind him, keeping a hold of his arm; "It's Snape."
"Where did you hear that?"
"I didn't need to hear it anywhere," Harry said, shaking his head, before he asserted; "It's obvious. It so obvious –"
"I'm…I'm not sure why you think –"
"Don't you dare!" Harry burst out, interrupting him and pulling himself from his grasp, because yes, he had wanted to see if Remus would deny it – had wanted to dare him to lie to him – but now he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer; he couldn't take it, another person he couldn't trust; "Don't you dare lie to me, Uncle Remus."
Even to his own ears, past his fury, his voice had a brokenness to it that surprised him.
Remus didn't look surprised though. He looked uneasy and concerned and sad, so very sad for him, but Harry wasn't going to let him off the hook for bloody sympathy, no way.
"You have known about this the whole time!" Harry went on, shaking his head; "How could you not tell me?"
"Harry –"
"Don't lie to me," Harry whispered, tears prickling, because Remus had always been his, always, and he couldn't turn away from him now, not even for his mum, surely; "Please."
Remus just looked at him, but his expression wasn't blank, not at all – not at all blank, like the way Snape got when he looked at him – everything was there, and Harry quickly picked up on the guilt, the grief, that lingered, and Remus didn't need to say anything then. It was all there, written on his face.
"You really need to speak to your mum about this, Harry," Remus said, his voice quiet, as he conceded the truth.
Harry shook his head, lowering his chin to his chest.
"She's the only one who can answer the questions you have."
A harsh sound escaped him.
Another.
A laugh.
No humour in it whatsoever.
And Harry lifted his head to look back at Remus, the bitterness coming over him in a flash; "Like she'd tell me anything."
"Harry –"
"More lies. More dragonshit –"
"Harry!"
"Dragonshit!" Harry repeated himself, furiously; "She has been lying to me for Grace's whole life! She told me that Grace was lying – Grace! – the only person who's ever told me the truth! She made me think she was stupid!"
"No. Harry, it was – is – it's an impossible situation. But your mum –"
"Always has my best interests at heart," Harry repeated the words Remus had said to him, earlier that year, his voice cold – colder than even he could imagine he could manage – and he looked straight back at Remus, trying to be strong but feeling so very exposed and betrayed by all of this, and Remus was included in that deceit; "So just let it go?"
Remus closed his eyes, hand reaching up to grasp at his forehead, but Harry still wasn't going to let him off the hook.
Never.
"You told me it didn't matter who Grace's father was."
"I never said that –"
"You tried to! You may as well have."
Harry turned away, eyes going to the picture of himself and Grace on the mantle. His baby sister. Snape's daughter.
All of a sudden, Grace wasn't his anymore. She was Snape's.
Harry flung an arm at the thing, in a swipe, knocking it and everything alongside it onto the floor with a crash and the sound of glass breaking and it wasn't enough. He wanted to break more things, and he turned to do so, but Remus grasped him by the tops of his arms, holding him still, looking him squarely in the eye.
"Harry, don't. Okay, listen to me," Remus was trying to reason with him – and he didn't want to be reasoned with; "It had to be this way, alright? For you. For Grace. It was the only way you could be protected –"
"Protected," Harry spat the word out; "From what?"
"You know from what," Remus said, quietly, looking at him imploringly; "You know what Snape is. You know who you are. And what that would mean for you both, for Grace, if the truth were ever to come out."
"I know that," Harry said, quietly, shaking his head; "I know it has to be a secret. I know I have to keep her safe. It's not like I'd have been shouting it from the rooftops. I would have protected her too."
"I know. I know you would have," Remus assured him, and Harry actually believed him.
"But they didn't," Harry said, thoughts going to his mum, to Snape.
"It's not that they didn't –"
"They don't trust me."
"No, Harry, that's not –"
"They think I'm stupid."
"No!" Remus' voice was firm; "No, Harry. No one has ever thought that, okay? We love you. We all do. No one more so than your mum, you know that. If it could have been any other way, if she could have told you, she would have. Nothing is more important to her – to any of us – than keeping you safe."
Harry couldn't reconcile it.
He couldn't.
Because they hadn't just kept the fact that Snape was Grace's father from him, no.
"She knows him," Harry whispered.
Remus' eyes closed for the briefest of seconds; "Harry."
"Grace knows him," Harry repeated the statement, as the extent of it all, the deceit, became apparent to him; "She would tell me stories. Every Christmas. Every summer. Every Easter. He was always there; he was with them, in that house. My house."
But even that didn't feel like his anymore.
His sister. His home.
They were both Snape's. Snape's and his mother's.
Remus swallowed, averting his eyes, and said nothing.
Harry shook his head; "She pointed him out to me. She could make him out from a mile away. He isn't just her father, he's her dad. They're a family."
"That's…that's something you'd have to talk to your mum about."
"I don't want to talk to her," Harry whispered, realising that he didn't, with every shred of truth within him; he did not want to talk to his mum. He didn't even want to see her. And he didn't think he could ever even look at Grace, little Gracie, in quite the same way ever again.
He and Grace, they would never be the same. He had lost her to this. His baby sister.
"I want to hear it from you, Uncle Remus," Harry pressed, because as furious as he was with Remus for lying to him, he, at least, didn't find it unbearable to face him; "You tell me. Everything that you know."
Remus held his look, but only for a second, and he started – he dared – to shake his head and deny him.
"You have always been there for me," Harry asserted, stepping closer to him; "You've always been there when I needed to talk to someone. I don't have anyone else. Not even Mum. So, tell me. Please."
Remus was silent, staring at him, weighing the words. Harry didn't know what he would do if he turned away from him now.
Sirius would have told him the truth.
He would have never let this happen.
He would have protected him, properly, would have made it stop or taken him away, if he realised what was going on. Harry wished he had been here and that he had.
Harry drew in a breath, strengthening himself; he would take it. Whatever this truth was. Whatever this lie. He had to know.
"Snape is Grace's father," Harry said, much more steadily, than before; "Isn't he?"
Remus was still, but not for long, recognising the challenge in Harry's eyes, and then he inclined his head, ever so slightly, conceding the truth.
"And he's been there for her," Harry pushed on, fighting down the lump in his throat as he did; "Right?"
Remus didn't move. But he didn't deny it.
"And they've lived together, the three of them, and been a family. And I haven't been part of it."
Remus held his look.
Harry drew in a breath; "Right?"
No response.
"Snape and Mum. They're still together; aren't they?"
That was why Snape always looked at him the way he did.
That was why Snape always treated him the way he had.
Ignoring him. Acting as if he didn't exist – except to throw out detentions, left, right and centre – probably wishing that he didn't exist.
James Potter's son with the woman he wanted to be with.
That was why Snape had turned away in those memories; that memory of Remus kissing his mum. A stupid misunderstanding – apparently – from years before and Snape had been disgusted by it. Had brooded over the sight, right in front of him, in exactly the way Grace would when she was trying to figure something out.
Remus averted his eyes.
Harry closed his.
Even knowing the truth, even having it confirmed, he could barely stomach it.
Every look Snape had sent his way these past four years.
Every word Grace breathed of her father.
Every strained smile his mother got when Grace spoke of him.
It all made so much sense.
He had to be blind not to notice it. He had to be stupid, just like they thought.
He and Malachi had laughed and laughed and laughed when Grace had pointed at Snape and declared he was her father, as if it were the silliest thing in the world – nothing could have been more ludicrous – but he was the joke here. He was the fool – everybody's fool – they had all lied to him, kept it from him, not trusting that he would understand it, that he would protect her, that he could be with them.
But that didn't matter anymore.
He didn't want to be with them now. Not with any of them.
Not even Remus.
Harry stepped back, tears spilling out now, never feeling more alone in his life.
"Harry," Remus reached out, touching his arm, but Harry lifted it, out of reach and away from him, shaking his head.
"No."
He tried, very hard, not to cry, but his voice broke on the single word.
"Please. Just let me get your mum here and you can talk about it, properly –"
"No," Harry shook his head, a voice a whisper.
"Harry –"
"No!" Harry repeated, decisively, looking right at him; "Don't you bring Mum here. Don't you tell her any of this."
"Wait, what?" Remus frowned; "Harry, you have to talk to her sooner or later –"
"No, I don't. They don't want me to know? Fine," Harry shrugged; "I don't know anything."
Remus immediately shook his head, almost looking panicked; "No, that's not –"
"Don't you tell her," Harry repeated; "I don't want her knowing. I don't want to see her. I don't want to talk to her. I'll keep my mouth shut, but so will you."
"I can't, Harry," Remus shook his head – taking his Mum's side, just like he always did – and went on; "I can't lie to your Mum about this –"
Harry laughed.
He laughed and laughed; nothing at all like the way he had laughed that day at the Foundation. It was broken and humourless and utterly betrayed.
"But you can lie to me?"
Remus looked so very torn.
Good.
"You can keep your mouth shut for me, at least, can't you?" Harry said, glowering at him; "You did it for them. So you can do it for me too, right? It's only fair."
"Harry –"
Harry shook his head, face twisting, and he wasn't sure if he was more angry, so that he could scream, or so upset that he would just cry; and he, suddenly, didn't want Remus to see any of that. Any of him and how much this hurt.
He was alone. Alone. And he didn't want that, he didn't.
But that was the way it was.
Harry looked back at him, swallowing; "If you go to Mum or to him about this, I will never forgive you. I won't ever forgive you. Ever."
He wanted to say more. He wanted to shout more. He wanted to break everything in this damn room, and make Remus see what was inside, but he couldn't.
So, Harry just turned around and left.
It was cold in the Astronomy Tower.
Cold enough to shiver in the chill of the November night.
But Malachi knew better than to liken Harry's slight shaking to the cold. He sat close by his side, partly for warmth and partly to comfort, because he knew there was nothing he could really say that would help him.
He tried, anyway, his voice quiet in the room.
"You didn't mind so much when you thought it was my dad."
Harry shook his head, knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, his voice just as quiet when he answered; "That was different."
Malachi looked at him; "He was a Death Eater too."
"That's not it, Malachi."
"Why is it different?"
Harry was quiet for a minute and Malachi just waited, saying nothing more, not pressing for a response but he kept close, as he could tell Harry needed.
And then Harry drew in a breath; "Because your dad treats me like family."
Harry's lip trembled, and his eyes squeezed shut, before he pressed his forehead to his knees. He sniffed, staying like that for a moment, and then he drew back to go on, as if he were just gathering strength. But his voice wasn't strong. It was sad and broken and Malachi felt awful for him, at the devastation in his friend's voice and at the words spoken.
"Grace knows him, Malachi. She's known him this whole time. All those stories, all those things she'd tell me about what she was doing when I was away at school, all that stuff she was telling me about her dad; that was all true. It was real. It was Snape. They were this family, the three of them, whenever I wasn't there. And when Snape wasn't with them, when he was with me, he treated me like crap. And no wonder. I'm just this burden that's in the way of him being with my mum and my sister."
Tears spilled from his eyes then, and he shook his head before he reached up to angrily swipe at them.
"They've got this whole life without me."
"I thought it was because of Voldemort?" Malachi tried; "Because they had to protect you from him. Severus –"
"Don't defend him, Malachi. Don't."
Malachi was quiet. He knew better than to defend Severus right now. He wasn't even sure if he really wanted to, to be honest.
He'd known, without doubt, that his dad wasn't Grace's father because he knew, without doubt, that his dad would never do something like this. He wouldn't lie like that.
Malachi didn't think that was the sort of thing Severus would do, either.
Harry drew in a shaky breath, trying to get it together, but he was failing at that. He sniffed and struggled, barely able to hold back the tears, and Malachi shook his head, adjusting himself and reaching round, putting an arm around him.
"I'm fine," Harry whispered, meekly protesting the comfort, but not enough that he actually pushed him away. And when Malachi said nothing more, just sat there like that with him, Harry finally broke.
He pressed his forehead to his knees and Malachi tightened his hold, as a quiet, muffled sob escaped him.
And then another.
The only sounds in the cold, quiet night, were those devastated tears of Harry Potter, as if his world were tumbling down.