A/N: lol. I guess I skipped a few steps in explaining Harry having a book by the Prince. Thanks for suspending your disbelief there. This is 5thyear. It's short, but somebody requested an update.
He tried not to hear Dumbledore and Snape fighting, tried to focus on being grateful that somebody had accidently switched their year 5 potions text with his. The Prince wasn't so much a revolutionary, he'd decided, as a good student, at least when it came to potions. Step-by-step, ingredient-by-ingredient, the directions were the same as what Snape put on the board. No, he craved the words in the margins.
She says the word dad with a smile, like a father is capable of being a hero instead of a villain, and I know she's forgotten that I haven't seen mine since I was eight. He didn't come for Mother's funeral; he didn't hesitate in handing over custody of me. I wonder how it must feel to be good enough.
His dad was a hero, but he didn't know that growing up—just that his dad had been a lousy drunk and hadn't cared about him. Sometimes that still hurt. Nobody understood his hurt. He wasn't even sure anybody wanted to understand his hurt.
"And have you, for a second, thought," Dumbledore bellowed, "what having you for a father might do to him?"
"I am sure," Snape's words came slowly, "that there will be some psychological damage, perhaps need for counseling, but children are adaptable. If you prefer he goes into the Ministry's custody…."
He tuned them back out and flipped to the page with his assigned reading. Snape's grading standards would probably get worse, and he'd get away with it because he'd be able to say he's not giving preferential treatment.
Hours later, he woke in the same spot, legs curled uncomfortably under him, and looked up to find Snape standing in front of the fire. "Hu…Hi sir."
"Good evening," Snape said as he turned to face him. "I am off to see my grandparents, to explain this development. They've requested your presence." He glared down, arms crossed over his chest. "It will not be a pleasant evening, but you will behave yourself. Change into something appropriate."
Harry stood uncomfortably once the man left. How long had he been watching Harry sleep? Grandparents? No, great-grandparents. He wasn't sure how to act around those. They could be as old as Dumbledore, and if they're anything like Snape….
He shouldn't be going—he mused as he dressed: trousers, sweater, nice shoes. They didn't know his paternity for sure yet. He could be James' and just have a lot of his mum's features. Like the red hair.
He puttered into the empty sitting room and rehearsed what he might say. "Hi, I'm Harry and I might be your great grandson. No. Hi, my name is Harry Potter and I'm sorry for the confusion about all this. Surely he's not my father. I'll just be on my way."
"No!" Snape bellowed.
Harry winced and hitched his shoulders up as he turned to face him. "I won't actually say it."
Snape sneered. "You won't actually say anything. Children are to be seen and not heard. You will eat what you are given, mind your manners. Clear?" He shouldered past Harry and threw down floo powder, murmured the address so softly Harry wasn't sure exactly where they were going. "Go," Snape ordered as he shoved Harry forward.
He didn't bother with a 'yes sir' or with arguing. He was going, end of discussion. Though he landed on his feet, the magical energy that washed over him knocked him over. Something cracked as he hit the floor—a wrist probably—but he withheld his groan of pain. A woosh announced Snape's arrival and he hurried to his feet.
Everything in the room was orderly and perfect, from the furniture to the occupants. They didn't look like Snape. Their faces were much rounder, softer, though their eyes were just as harsh.
"Здравствуйте." Snape said, his voice slightly higher than normal.
The old man grunted. "Говоришь по Русски?"
Harry flushed, certain he was being spoken to but unsure of what had been said. "I…"
"Нет." Snape hauled Harry to his feet roughly. "Это Гарри Поттер мой сын."
He thought he understood that last bit. "Maybe." Snape cuffed him around the back of the head. "Ow!"
The old man frowned. "English then. We work hard to build the reputation of family here. Elena was troubled. Severus was troubled. We work hard and is tiring. You will be good boy, no?"
Harry gulped. Somehow the man sounded nicer when he was speaking his native language. Something about the man's English set him on edge. He opened his mouth to respond, saw Snape tense beside him, and settled for nodding.
"Vodka then!" the old man exclaimed.
"Sir," Snape interrupted the opening of the vodka, "I have not yet fed the boy. There were other matters to handle."
"Then we eat," the old woman finally spoke. She dragged her husband off and left them standing awkwardly.
Snape groaned before stepping forward and turning to face Harry. "Their names are Зоя and Петр, but you will call them дедушка и бабушка.
Harry shook, overwhelmed by the patterned furniture and glassware. They didn't know for sure. Nobody knew for sure. He didn't have a dad or grandparents and he wouldn't believe otherwise until the test came back! And if Snape did know for sure, had know since the beginning, he'd have to kill him or something, for honor's sake.
"Boy!" Snape's voice beckoned him into the kitchen.