Harry ran through the corridor, not really seeing where he was going. He had no recollection of leaving Snape’s office, or of making his way out of the dungeons, but before he knew it, he found himself at the entrance to the Headmaster’s office. He was reeling. The memories Snape had shown him seemed so real, but the message - that Snape was his father - was simply beyond comprehension. Darting past the gargoyle, Harry had only a brief moment to register the fact that the stone guardian moved aside even though Harry hadn’t uttered the password.

As Harry reached the top of the spiral staircase. He quickly leaped forward through the open door that led directly into Dumbledore’s chambers and came to a clumsy stop in front of the Headmaster’s desk. The elder wizard was standing near the window and stroking Fawkes when Harry entered. Looking around at the panting, disheveled boy in front of him, the Headmaster smiled.

"Welcome, welcome, Harry. Do come in and sit down. Lemondrop?"

"No, thank you, sir..." Harry responded automatically. He bent forward slightly and rested his hands against his thighs in an effort to catch his breath. But then, something struck him. Dumbledore’s greeting was courteous, calm... the way you would greet someone you were expecting. But, Dumbledore didn’t know he was coming, so why would he be expecting him...? Harry looked up at Dumbledore, but the elder wizards’s attention was distracted by the floo, which flared brightly. A tall, slender figure stepped gracefully out of the hearth.

"Severus, thank you for coming," the Headmaster said.

"Of course, Headmaster," Severus replied, absently brushing a bit of soot off of his robes. "I am not surprised that he didn’t believe me. Potter doesn’t have the intellect to discern truth from fiction, even with the help of pensieved memories." Snape’s caustic remarks didn’t seem to phase Dumbledore, and Harry was left wondering why the Headmaster didn’t seem surprised by the Potions Masters presence in the room, or by his comments. Surely Snape hadn’t gotten to him first...

"Headmaster," Harry began, "Snape said..."

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yes, sir... Professor Snape said something... he said... he said that..." Harry couldn’t bring himself to say it. It was just too awful to put into words. He paced back and forth in front of the desk, desperate to try and explain, but unable to figure out where to start. Plus, there was something bothering him about Dumbledore’s behavior. Something was wrong with it...

Harry stopped pacing and stared at the Headmaster expectantly. He was sure Dumbledore would ask him to explain, and then the Headmaster would take care of Snape. But, as the seconds ticked by without any response from Dumbledore, Harry’s fear seemed to grow exponentially. Why wasn’t Dumbledore asking someone to explain the problem? Why was he just standing there, watching Harry with those piercing blue eyes? And in one breathless moment, Harry understood perfectly. Snape had told the truth.

"No." The denial was barely more than a whisper.

"Harry, please..." Dumbledore began, but Harry cut him off.

"NO!" Harry shouted, loudly this time, and began backing away from Dumbledore. "NO! I don’t agree to this!"

Snape snorted. "It seems your knowledge of biology is as abysmal as your knowledge of potions. You have no choice in the matter, Mr. Snape. You are mine." Harry was fairly certain that Snape added the moniker just to be a prat, and it was all he could do not to draw his wand and hex the man into oblivion.

"No. You. are. not. my. father." Harry virtually spat each word at Snape. He didn’t care what the pensieve showed. He didn’t care what Snape or the Headmaster said. In fact, Merlin himself could show up on the doorstep and profess Snape as his father and Harry still wouldn’t believe it. And what was more, even assuming for the sake of argument that Snape was his father, Harry still wouldn’t care. He was fifteen years old, had survived the Dursleys, Voldemort, Death Eaters, and just about ever other foul thing that could be imagined. He didn’t need or want anyone stepping in and trying to tell him what to do now. Without another word, Harry turned his back on the two older wizards and marched away.

"I won’t talk about this anymore. And I’m leaving." The words were out of his mouth before he could help himself. Reaching the door, he pulled on the handle only to find it locked.

"Big surprise," he thought caustically. Harry drew his wand, ready to blast the door. It was a fair bet that his professor...father...slimy git... whatever the hell he was... wouldn’t like it, but Harry really didn’t care. He was getting out of there. Unfortunately, before he could mutter the spell, Harry’s wand flew out of his hand and into the Headmaster’s grip. Dumbledore quickly gave it to Snape, who slipped it securely into his robe.

"You’ll get that back soon, Harry," came the old wizards gentle response. "But for now, I believe that you should continue this discussion without it."

Harry watched with indignation as the Headmaster handed his wand over to Snape. The smirk on Snape’s face as he pocketed it was infuriating. But, all in all, Harry decided that the best course of action would be to remain calm. Snape would have to give it back eventually, since he needed it for classes.

"No thank you, sir," Harry replied. "I don’t feel up to discussing this right now. May I leave, please?"

"I’m afraid not, Harry. Why don’t you have a seat," the Headmaster gestured towards a large comfortable looking chair near the desk, but harry just shook his head.

"Sir, really..." Harry began, but he was immediately cut off.

"Potter, SIT DOWN!" Snape roared. "I expect you to do as you’re told without argument."

If the circumstances weren’t so extreme, Harry might have laughed. Snape never expected him to do what he was told to do. And certainly not without argument. In the entire time he had been at Hogwarts, the only thing that Harry could count on when it came to Snape was that Snape would always consider him a defiant screw-up. Squaring his chin, Harry marched up to his father, he stopped just shy of the man. He lifted his head and eyes in what he hoped was an aggressive glare.

"You don’t have any right to expect anything from me," Harry hissed. "Oh, and I’m not a Potter, remember?" he spat. "I’m a greasy-haired, big-nosed, foul-smelling SNAPE!"

Snape smiled menacingly. "I’m glad to know that fact has slipped into your brain so easily. Now sit, before I take a belt to you." Harry didn’t know if it was an empty threat or not, but all in all, he really didn’t want to take the chance at that point in time. Sending a silent but heartfelt expletive at his father, he worked himself across the room and slumped into the chair.

The Headmaster cleared his throat. "Thank you, Harry. Now, if we may proceed."

Dumbledore waved his wand with a gentle flourish, and the door nearest to Harry opened to reveal the corridor beyond. Harry briefly considered running, but he would have to duck underneath the object floating in through the door... It was large, square, and strangely familiar...

"Hey," Harry protested, "That’s my trunk..."

Severus watched Potter as his trunk floated gracefully across the room. The child’s face was an odd mixture of anger, pain, and powerlessness, and as much as he enjoyed baiting the brat, he couldn’t stifle the small pang that flared inside of him. Obviously, this experience was not a good one, for either of them. But still... if the child would only do as he was told without argument, it might be a bit easier....

"Yes, Harry, it is." Dumbledore gently hovered the trunk towards Severus, bringing it to rest on the floor in front of the Potions Master’s feet. "I’ve taken the liberty of asking Dobby to pack a few of your things," he finished.

"Why? What do you need my trunk for?" Harry was on his feet again, a look of sheer indignation on his face. Dumbledore didn’t answer, choosing instead to give Severus a slight nod of the head. In response, Severus opened the trunk and began to root through the mess of balled up socks, dirty clothes, and teenaged paraphernalia.

"Hey..." Harry made a grab for the professor’s arm, but Dumbledore put a gentle hand of restraint on his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Severus could see Potter bouncing on the balls of his feet and chewing his thumbnail in agitation. Severus grimaced. The child’s manners and habits were atrocious... After a minute, Severus found what he was looking for. He stood up, holding what he guessed were Harry’s two most prized possessions. His Firebolt and his invisibility cloak.

"I’ll just keep these for now, shall I?" Severus suggested.

"No, you shall not." Harry cried, "They’re mine. Sirius gave me my broom. And the cloak was my Dad’s."

Severus hadn’t missed the hint of panic that crept into his son’s voice. He smiled coldly. The boy was so predictable. Baiting him was so easy that it was almost boring. Almost. "Your trunk is here because you will be living with me over the holiday. Once Christmas break is over, you may return to Gryffindor tower."

Severus paused to take in Harry’s stunned face. It wasn’t up to him, not really. If it were, Harry could spend the remainder of his school years in Gryffindor tower, summers and all. But Dumbledore seemed to think that Harry needed to be watched closely over the holidays, and Hogwarts just wasn’t set up to house children during summer break. Severus had briefly considered permanently moving the child to Slytherin house, which he had the right to do, but it didn’t make sense. Harry had Slytherin qualities, but at heart, he was undoubtedly a Gryffindor. To force him to move houses would create unnecessary complications for himself and Slytherin House, and it would impede Potter’s progress in school. And the child had enough problem as it were. No, he would stay in Gryffindor... As for the broom and the cloak... well, those were clear.

"I will keep the broom for now because you are a menace when you fly. And as for the cloak, it belonged to James Potter, who, as we have already discussed, was not your father." Severus didn’t look at Harry when he was talking. Instead, he pulled his wand, muttered a quick incantation, and quickly vanished the offending items.

Harry was standing dead still, his hands gripped tight at his sides and his breath coming in uneven rasps. "James Potter was my Dad!" Harry hissed. "And I would gladly take 15 months with him over 15 years with you."

"You’re nothing." Harry continued. "During the entire time you’ve known me, you’ve treated me like dirt. And I’m not going to forget that just because decide you want to play ‘Daddy’."

Harry turned away as he raised a slightly shaky hand to his eyes. Severus found himself uneasy with the situation. He could deal with a demanding Potter, or even a raging Potter, but a weepy Potter? No, he no idea what to do with that. Fortunately for Severus, though, there weren’t any tears in Harry’s eyes when he turned back around. Instead, the young wizard straightened his back, thrust his chin out, and looked defiantly at the Potions Master.

"James Potter was my dad. He didn’t want to die and leave me to...." Severus watched Harry shake his head.

"Leave you to what, Potter?" Severus snipped.

Harry didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to the Headmaster.

"Sir," Harry pleaded, "Please. Don’t let him take away my things. Or take me away from Gryffindor tower. It’s my home..."

"Harry, please try to understand." Dumbledore spoke, not unkindly. "I’m sure your father will return your items to you when he is convinced you will use them properly. And you will still be in Gryffindor, you will only need to stay with your father at those times when he requires you to do so."

Severus remained quiet. Privately, he agreed with the Headmaster. If Potter wasn’t any trouble, he might give the broom back and let the child ride. Nothing unsupervised of course, and only if the child began to show some restraint when flying. But the cloak, well... Severus, had no intention of returning that. Indeed, he was considering handing it over to the Headmaster. Severus’ connections to the Potter family were distant at best, and he really had no rightful interest in the item. But still, the reality was that Potter did carry some of James’ DNA, thanks to the illusion. The child probably had as much claim to the cloak as anyone else. But given Potter’s penchant for finding trouble with it, Severus was certain that the cloak was best kept away from the child.

No," Potter hissed, "He can’t do this to me, can he? Professor, please don’t let him take away my broom and cloak. They’re the only things I have from my Dad and Sirius." Severus watched as Potter sat down, the heels of his hands pressed tightly to his eyes. He was taking long, deep breaths, as if trying to calm himself.

Clearly Potter was trying to exploit the Headmaster’s feeling for him by playing the ‘poor orphan’ card. The child was spoiled and manipulative, and it irritated Severus to no end. The Potions Master leaned in a bit closer. He wanted to see the brat’s face when he realized that Dumbledore wasn’t going to give in. He watched closely as the elderly wizard squatted down in front of the child, gently grasped his wrists, and slowly pried Harry’s hands away from his face.

"Harry," Dumbledore stated sharply. "Look at me." Harry followed the command, looking up into the crevices of the old wizard’s face. Severus could see kindness on the Headmaster’s face, along with regret. But there was also a hardness there that rarely graced the man’s features.

"Harry," came the steely response. "You will listen to your father."

Harry couldn’t look up. He couldn’t even breath. He had hoped somehow that Dumbledore might pull through for him - might realize that this was all a mistake. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t even step in and make Snape give him back his broom and cloak, and the knowledge that he could no longer depend upon the Headmaster for help was like a knife in his gut. He had always trusted Dumbledore. Even after the thing with the prophecy - well, Harry had been angry with the man for not telling him the full truth, but he still didn’t doubt that Dumbledore had his best interest at heart. But now, it was different...

As if from a distance, Harry could hear the Headmaster talking. He looked around, but the room looked different, sort of grey and two dimensional. Harry pulled his hands away from the Headmaster and stood, but walking seemed to be more difficult than he remembered. He was spinning, or maybe the room was spinning...either way, the air around him seemed to be rippling in waves, punctuated by odd bursts of color and sound. Harry didn’t know what was happening, but he could see the door leading out of the Headmaster’s office, and he tried desperately to focus on it. He wanted out. More than anything, he wanted out. But try as he might, Harry just couldn’t seem to reach the door. His feet were stuck to the floor, unwilling to move him forward; his breath caught sharply in his throat; and his vision had narrowed into a tunnel. He couldn’t see Snape any longer, but he could see the Headmaster standing in front of him. The man’s lips were moving, but Harry was beyond understanding what was said...

Dimly, Harry felt an arm encircle him harshly from behind. At the same time, he was aware of a hard pressure at the back of his head, as if someone were shoving his chin into his chest. The rationale part of his mind screamed in protest and urged him to hold onto his anger, but it was drowned out by something larger... something strangely intoxicating... a low, rhythmic drumming that thrummed just below the level of his awareness and seemed to settle over him like a blanket... Harry moaned softly. He no longer cared about the Headmaster or Snape, or about his anger. The only thing he could focus on was the ghostly sound that surrounded him and left him feeling as though he were enveloped in a cocoon. The hand at the back of his head was still pressing forward, moving his head in back and forth to the cadence of the strange pulsing that had enveloped his senses. Harry could feel himself slipping, but it didn’t bother him. All that mattered was the movement of his head, the pulsing sound, and the rhythm that was washing over him...

Severus exhaled as he finally felt Potter’s body go limp in his arms. The boy wasn’t asleep, but he was in a surprising deep stupor as result of the chant he had incanted. Shaking his head, Severus looked up to see the Headmaster grinning at him.

"Interesting, Severus. I am pleased with how you chose to disarm the situation." Dumbledore chuckled as he walked back to his desk. "It’s amazing how those little tricks come back to us despite the passage of years, isn’t it?" The Headmaster sat down and began unwrapping another lemon drop, his eyes never leaving Severus.

"What else was there to do?" Severus seethed, "Stun him?" Actually, the idea had occurred to him when he realized what was happening. Potter’s ability to do magic was mediocre at the best of times, and under stress, it appeared that the child lost all control. When the Headmaster had refused to step in and allow Potter to keep the broom and cloak, the child’s emotions boiled to the surface and threatened a rather nasty bout of accidental magic. Fortunately, Severus was able to diffuse the situation before anything happened, but it was a miracle that it worked.

"Personally, I would have wagered money on a stunning spell, Severus, but you’ve surprised me yet again."

Severus just rolled his eyes and laid Harry unceremoniously on the ground. "Somebody had to calm him. You weren’t doing anything!" He had indeed considered a stunning spell, but he figured the Headmaster wouldn’t appreciate a spell battle in his office.

"My dear Severus, you are his father, not me." Dumbledore raised his hand to his chest and put on his best look of mock indignation. "I wouldn’t dream of intruding upon such an intimate parent-child moment." Dumbledore had finally unwrapped the lemon drop, and after popping it in his mouth, began to hum a little tune. Severus could have sworn it sounded like a lullaby.

"Tell me, Severus, what made you choose a Soothing Chant?"

"I don’t have a calming drought in my pocket, Headmaster," the Potions Master hissed. He had to resist the impulse to pat his cloak pocket, though. The headmaster might hear the vials clinking if he did... And at any rate, it seemed a shame to waste a good potion on Potter, and so Severus had to think quickly. The Soothing Chant was an incantation used by parents to calm hysterical children, typically toddlers who were too young to ingest calming draughts. Most children became accustomed to the magic behind the chant by the time they were seven or so, rendering it useless in older children. Severus wasn’t sure what made him think of the Soothing Chant - it had been years since he incanted it - but it proved useful against Potter because the child had never been exposed to that particular brand of magical authority. Frankly, Severus doubted that Potter had ever been exposed to much authority at all, which is why it worked so well on the brat. He was going to enjoy telling Potter how easily he had succumbed to a chant used to quiet recalcitrant four-years olds.

Looking down, Severus noticed that Potter was beginning to regain some of his painfully sparse mental faculties. The child had pushed himself into a sitting position, and was blinking owlishly at the Headmaster.

"What happened," Harry asked. "My head hurts...."

"You were incapacitated for a moment, Harry," the Headmaster stated. "But all is well now. Your father was just going to show you to your new quarters."

Severus smirked at the child. The chant was wearing off and Severus could once again see anger coming to life behind vivid, green eyes. Reaching down, the Potions Master hauled the child to his feet and pulled him towards the floo, while the Headmaster levitated Harry’s trunk into the grate.

"No." Harry mumbled. "I don’t want to go with him!  I don't want this!"  Harry fought, but not with as much heart as Severus was used to seeing from the child. The effects of the chant were still lingering. He pulled the child in front of him, and then tightly wrapped both arms around the boy to keep him from falling. Harry fought and cursed, but Severus didn’t have much trouble holding him. Really, the boy was ridiculously light. Once in the grate, Severus leaned close and whispered in what he hoped was his most chilling Death Eater voice.

"Come, son. Let us go to the dungeons." And with that, Dumbledore tossed a handful of power into the grate, sending them spiraling away to a very uncertain future.