Harry lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. It helped a little, he supposed, to be miserable in comfort: his bedchamber at ‘the Wren’s Nest’ beat his usual room in Privet Drive hands down. It was a large, airy room; light flooded in through the tall, glass balcony door and sparkled off the pale walls, catching the silver and golden threads of the lions and unicorns in the richly-coloured tapestries which hung around the room. The furniture; a wardrobe, a tambour-front writing desk, a bedside table and, of course, the bed, were all crafted from antique mahogany and, on the polished oak floor, an ultramarine edged scarlet carpet, patterned with golden fleur-de-lys extended almost to the corners of the room. The pattern of golden fleur-de-lys was echoed on the scarlet, velvet blanket which lay over the bed, which was otherwise dressed in claret silk. Hedwig roosted contentedly on the balcony, chucking and purring in her sleep and the heady scent of the maroon and gold roses, in a vase on the mantle-piece, hung heavy in the air.

Whoever had designed this room had clearly been thinking ‘Gryffindor boy’, which was a comforting thought. Tom and his… and Snape were both Slytherins and, despite the roses, the décor had a decidedly masculine feel: no frills as such, just richness and elegant lines. Hell, even the flower arrangement was masculine. It was obvious that the room had been designed with him in mind and that no expense, whether in time or money, had been spared. It was kind of strange; no one had done something like this for him before. Especially not the Dursleys. He’d still be in the cupboard under the stairs if not for them thinking they were being watched.

However, great digs aside, Harry felt like he had every right to feel miserable. What his mother had told him had turned his world upside down. Okay, hearing that the Headmaster could be medically classified as a psychopath had been seriously bad news. Harry had, on the night of the Final Challenge, picked up enough to guess that someone was lurking behind the scenes, twisting things and misinforming people but Dumbledore? It was almost unbelievable but so many people seemed to be confirming it; Tom, Lily, even Aberforth, Dumbledore’s brother. Their stories correlated perfectly. It was extremely troubling; Harry didn’t know which idea was the more frightening- the most powerful dark wizard in history set on murdering him or the most powerful ‘light’ wizard in history using him as a pawn to trap Tom. From the sounds of it, people on Dumbledore’s chessboard tended to die violently. As did those nearest and dearest to them.

However, this danger was, strangely enough, nothing compared to the afternoon’s revelations. Harry had loved his Godfather, idolised him even. The thought that, one day, he could live with Sirius, a man who seemed to exemplify all the best traits of Gryffindor, that thought had kept Harry going and now it crumpled, like parchment in the fire. Harry knew that, whenever he looked into Sirius’s eyes, he’d see his mother’s tears. Whenever Harry heard Sirius’s voice, he’d hear his mother’s break with grief. Whatever Sirius’s motives, breaking up his pa… Lily and Snape had been something more than a mere crime. It was obvious that Lily had loved Snape, though Harry could scarcely comprehend why, and that Snape had loved Lily. Lily said that Sirius had destroyed Snape and, as much as Harry disliked the snarky, arrogant, bullying git… Well, it was just so wrong for Sirius to take it upon himself to split up what seemed to have been a marriage in all but name. In fact, Sirius reminded Harry rather uncomfortably of Dudley, who had scared off Harry’s potential friends with lies about Harry’s delinquency.

All intimacy, all affection, all pleasure in Sirius’s company had gone up in smoke and, as little as Harry could like or respect the man Sirius seemed to be, he still mourned the friendship, mourned the man who had always been kind to Harry, who had escaped Azkaban to protect him and lived off rats so he could stay close to Hogwarts during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

And to lose Sirius as a father-figure and have him replaced by Snape! Snape, who had always loathed him. Shape, who seemed to live to torment Harry and his friends. Snape, the greasy, slimy, bastard of a Potions Master! It was fucking screwed up. Having Voldemort as his grandfather he could deal with: Tom seemed a nice enough bloke and Harry knew, from his second year at Hogwarts, how hair-rippingly frustrating it was to be unjustly accused of being dark and how lonely it became when public opinion turned against you. However, Snape as his father? He’d never come to terms with that.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and Tom entered, holding the squirming puppy under one arm and carrying a tray laden with soup and toast in the other. Around the tray was a violet aureole, which seemed to deflect the puppy’s kicking paws.

“It’s tomato soup, Harry. With crispy potato letters floating in it.” He said in a teasing voice.

Harry grinned in spite of himself and sat up. “I’m not three, you know.”

“Well, I’m technically, oh, about seventy” grinned Tom “but I’m still not too old for this.”

“How come you look so young?” asked Harry, taking the tray.

“Well, for a number of reasons. Firstly, my horcruxes were made when I was seventeen so, when I died, they averaged themselves out, making me, biologically speaking around mid-thirties. If you were to read a book on horcruxes, which I don’t suggest you do, you’d see that they recommend making them at the earliest opportunity. It’s a damn waste to go to all the effort of resurrecting oneself, only to return as a 200 year old mage who is practically at death’s door.” Tom nicked an alphabet and chewed on it thoughtfully.

“Secondly, I am a half-blood whose mother was as pureblood as it’s possible to be” Harry opened his mouth to speak but Tom waved him to silence “No, no, hear me out Harry. Have you never noticed how wizards have roughly twice the natural life-span of muggles and how even muggleborns tend to make it past one-hundred in relatively good nick?”

“Yeah, I guess.” said Harry.

“Ever wondered why?” smirked Tom, raising an elegant eyebrow.

“Um, I just thought it was the magic” said Harry, trying to push the puppy away from his tray. Tom picked the little creature up and set him on his lap.

“Not a bad guess but no cigar, kid. We have long life-spans because most of us, especially those directly descended from the Hogwarts founders, have a fair amount of Youkai blood running in our veins.”

“Youkai?” said Harry “I heard Aberforth something about them. What are they?”

“Youkai are… well, they’re a little like elves, as they’re described in Lord of the Rings; immortal, beautiful, incredibly bright and having supernatural speed and agility. However… well, you know what an animagus is?” said Tom.

“Yeah?”

“Well, youkai are like animagi but they approach it from the other side. They are, well, the closest word is animals, dogs, cats, horses, etc. However, because they are so inherently magical, they are born with the ability to take a human form. Here, I’ll get my sketch book.”

Tom fished his wand out of his pocket and made a movement which Harry recognised as a summoning charm. A yellowed book of heavy, watercolour paper came flying towards the bed, causing the puppy to yap in excitement.

Tom caught the book and flipped through, finally coming to a double page. On one side, there was an exquisite watercolour portrait of a beautiful young man, who was lying on his back, acting as a trampoline for a chubby toddler. The man’s eyes were an exquisite, sparkling silver, a colour echoed in the strange tattoos, which curled and twisted like bindweed stems across his cheekbones and over his bare chest. His hair, which was fanned out behind him, was a primrose pale blond, contrasting nicely with his navy blue trousers. The toddler, who also had long, pale blond hair and silver eyes, was dressed in little blue dungarees and a silver shirt.

“This was Abraxus Malfoy” Tom said sadly “He was a youkai prince.”

“Malfoy… but the Malfoys are purebloods!” gasped Harry.

“Purely magical blood, yes, pure human, not any longer.” Tom replied “Abraxus married Capella Malfoy, who, as an only child and orphan, was the sole heir to the Malfoy name. They met when Abraxus accompanied me to England” Tom smiled ruefully “It was entirely a match of affection and, after they married, Abraxus took her surname. Youkai have no need for surnames, you see. They can tell who belongs to which family simply by smell and pack markings.”

“Anyway, this is a picture of a youkai transformation” said Tom, pointing to a moving pencil sketch.

Harry looked at the tiny figure of a long haired man, still identifiable as Abraxus even though he was only an inch tall, merge into a gigantic Pegasus. And by gigantic, he meant the size of a jumbo jet.

“Abraxus was a Pegasus Youkai” said Tom, observing Harry's bemused expression “He was very ancient and wise but also playful. ‘Vivid’ would be one word to describe him. He loved life, not just his own but all life. How Albus could have deceived himself was beyond me.”

Tom looked so truly sad that Harry, whose curiosity had long banished his misery and sense of ill-usage, felt honestly sorry for him. This Abraxus bloke seemed to Tom what Ron and Hermione were to Harry.

“I’m sorry… I mean, I know he died at Godric’s Hollow.” Harry said awkwardly. Tom patted his hand.

“Thank you. Anyway, I’ve digressed from the original subject. The reason why Purebloods tend to live so much longer than non-magical humans is that we are all descended, to a greater or lesser extent, from the Hogwarts founders. Have you never wondered, Harry, why their names all alliterate and how apt they all are?”

“Alliterate?”

“Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff”

“Oh, you mean they all have first names that start with the same letter as their surnames? Uh, no.”

“Apart from Helga Hufflepuff, who was old wizarding stock, the Hogwarts founders were all Hanyou- youkai and human hybrids. The Western Lands, in the 900s and 1000s weren’t a good place to be if you were hanyou. The young king, Sesshoumaru, had just lost his father because the old king had married a muggle and died protecting her. Understandably, Sesshoumaru was a little pissy about mixed-species marriages and, therefore, if you had married a human or had human and youkai parents, it was best to disappear abroad for a bit until he calmed down.”

“Salazar Slytherin was a half-blood. Sad story that. His father was a snake youkai- beautiful person inside and out- who had married a priestess. In Japan, magical people are known as priestess and priests. The snake youkai died soon after the little family reached England, defending Salazar and his mum from some Christians who wanted to kill the ‘demon spawn’. Luckily for her, Godric’s father, a lion hanyou, discovered the little family and took them in. The Gryffindors, as they styled themselves, had fled the Western Lands a while earlier and they had already integrated into the small magical community. Gryffindor and Salazar became as close as any brothers- opposites attract and all.”

“Rowena Ravenclaw, similarly was the daughter of an eagle youkai and a priest. They tended to get together, you know. Priestesses and Priests were often called to dispose of troublesome youkai and, well, you know how people are; troublesome can simply mean ‘passing through and doing no harm to anyone’. Sometimes, these meetings turned into friendships and, occasionally the friendships deepened. When that happened, the happy couple would skidaddle into countries where mixed marriages were accepted.”

Tom sighed “Anyway, because hanyou are half youkai, their life-spans are well over the normal range, depending, of course, on the strength of their sires. None of the founder’s parents were tai-youkai- that means greater youkai- so they were not immortal but they each had 500 years of natural life. Gryffindor lived to 200- he got killed in battle during one of the Goblin Rebellions- Ravenclaw died of grief at the age of 150; her daughter disappeared and she just pined away. Salazar… he retired and lived amongst his family for a number of centuries but, having watched two of his children die of old age, he committed suicide. Couldn’t bear to outlive his kids.”

Tom sighed “That’s why many ‘pureblood’ wizards don’t encourage mixed marriages. The more human blood a wizard has in them, the earlier they die. Your true purebloods, like my mother, should, naturally, live to around 300, whereas most wizarding families, like the Blacks, Malfoys and Dumbledores, who have a few muggleborns in their ancestry, generally don’t reach 200. It’s tough, you know, for parents to outlive their kids. Seeing your baby sicken, wither and die whilst you’re still in your prime…”

Harry looked at him wide eyed. Suddenly, a lot of things made sense.

“So, part of the reason I look so young is my youkai blood. I may be biologically thirty but my genetics translate that into about 18. That’s the age when the aging process slows right down for youkai: at eighteen they’re old enough to fend for themselves if they need to. Of course,” Tom smiled mischievously “my heritage has given me a couple of extra talents. As I’m descended from a snake youkai, I can communicate with snakes and I can create force fields wandlessly” Tom held out his hand and a purple circle of energy crackled and expanded in a sphere. “They tend to burn out wands, though, if you’re hold them in the same hand that creates the field. Too much energy is channelled through them, you see. I lost my first wand when I tried this trick whilst holding it. Poor thing snapped clean in two and singed my fingers pretty painfully.”

“Was that the phoenix and yew wand?” Harry asked curiously.

“Hmm, oh, yes it was” said Tom, banishing the field “I have another yew wand, this time with an inu-youkai hair for the core. It was made for me by a Japanese craftsman”

“Why were both your wands yew?”

“Well, the wand chooses the wizard, Harry, and Yew seems to work for me; it’s the wood of transformation, rebirth and spiritually. Very powerful but also protective; yew trees are planted in graveyards because they are known to protect the spirits of the dead. It’s also a very contradictory wood” Tom said with a laugh “It is springy on one side, rigid on the other, which is why yew-wood bows are so prized- and the wood, unusually, combines light and dark colours.” Tom gave Harry his wand “Gold with black specks: my wand came from a beautiful old tree which was apparently planted by Salazar’s father, Ayumu.”

Harry rolled the wand between his fingers; it felt powerful but also warm and welcoming, a bit like Fang, Hagrid’s dog.

Harry handed it back to Tom. “It feels nice.”

“You can feel the years on it, can’t you?” smiled Tom. “Ayumu was your great, great, great, etc grandfather, so this wand would probably work almost as well for you as your own.”

“It’s kind of strange” said Harry quietly “In my second year, I dreaded being Slytherin’s heir and then I found out that it was you and…”

“In the wizarding world, Harry,” said Tom carefully “You’ll find it doesn’t pay to trust your memories overmuch. Events can be erased and a sufficiently skilled legilimens can even plant memories in your mind.”

Harry nodded “I’ve kinda come to the conclusion that… what happened at the end of my first year… it wasn’t really you. I mean, you’re so different. You feel different.”

Tom nodded. “You’re right but I think that this conversation would be best saved for tomorrow. You’d better finish or, rather, start your food.” Tom tapped the bowl and plate with warming charms.

“Your Mum and I are around so, if you need anything, just come down to the kitchen.” Tom said, standing up and putting the puppy down on the floor. He plucked a hair from his head and transfigured it into a soft dog bed. “And you might want to think of a name for the pup; if we call him ‘dog’ any longer he might get a complex.” Tom laughed, a rich, warm sound.

“See you tomorrow, kid.”

“Bye” Harry said, feeling slightly better now.

“Oh and Harry, give your father a chance. Although you have every reason not to think well of Severus, given the way he’s been to you, just try to remember that he’s not had an easy life and seeing the eyes of the woman he loved in a face reminiscent of the man who stole her away… well it was hard for him. It doesn’t excuse his behaviour but he does regret how he’s treated you.”

“Yes, now he knows I’m his son.” Said Harry resentfully.

“Well, new perspectives sometimes do change people’s views and ideas” Tom said mildly. “Goodnight, Harry, sleep well.”

Harry picked up an ‘f’ shaped potato and viciously ripped the hook off with his teeth. As if he could ever forget what a bastard Snape had been to him over the last four years.

You forgave Ron, though. Whispered a little voice. And Ron’s reason for being an ass was short-sighted jealousy, whereas Snape…

Telling the little voice to stuff it, Harry put the tray on the bedside table and picked up the puppy, who had been scrambling to get up on the bed, and put him on his lap. A wicked idea came to him.

“So, little fella, what do you think about being called Godric?”