“We will have to go to Hogwarts, to talk to the meddling old man, to get the full story,” Severus warned. He was stalling, he knew that. This was a difficult conversation for him, remembering the day when he had lost his son. Talking about the pregnancy had been difficult enough, but recounting Henry’s birth…”Perhaps we can go tomorrow, as it is too late to go tonight. I will clear out the spare room so that you will have somewhere to sleep.”

Harry wanted to protest, he wasn’t tired and he wanted to know what had happened, but he stopped. There was only so much that Snape would be able to tell him without Dumbledore, as neither of them knew why the headmaster had told Snape that his son had died and had given him to the Potters. It might be easier to hear the story all at once, rather than Snape telling what he knew and then going to Dumbledore.

Also, although he knew that Snape was trying to hide it, he could tell that this was a difficult conversation for the man. He had seen the pain in Snape’s eyes at various points throughout the story, and it had only intensified now. Harry may be back, Snape’s son might have never really died, but it didn’t change the fact that Snape had spent almost sixteen years thinking his son was dead. The pain wouldn’t just go away in an instant, it would probably always be there even if the intensity lessened.

“Yes sir,” he said after a moment, when it seemed like Snape was waiting for something. Disagreement, most likely, Harry assumed. It wasn’t like they’d had the best relationship before this, and previously he would have taken any opportunity to argue with Snape if he thought he could get away with it. Now, the rules were all askew, both of them were trying to figure out how to have a family. The storytelling had been a good way to put it on hold, but they would still need to figure out how to live with each other if this was going to be a permanent arrangement. “I’ll wash the mugs,” he offered, picking them up. He’d never volunteer for chores at the Dursleys, but he wanted to show Snape that he wasn’t afraid of a few chores, and that he wasn’t as much of a spoiled brat as the man had previously believed.

Severus nodded, relieved at the momentary reprieve, and turned to head upstairs. The guest bedroom, which had been his bedroom as a child, was clean, he just needed to put sheets on the bed and ensure that anything stored in there, which was mostly the things he had bought for Henry as a baby, was sent to the attic. Doing that would only take a few minutes, magic sped up moving, thankfully, but he was still grateful for the momentary break from storytelling. Harry had been tolerable thus far, but he’d been worried that the boy’s insatiable curiosity would lead to him demanding the full story now.

He sank down on the bed once he’d finished making it, putting his head in his hands. Henry was alive. His son was alive, and he’d been apparently abused, if he was interpreting Harry’s comment about his relatives correctly. He had mourned his son, throwing himself into trying to save Lily because she was his old friend and nearly condemning the boy. He’d nearly sentenced his own son to death. Severus had to focus on his breathing to keep from breaking down. He was a strong man, and the last time he cried was on the day his son was born, but this, realizing how close he had come to never knowing his son…it was difficult, and that was a gross understatement. In a moment he would push the pain behind his shields, stand up and go to fetch Harry to show him the house, but he needed a moment to mourn what could have been.

Harry washed the mugs quickly, doing dishes was one of the easier chores he’d done at the Dursley, and he looked around when he was done, expecting to see Snape waiting to lead him to the guest room. He was surprised when the man was nowhere to be seen. How long did it take to clear a room, especially when you had magic to help? He headed for the stairs, making his way up cautiously. The first room at the top had an open door, and through the crack he could see Snape, sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. He saw a box near Snape, one he’d likely been planning to send upstairs with everything else that had been in the room that he didn’t want Harry to get into. The flowing script he recognized from his potions’ essays had neatly marked the box ‘Henry’. Nothing else, but Harry knew what it was. It was full of things that Snape had bought for his son, that he’d packed away when he thought that his son was dead.

He backed away from the door, moving down to the sitting room again. He could wait for a moment, somehow he doubted that Snape had wanted him to see that. It did help Harry make up his mind, however. He’d been worried that Snape would change his mind, that his hatred of Harry Potter would override whatever he felt for his son, but this? It wasn’t faked, Snape clearly hadn’t expected Harry to see him, and he was clearly in pain. He looked like what Harry thought most fathers would look like if their son died, and even getting him back…it was still a lot to handle. Especially considering that Harry was sure that Snape didn’t trust many people, and that Dumbledore had been one of the people that Snape, trusted until this was discovered. At least Harry could try to write to Ron and Hermione about this, as long as Snape didn’t mind him sharing the news. Snape didn’t really have anyone to talk to about this.

“Finished with the dishes?” a low voice inquired, and Harry jumped, twisting in his seat to see Snape, looking perfectly ordinary, standing behind him.

“Yes sir,” Harry said, standing. Severus wondered at the look on the boy’s face, but he decided to leave it be. There was nothing that Harry could have gotten into here that would have been hazardous to him, after all.

 “Come with me,” Severus replied, turning to head back upstairs. Tomorrow, they would talk to the headmaster, find out why Dumbledore had thought that separating them was necessary. For now, he would show Harry to his room and the bathroom before retiring for the night. They both had much to think about.