Silence fell in the Headmaster’s office when Severus had finished speaking. Albus looked suitably grave.

“I see the problem.”

Severus resisted the urge to snort at the understatement. “Problem? Albus, I’ve probably just signed my own death sentence.”

“Not necessarily …”

“Even if I could convince the Dark Lord that I did this for his benefit, it’s surely only a matter of time before he wonders why he’s not seeing that benefit. What am I supposed to tell him?”

“I don’t know, Severus …” Albus rubbed his forehead wearily. “Look, you did the right thing.”

“I know. The boy comes first,” Severus said bitterly. “I’m familiar with our priorities, Albus.”

“Like it or not, he is the most important player in this. Should Fudge have got hold of him, it would be game over. Perhaps not immediately, but soon down the line. If that means sacrificing your spy status ...”

“And sacrificing me?”

“It won’t come to that,” Albus said firmly. “I promise you.”

“That still leaves us with the problem of what we’re going to do. He’s going to find out sooner or later, especially if the Ministry makes this public.”

“I know. I think the best thing we can do right now is sleep on it. Go home, fill Harry in, and hopefully things will look clearer in the morning.”

“I can’t believe I got lumbered with the brat forever,” Severus muttered.

“Come, Severus. Harry is not the boy you believe he is.”

Severus snorted.

“I’m sure you’ll find out yourself in due course. Go on, go home.”

-

It wouldn’t sink in. Harry didn’t know how long he had sat there for, trying to process what he had now read about twenty times, when the Floo flared up again.

Snape stepped out of the fireplace, brushing soot off his robes. “I see you’ve managed to keep yourself out of trouble. Blue moon, is it—” He broke off as he lay eyes on the parchment on the coffee table. “I spoke too soon. Have you been reading my mail? You’ve got some explaining to do, Potter!”

“It was addressed to both of us,” Harry snapped. “And you’re the one who’s got some explaining to do, Snape!”

To his surprise, Snape didn’t correct his mode of address; he simply snatched up the adoption certificate and looked at it. The anger seemed to fade out of him and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, you’re right.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. Snape ignored this, setting the certificate back down and taking a seat facing him.

“Earlier today I received intelligence that Cornelius Fudge was about to finalise his own adoption of you.”

“What?”

“Don’t say ‘what’ like that, Potter; if your tiny brain can’t comprehend what I’m saying, say ‘pardon’ or ‘excuse me’ or ‘could you explain that please’.”

“Sorry—er—could you explain that please?”

“You may or may not be aware,” Snape continued, “that when your parents died, and that mutt of a godfather of yours was sent to Azkaban—” Harry had to suppress a rush of anger, “—the Ministry of Magic deemed it appropriate, in the circumstances, to trust Albus Dumbledore with the decisions for your future and granted him legal guardianship. He in turn entrusted your Muggle relatives with you, but at the end of the day he was still responsible for you in the eyes of wizarding law.

Now, the way it works is, if someone were to challenge that—for example, to adopt you—they would have to serve a minimum of a month’s notice to the current guardian, and prove they had. Permission from the current guardian is not always necessary, depending on the circumstances. Fudge being Fudge, I have no doubt he would have been able to get it without permission—probably claiming something ridiculous like Professor Dumbledore is too senile or something.”

“So why couldn’t you have given me notice a month ago?” Harry asked, now fuming. “Why—”

“Potter, will you desist with the questions and let me explain. As I said, a month’s notice is required, but Fudge is crafty. When the notice came, it was dated a month previously. In other words, I had until the end of the working day to make sure he couldn’t sign that form. The only way to stop him was to sign one myself.”

“Why you?” Harry said bitterly. “Surely—”

“Because, dunderhead, I was unable to get hold of someone more—appropriate—in time. Believe me, I did not want to be stuck with you either. But had Fudge successfully got hold of you, he would have had complete control over you until you turned of age. Your finances, your education, your life—he could have easily pulled you out of Hogwarts and sent overseas or tutored at home if you didn’t stop claiming the Dark Lord was back. He could control you as an adult too if he argued just cause, for example immaturity or mental instability. And, unless he was actually harming you—and it could be proven—there would be nothing anyone else could do about it.”

“He wants to shut me up.”

“Exactly.”

Harry tried to get his head around this. “But couldn’t he just serve you a month’s notice?”

“No. Guardianship is not the same as adoption. The Headmaster was your guardian but not your parent. An adoption can only be retracted by the Ministry under certain extreme conditions. Unfortunately for both of us, that now makes me your father.”

A stunned silence filled the room. Harry wanted to believe this was a very bad dream and he would wake up any minute. He would even take the Dursleys over this. They may hate him, but at least he could intimidate them with the threat of Sirius turning up on the doorstep. With Snape he did not have that luxury.

Harry swallowed hard. All these years, the one thing he had yearned for more than anything else, was a parent. Now his wish had been granted, but in perhaps the cruellest way possible. Short of being adopted by Voldemort (the idea was laughable), or someone who supported him, Harry didn’t think it could be any worse.

No—being adopted by Fudge would be worse. But that didn’t make Harry any happier about the situation. The only good thing he could say about Snape was that he wasn’t going to be trying to keep him quiet about Voldemort being back. But still, everything he had listed that Fudge could do, Harry had no doubt that Snape could, and would if he wanted.

He couldn’t believe he was stuck with the greasy git forever. Forever was a long time. Even two years was a long time, which was how long it would be before Harry turned of age (he was already counting down the days). But what if Snape tried to control him after that? Harry wouldn’t put it past him at all.

I’ll fake my own death or something, Harry thought desperately. Anything to stop Snape ruining his life.

“Potter!”

Harry jerked back to reality. Snape was glaring at him.

“S-sorry sir—pardon?”

“As I said,” Snape said, “an adoption can be revoked by the Ministry in extreme circumstances. They’re detailed in the contract—you should read through it so you’re informed—but the basic upshot is, if I were deemed to be mistreating you in any way, or breaking the law, they could reclaim you and Fudge would win.”

Wait a moment. If Snape mistreated him?

Well, Harry was pretty sure that being cut up into potions ingredients would class as mistreating. Not that he really believed Snape would do that … of course not. That was just silly talk the older years scared the first-years with. Still, he had always tried not to look too hard at the contents of the jars in Snape’s dungeons … just in case.

Plus … although he hadn’t thought much of it when he was younger, Harry was now fairly convinced that at least some of the ways the Dursleys had treated him would also be classed as mistreating—though he had never really conferred with anyone to see if he was right. Although he didn’t make a secret of it that they didn’t like him, he had never been able to bring himself to confess how deeply that dislike ran. To anyone, not even Ron, who probably knew the most about them.

Did that mean, then, that Snape would treat him better than the Dursleys? Or was Harry just being stupidly optimistic?

“Now,” Snape continued, and Harry latched back onto his words, “Fudge is not stupid—well, he is, but he is not so stupid that he cannot tell why I signed the form today. He is going to do everything he can to get the adoption revoked, which means we have to do everything we can to make sure he can’t.”

“Er … like what?” Harry asked.

“If he were able to prove that the whole thing was just to defy his authority, then that would give him grounds.”

“Well, it is,” Harry said.

“Yes, but we can’t let him, or anyone, prove it. Which means, from now on …” Snape looked like he had swallowed a lemon. “You and I both have to act as if—as if we wanted this.”

Harry blanched. “You mean …”

“I mean, that from now on, as far as the outside world is concerned—”

“We’re all Happy Families,” Harry said, catching on.

“Quite. So for starters, with the obvious exception of official school situations, I am no longer Professor Snape to you—I am your father, and you must address me as such.”

Harry winced. “And you’re going to have to stop calling me Potter.”

“Yes. Exactly.” There was a pause. “Harry.”

Looking up at Snape, Harry knew with utter certainty that there was no way he was going to start calling his arch-enemy “Dad”. That title was reserved for his real father, James Potter, and that man alone.

“Father,” Harry said quietly. It was too stiff and formal for his liking, but nothing else he could think of seemed to fit.

Snape nodded. “Of course, this extends to beyond simple addressing—I have no doubt Ministry officials will start closely scrutinising our relationship very soon. So we’re going to have to come up with some ground rules.”

Oh, here we go, Harry thought.