Severus Snape was sitting alone in the Headmaster’s office. He had returned from a summoning by Voldemort to find a note telling him that Albus was busy setting up Order Headquarters. Since Severus had not yet been informed where these were going to be, he had been forced to wait for his return.

He drummed his fingers on the mahogany desk, bored. No doubt if he returned to his own quarters and began some reading or brewing, Albus would show up. It would be typical of his timing.

A tapping at the window startled Severus, and he stood to let in a handsome barn owl, which dropped a letter with a Ministry of Magic seal onto the desk and flew off again. Knowing Albus would treat any form of communication from the Ministry at this stage as highly urgent, Severus opened the envelope himself.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

We are writing to inform you that legal proceedings have begun to terminate your guardianship of Harry James Potter.

“What?” Severus exclaimed.

He read through the rest of the letter carefully, and then again. And then again. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Fudge was stepping way out of line with this one.

With alarm, he noted the date on the letter. It had been written a month ago.

A month ago exactly.

Severus swore and checked his watch. He knew how the system worked. It was just gone three PM. This wasn’t good. He had less than two hours, at most! If it wasn’t too late already.

“Think, think,” he said to himself, wracking his brain. Albus could be anywhere. He didn’t know who all the Order members were yet. The only ones he knew about were Minerva, Lupin, Black and the Weasleys.

Minerva would be fastest. Severus positively fled to her office, expecting her to be there, finishing up the end-of-term work—but it was empty. With no hesitation he grabbed the Floo and threw a handful into the fire. “The Burrow!”

He thrust his head in, only to find an empty room. He yelled, but no-one came running.

Damn! He was going to have to try Lupin’s. As a werewolf he was out of the question, as was Black for obvious reasons; but hopefully they’d know how to contact someone else.

“Lupin!” Severus yelled from the next fire. “Black! Oh for Merlin’s sake; ANYBODY!”

Nothing. They must all be at the Headquarters.

As Severus pulled back out of the fire, heart hammering, he considered his position. He had no alternative—he was going to have to do this himself. There was no time to hope someone would turn up.

He threw the last of the Floo in and shouted, “Ministry of Magic!”

-

“You have issued the standard one-month notice to the current guardian?” the witch in the Child Protection Office asked, barely looking up from the form.

“Yes,” Severus lied.

“You have a copy?”

“It was a verbal notice,” Severus said quickly, “but I have this.”

Albus really was a genius, Severus thought as he presented her with the note Albus had issued to him—along with several other trusted Order members—many years ago in case of a legal crisis.

I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, hereby relinquish guardianship of Harry James Potter and release him into the care of Severus Snape.

The witch seemed satisfied with this, to Severus’ relief. “Well then, all seems to be in order. If you could sign the declaration, then it will be done.”

Severus grabbed the quill and scrawled his signature as quickly as he could. It glowed for a moment, signifying the contract was now valid.

“Well then, congratulations,” she said, smiling. “You’re a father.”

The word hit Severus like a tonne of bricks.

What in the world have I got myself into? he thought in horror. His musings were cut short as he spotted Cornelius Fudge entering the office. As Severus had predicted, he made a beeline for the most senior worker. Severus had picked the most junior, knowing she would be the least likely to be aware of the situation.

He mentally apologised for probably getting her fired, and made a hasty yet discreet exit. Halfway down the corridor he heard the Minister for Magic yell in rage.

-

The next problem was going to be the wards around Privet Drive. Severus hadn’t thought about it until he came to sign the documents—but now he realised they weren’t going to stand. Albus had, for lack of a better word, loaned custody of the boy to his relatives—that would now be revoked, and the wards were probably down already.

He Apparated there, and almost ran into someone invisible. There was a grunt, a nasty smell of tobacco and whiskey, and Severus grabbed and pulled the Invisibility Cloak off.

“Mundungus Fletcher,” he growled. Before Fletcher could speak, Severus snapped, “Tell Albus the wards have collapsed and I’ve got the boy. Go!”

To his amazement, the crook did as he was told.

-

Harry had been in his room, trying to devise a new way of listening to the news, when he heard a crack from outside. He leapt to his feet, his wand drawn; he recognised the sound of someone Apparating.

Before he could get to the window, he heard another crack, and a pounding on the front door, followed by muffled shouting. His aunt screamed, and then footfalls thundered up the stairs.

“Impedi—” he tried to shout as the door crashed open.

The intruder disarmed him mid-incantation with a snarl. “You stupid boy! Do you want to be expelled?”

“Snape!” Harry gasped. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“Saving your worthless hide, you imbecile. Where’s your trunk?” Snape’s eyes fell on it open by Harry’s desk. “Accio Potter’s belongings!” Harry’s things started zooming out of the cupboard, off the floor and out from under the floorboards; Snape directed them into his trunk and then, with a flick of his wand, it snapped closed. With another flick, it had shrunk to the size of a bar of soap. Snape pocketed it, and then grabbed Harry’s arm. “Come on then Potter, if you value your life.”

Harry hurried after him. “Is Voldemort—”

“Don’t say his name!”

“—coming?”

“Not as far as I am aware, but the wards around your home have fallen and it is only a matter of time before he finds out.” Snape half-dragged Harry out of the house. All three Dursleys were standing in the drive, looking pale and confused. Snape shoved what looked like an empty potions vial into their hands.

“All three of you hold onto that. Now!”

In fear, they obeyed, and Snape barked out, “Asphodel!” It was obviously a password-activated Portkey, for they all vanished.

“Professor, where—”

“They’ve been sent to a safe house. You, on the other hand, are coming with me. Take this.”

One nauseating ride later and Harry collapsed onto tarmac. Snape pulled him up by his clothes and set him on his feet.

They were standing on the pavement of a quiet road lined with largish old houses—Tudor, Harry thought, though he had never been an expert on architecture. Without pause, Snape led them through a gate and began striding up a gravel path. As they drew near the black old door, Harry noticed the plaque: Silverweed House.

“Put your hand here,” Snape hissed quietly.

Harry placed his hand on the door in the place he had pointed out. Snape muttered a spell, and the wood suddenly felt warm under Harry’s palm; a moment later the sensation passed, and it was cold again. Snape unlocked the door and pushed Harry inside.

“You will stay here,” he said after steering Harry into a living-room. “Don’t touch anything. I have to find and speak with the Headmaster but I will be back as soon as possible to explain the situation.” He was halfway to the fireplace when he remembered Harry’s trunk, and restored it to normal. “Try and stay out of trouble until I return.”

Harry had a feeling the safest thing to do was say, “Yes, sir.”

Snape grabbed the Floo, threw it in the fire and said, “Headmaster’s office, Hogwarts!”

Once he was alone, Harry sat gingerly down on the sofa and looked around, wondering whose house it was. Snape’s, maybe; though he didn’t know why he had been brought here. He could understand being moved if it was no longer safe at Privet Drive—but why was he separate from the Dursleys? He wasn’t complaining about that, but Snape was hardly an improvement.

Maybe he was just waiting it out until the wards, as Snape had called them, had been redone. Though that still didn’t explain the separation …

If it was Snape’s place, Harry thought, it actually wasn’t that bad—much nicer than the dungeons. The walls were pristine cream with dark wooden panelling. A large diamond-paned window kept the room well lit, and a roaring fire in the grate made the place feel strangely welcoming. The sofa and chairs were cream with bronze cushions, and a large bronze rug was rather threadbare. The curtains were cream with a green and bronze pattern on them. Several pot plants Harry vaguely recognised from Herbology stood around the place, along with a magnificent grandfather clock and, on the coffee table, a stray copy of Practical Potioneer. The most curious artefact, however, was the ordinary Muggle television.

Harry was just wondering whether “Don’t touch” applied to turning the telly on and looking through the channels, when an owl appeared outside the window, rapping on it impatiently. Harry hurried to let it in, and it dropped an envelope on top of the potions magazine before flying out again.

He wouldn’t have even thought about opening it, had he not seen that the envelope was addressed to Severus Snape and Harry Potter.

Curious to see why anyone would write one letter to both of them, he slit it open and skimmed the first page. His eyes widened.

ADOPTION CERTIFICATE

Declaration: I, Professor Severus Snape, do pledge to adopt Harry James Potter from this day forth (2/7/95) until the end of my life. I understand that this means being fully responsible for the child until they become of age, and that I have all the duty of a blood parent. I agree to raise the child as is best for them and subject to terms (see other side). I realise that any breaking of this contract will mean the possible confiscation of my child by the Ministry of Magic.

Signed, Severus Snape

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.

“You will respect me as your parent,” Snape began, “and refrain from answering back or disobeying my orders. Bearing in mind I am now responsible for disciplining you, and I will if I have to.”

Harry gulped.

“If you disobey me in a teaching capacity, then I shall take points and assign detentions as I did before. If you defy me in a parental capacity, then I will not hesitate to revoke privileges. You will follow any instructions you are given for your safety, as I have no intention of running around trying to keep you out of the Dark Lord’s clutches every moment for however long this war lasts. You will follow them without question and if you are told something does not concern you, then that is the end of it—you do not try and find out under your own steam. I will allow you to keep that Invisibility Cloak of yours—”

Harry started; that had been unexpected.

“—since it can protect you in an emergency, but if I find you have been using it for simply rule-breaking then the punishment will be severe.”

Snape took a breath. Harry wondered if the man was getting pleasure out of lecturing him like this. He had probably always wanted to be able to control Harry; even if it meant putting up with his company.

“I understand you currently have full control of your Gringotts vault. I will not interfere with that provided you are not silly with your money—if you prove yourself incapable of managing it, then I will have it restricted and you will instead receive an allowance until I deem you responsible enough to return access. During classes I will be treating you like any other student; do not expect any special treatment because you are now my—son.” The word sounded bitter.

“However … I will no longer single you out simply for your celebrity status; ignore any attempts by anyone to get you in trouble; insult your intelligence, ability or parentage; attempt to get you thrown out the school; blame other people’s actions on you; or …” Snape hesitated. “Anything else I ever did that was—unfair.” He looked truly uncomfortable at admitting this. “For this charade to work, we have to both work on not antagonising the other.”

Harry nodded, but a thought had occurred. “Prof—I mean … Father …” That word did not sound good on his tongue at all.

“Yes, Po—Harry?” His name coming back at him felt even stranger.

“Um … even if we pull this off … what’s to stop the Ministry asking around? Anyone will tell them that we’ve always hated each other. It’s not exactly a secret.”

Snape paused, thinking. “You have a good point …” He frowned. “I don’t know. That is another problem.”

“That alone’s probably enough for Fudge to prove this wasn’t our choice—right?”

“I don’t know, P—Harry. It would certainly raise question marks, unless we can come up with a plausible reason …”

Harry considered. “Well … what if … we said it was an act?”

Snape merely raised an eyebrow. Harry hurried to explain.

“Say, we didn’t hate each other—instead, had a … good relationship—but maybe so you couldn’t be accused of favouring me, we both pretended otherwise. Only we both went a bit overboard and gave everyone the impression it was pure loathing.”

Snape actually looked impressed. “That’s … actually not a bad idea, Potter.” He paused. “Harry. It might work … would be difficult to disprove, anyway …”

“Unless—oh.” Harry paused. “Suppose someone asked how we got a good relationship in the first place? Everyone knows you picked on me the moment we met.”

Snape considered. “Then we say we knew each other since before Hogwarts.”

“Oh!—Er, how?”

“We say … I visited you at your relatives’,” Snape said, surprising Harry further.

“Why would you do that?”

“To … to check up on you because—because your mother was an old school friend.”

“Oh.” Harry paused. That was fairly logical. After all, Snape had been to school with his parents—and saying he had been friends with his dad would be a lie far too big for anyone to believe. Come to think of it, Snape had never mentioned Harry’s mother in his criticisms.

“I guess that might work. Unless they asked the Dursleys …”

“I doubt that, but I’ll have a word with the Headmaster about memory modification. And I should probably meet them again.”

Harry was instantly alarmed. “What?—I mean, pardon?”

“Well, it would not look very good if, to confirm our story, I was asked to describe your relatives and couldn’t—would it?” Snape pointed out.

“Yeah, but … couldn’t you just look at a photo or something?” Harry couldn’t allow Snape and the Dursleys to meet; he wasn’t certain how it would go but he was picturing Snape starting to see Harry as an unloved freak rather than an infuriating, pampered celebrity (he preferred the latter—he could ignore that), and the Dursleys giving Snape ideas about even more ways to punish him.

“A photo would not tell me what they are like.” Snape looked at Harry shrewdly. “Any particular reason why you seem reluctant for me to meet your relatives? It is for your own good after all.”

Harry swallowed. “Um, no, sir—Father.”

This wasn’t good at all. But he could think of no valid argument.

“Hmm … If the Ministry asks why we waited until now for the adoption—we could say I was reluctant to jeopardise your safety by taking you away from the protection your relatives offered—but since you were going to be leaving them anyway, if Fudge got his way, then …”

“Oh—yeah, that explains the timing as well,” Harry said, half a mind still worrying about the Dursleys.

“Quite. That’s settled, then.” Snape looked around at the clock. “We shall have to discuss the smaller details later. Go and unpack while I get dinner on. You may take any bedroom except the master, which is mine.”

Recognising his dismissal, Harry dragged his trunk—which was its full size again, but still feather-light—up the stairs, and left it on the landing whilst he inspected the rooms.

There were three. The master bedroom was quite obvious, as it was considerably larger than the others and looked more lived-in. Harry had no desire to earn his first punishment for venturing into Snape’s bedroom, so he quickly moved his trunk into the nicer of the other two bedrooms.

Though smaller than Snape’s, it was still pretty big, with a little private annexe which housed a desk, chair, and set of shelves. The whole suite was decorated like the living-room—bronze-coloured carpet and cushions, cream bedding and bedside rug, and his bedspread and both window and four-poster curtains were the same as the curtains downstairs: cream, embroidered in silk with small bronze flowers and green leaves in spirals.

The window was large, spanning most of the wall, and overlooked a large garden spilling with plants; beyond that, other large houses and gardens. The furniture was old, dark oak like downstairs. In addition to the annexe and the bed, Harry had a window-seat, a wardrobe, chest-of-drawers almost as tall as him, a large set of freestanding shelves, a bedside table, a smaller version of the sofa downstairs and another small table, and his own fireplace, though there was nothing lit.

Well, Harry thought, it beat Dudley’s second bedroom. It definitely beat the cupboard under the stairs. And he had more space here than at Hogwarts.

Remembering Snape had sent him to unpack, Harry quickly opened his trunk and began doing so. His clothes were easily stashed in the wardrobe and drawers. His schoolbooks went on the shelves in the annexe. Everything else he arranged neatly on the bedroom shelves, except his Firebolt which had to stand in a corner, and his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s Map which he stashed under the mattress. Snape had said he wasn’t going to relieve Harry of the Cloak, but Harry wasn’t taking any chances.

There. Harry sat down on the bed for a breather. He was unpacked. All ready for a … new life.

He swallowed, stomach full of butterflies. He didn’t feel ready for this. He didn’t know what to expect. Not that he wasn’t relieved Snape wouldn’t be making him scrub cauldrons all day—hopefully—and constantly bang on about his father being so arrogant, but usually Harry had an idea what to expect from Snape. Pure nastiness—simple. Now, Snape was going to have to be nice to him—and vice versa.

Harry wasn’t sure how he could do that—pretend to be a family. He’d never had a real family. The Dursleys were no good example. The Weasleys were wonderful, but the dynamic in their home was very different from anything he and Snape could falsely create. Even if he and Snape were genuinely family, then it would still be different. He had nothing to go on. He didn’t know how to be a son.

Surely, if the Ministry looked too closely, they’d realise? How could he and Snape ever hope to convince anyone that they even mildly liked each other? Let alone …

Snape’s a spy, Harry reminded himself. He’s probably used to lots of acting. He, Harry, on the other hand ...

What was he thinking about? He knew how to do this. He’d pretended to be the happy, beloved nephew when he was in public with the Dursleys, from a very young age. He was used to pretending everything was fine and that he wasn’t completely terrified of them. He’d learned to smile, be polite to strangers like Aunt Petunia insisted, not flinch when Dudley came near him, and if necessary lie his backside off.

He had obviously been quite good at it, for when Harry had finally got old enough to realise that most kids didn’t sleep in cupboards and get called freaks by their families (which took him longer than he wanted to think about), he realised he couldn’t recall anyone, ever, suspecting that something was not quite normal in the Dursley household.

Maybe this wasn’t impossible after all. 

As Harry descended the stairs, he realised he could smell something cooking. After three weeks living on salads and stale pumpkin pasties, Harry would have been happy with just a ham sandwich; but he located and entered the kitchen to find Snape squashing some sort of dough into a ball, a casserole dish in the oven.

“Wow, that smells good. What is it?”

“Lamb cobbler,” Snape said without looking up, reaching for a knife. “Though I had to add beans to make it stretch to two portions. I wasn’t expecting company this evening.” He began cutting the dough into pieces.

Like it was Harry’s fault Snape had had to adopt him.

“That’s okay, I like beans. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Snape looked at him for the first time, a strange expression on his face. “You want to help?”

“Er … yes. Why not?”

“Because I do not want my kitchen destroyed, that’s why not. If you’re even half as bad at cooking as you are at Potions—”

“I’m good at cooking,” Harry insisted. “And Potions requires way more precision, so there’s far more ways it can go wrong.”

Snape hesitated. Harry felt smugly that he had actually out-debated him.

“Fine. If you insist. You can prepare the vegetables. I take it you know how to do that?”

Harry looked over at the chopping board, upon which was sitting a large carrot, a courgette and a handful of cherry tomatoes.

“I can do that.”

“Good.”

Snape washed his hands, took out the casserole dish and began arranging the dumplings in the top. Harry turned his attention to the vegetables. Silence fell as they both worked, and Harry found his mind wandering back to their new, very uncomfortable situation.

How was he going to tell his friends? He couldn’t risk putting the truth in a letter, not unless he wanted Fudge to get his way. But Ron and Hermione would never, in a million years, believe Snape had willingly adopted Harry. He would have to break it to them in person. That meant he would have to see them soon, before the news got out.

He decided to raise the subject with Snape after dinner. Hopefully the man would be in a slightly better mood with a full stomach. Most people were.

Once Harry had finished peeling and chopping, he looked around to find Snape watching him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Snape said, looking away quickly. He tapped his wand on the saucepan and said, “Aguamenti fervidus.” Steaming water gushed from the tip and filled the pan. He tapped the hob and lit the ring. Harry passed him the vegetables.

“If you want to make yourself useful instead of standing there staring in that off-putting way,” Snape said, “you can lay the table. The cutlery’s in the drawer on the end and the crockery’s in the cupboard below.”

Snape obviously didn’t get many guests, Harry thought as he found that three out of four of the plates were dusty. He gave one of them a good wash in the sink and lay the table. The whole dinner set matched the curtain designs, which Harry rather liked. Maybe it had come with the house. Or Snape was just a bit obsessive compulsive about things matching. The only exception seemed to be an extra mug, which was pattered with little animated reindeer that danced around the name Severus, and Harry was sure must have been a Christmas present.

“Done it,” he said after placing the second glass in place. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“If this is an effort to placate me into going easy on you the next time you get yourself into trouble, it’s not going to work,” Snape said without looking at him. “Check on the dessert.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “There’s dessert?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “In the fridge. Make sure it’s set properly.”

Intrigued, Harry discovered two small glasses filled with something pink and creamy. That explained why he had only found two glasses but four of everything else.

“What is it?”

“Strawberry panna cotta.”

“Ooh.” Aunt Petunia had made panna cotta for dinner parties before. Harry had never been allowed to try it. “Do you normally make dessert?”

“Usually at the weekends,” Snape said. “Is it set?”

“Oh—yeah, it is.”

Snape checked on the cobbler. “It won’t be ready for a while. Maybe now would be a good time to resume our conversation from earlier.” He pulled a chair out from the table.

“Okay … Father.” Harry sat down as well. He knew he was going to have to get used to saying that, but he hated it.

Snape acknowledged his attempt with a slight nod. “Our cover story, then. Realistically, the Ministry could come knocking on the door at any minute, so we need to … synchronise our pasts, if you will, as soon as possible.”

“Okay.” Harry thought. “When do you think we should have met?”

“Hmm … better make it during a school holiday … 1988 seems reasonable.”

“Why ’88?”

“The longer we are supposed to have known each other, the more difficult this would be. ’88 sounds like a good compromise taking into account the time it would take to form a bond prior to Hogwarts and come up with the plan to fake antipathy.”

“So … summer ’88, then?”

Snape considered, then shook his head. “Christmas. The holiday is supposed to evoke sentimentality in people, which would be an acceptable reason for my having decided to visit out of the blue.”

Harry privately thought it would take a lot more than Christmas to get Snape sentimental, but he couldn’t argue with his logic. “Okay. What about Christmas Eve?”

Snape nodded. “Christmas Eve it was, then. So … what did you do at Christmas?”

“Sorry?”

“Well, if we’re supposed to have spent a Christmas together, I need to know what it would have been like. That one would have been pretty memorable, so the details need to be exact.”

“Oh.” Harry inwardly squirmed and tried to think. “Well, Dursley Christmases are always the same. Aunt Petunia tries to outdo all the neighbours with as many Christmas lights as possible. One year she overloaded the plugs and all the power went out—I think that was ’89. Uncle Vernon picks up the turkey on Christmas Eve. Aunt Marge—Uncle Vernon’s sister—comes over in the evening to stay overnight, usually with her bulldog Ripper. (She breeds bulldogs, but the others get looked after by one of her neighbours.) Dudley gets impatient about opening presents and is allowed to open one before he goes to bed.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at this, but didn’t say anything. Harry tried to continue, feeling more and more embarrassed as he continued.

“The stocking’s about the size of Hagrid’s socks, and always overflowing in the morning. Aunt Marge generally sits drinking wine all morning and trying to engage Dudley in conversation, which is impossible when he’s got his presents, while my uncle refills her glass and my aunt does the dinner. Christmas lunch gets demolished in about five minutes, then the afternoon’s spent watching Christmas stuff on telly. At teatime there’s the Christmas cake, which also lasts about five minutes, and then more telly, and that’s it. Oh, and whenever carol singers come by, my aunt and uncle let them sing for a while but then shut the door in their faces when they ask for money. Unless there’s neighbours watching, in which case they’ll make a big show of giving a large donation.”

“They sound delightful, your relatives,” Snape said drily.

As far as Harry was concerned, that was the pot calling the kettle black. Why did he have such bad luck with family? He bit his tongue.

“And I can’t help but notice you’ve told me details about what the rest of your family do at Christmas, but not what you do.” Snape narrowed his eyes at him. “Might I remind you that this charade is for your own good?”

Harry ground his teeth. “No, you don’t have to, Father. I just thought it was irrelevant, since if you were there I would presumably be spending time with you instead of what I would normally do.”

“Which is?”

Listen to the Dursleys through a locked cupboard door, wonder if there’s any leftovers and if they’ll remember to give me any, and if it’ll be coat hangers or second-hand socks or something else just as worthless for my present this year.

Harry pursed his lips and said nothing. He didn’t see why Snape needed to know, and was determined not to give him that much ammunition against him.

“Potter,” Snape said in a warning tone, before hastily correcting himself. “Harry. I should know what you would have been doing when I turned up to visit, should I not?”

Oh crap. Snape had him.

Harry swallowed, wondering how big of a risk it would be to lie. What would be the bigger risk—letting Snape past his defences, or a flaw in his cover story that could give the game away? The second was the smaller risk, right? What were the chances of one small lie being the one detail that destroyed the whole thing?

Far too high, with Harry’s luck.

Merlin, what do I do?

Well, desperate times called for desperate measures. Harry jumped to his feet, startling Snape, muttered something about needing the toilet, and ran upstairs.

Once he’d located the bathroom, Harry locked himself in and sat down on the side of the bath, wondering what to do now.

He strained his memory, hoping there was something he was actually doing on Christmas Eve ’88 that would be acceptable to tell Snape, but nothing came to mind. Harry spent the time prior to Aunt Marge’s arrival as Aunt Petunia’s house-elf, and the time after her arrival in the cupboard counting down the hours till Christmas was over and he was allowed out again.

How could he tell Snape that?

“You were a while,” Snape said when Harry finally reappeared in the kitchen. “You know if you hadn’t rushed out so fast, I could have told you there’s a downstairs loo under the stairs.”

“Oh.”

“And I haven’t forgotten the question I asked.” Snape fixed his penetrating gaze on Harry, as if trying to read his mind. “Well?”

Harry sat down slowly. “On Christmas Eve I used to help my aunt prepare stuff. The food and everything.”

“I see.” There was a note of doubt in Snape’s tone, as if he knew Harry was holding out on him but couldn’t quite figure out what or why. “Well, then, what time shall we say I—”

“Between five and six,” Harry said immediately.

Snape blinked. “Why?”

Because Aunt Marge turns up at six and after five I’d generally finished the most laborious work.

“Um, no particular reason. Just thought it would be a good time.”

“Right.” Harry was sure Snape wasn’t falling for it, but to Harry’s relief he chose to drop the subject. “Now then, I do believe the cobbler may be ready …”

They dished up in silence, and began eating. The food was absolutely delicious. Harry had to admit, things could be worse. Snape could have been as bad at cooking as Uncle Vernon (which was to say, appalling). But instead he was almost as good as Molly Weasley—high praise indeed.

Harry’s thoughts wandered to the Weasleys. He wondered if they would all still be as accepting of him now he was officially a Snape …

A thought suddenly struck him. “I don’t have to change my name, do I?” Harry asked, dropping his fork. Snape scowled at the clang, but didn’t comment.

“No, you don’t. I doubt that will be questioned, since at your age it is entirely your decision, and as you have been Harry Potter for so long it is only understandable that you would prefer to keep it that way.”

Harry sighed in relief. As much as he hated being The Famous Harry Potter, there was no way on earth he wanted to have to answer to Harry Snape. He supposed it was one other small blessing in this whole mess.

“I’ve been thinking,” Snape said after a moment, “that, in addition to working out our cover story, we should also, er, find out more about each other. Things that we’d know if we’d known each other well for six and a half years.”

“Oh.” Harry paused. “You start.”

Snape took a couple more mouthfuls before he started speaking.

“I’m thirty-five. My middle name is Leander. My birthday is the ninth of January. I’m an only child. I’m considered a half-blood since my maternal grandfather was a Squib, but the rest of my family were wizards. My parents both worked in the Ministry of Magic until they died, which was nine years ago.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. Snape was far too young for his parents to have lived their full lives. Harry knew what it was like.

Snape didn’t acknowledge his sympathy, he just continued. “Unlike most pureblooded children, I went to Muggle school before Hogwarts.”

“Really? Why?”

“My grandfather insisted my mother went, and she thought the experience was a valuable one. It pays to be knowledgeable about Muggle culture.”

Harry got a flashback to the oddly-dressed wizards at the World Cup, and hid a grin.

“My favourite colour is green,” Snape continued. Big surprise there, Harry thought. “I enjoy reading, writing and gardening. I like to keep up to date with the Muggle news. I speak Latin. I used to have an owl called Trebax, but he had an unfortunate encounter with one of Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts last year.”

He paused. Harry thought he detected a lingering sadness in Snape’s tone, and was wondering whether to try saying “I’m sorry” again or if it would just be ignored, when Snape continued, “I imagine that’s probably enough to begin with. Your turn now. And before you start, I already know your birthday. And your middle name.”

Harry pondered his answer for a while.

“My favourite food is treacle tart. My owl is called Hedwig and she was an eleventh birthday present from Hagrid. I beat Ron in Exploding Snap about ninety percent of the time, but he always beats me at chess. I can run very fast. I’m allergic to wasps. Well, all stinging insects actually.”

“Really?” Snape looked rather taken aback. “Do you have something for this?”

“Yeah; Madam Pomfrey gave me a pack of things to suck on if I get stung.” Harry had already tried one after accidentally stepping barefoot on a bumblebee last summer. They looked like regular boiled sweets, a vivid purple colour, but Harry thought they tasted like someone had blended bad mushrooms with raw egg, salt, aniseed and heaps of sugar and then bound it into suckable form. Personally, Harry would have preferred an injection like the Muggles used—a brief moment of pain sounded much more appetising—but he wasn’t one for complaining.

“You carry them all the time?”

Harry nodded. Except when he forgot to pick them up off his bedside table. But he didn’t bother saying this. It had only happened a handful of times, and not for ages.

“Who knows this, apart from Madam Pomfrey?” Snape asked.

“Just Ron and Hermione. Oh, and Neville, he asked what the sweets were once. But no-one else. I’m not stupid enough to let it be public knowledge. Draco Malfoy would probably put a hornet on my chair just to see what would happen.” Not to mention what Voldemort could do with the information, Harry thought, but didn’t say.

Snape made a ‘carry on’ gesture.

“I learned a bit of German at primary school but now I only really remember the numbers and colours. I can’t swim and I don’t like water. I don’t have a favourite colour. I like really really spicy food. Dudley once dared me to eat a whole Tabasco pepper. He was astonished when I liked it.” To be more precise, Dudley had forced it in his mouth and been thoroughly disappointed by the result, but there was no way Harry was going to say that.

“Hmm.”

Harry wondered if he’d said too much. Snape was getting too clear a picture of Dudley. Harry changed the subject. “Hermione’s started a house-elf rights group called SPEW. She sort of roped me and Ron into it.”

Snape frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”

“They’re my friends. I would have talked about them—a lot—if the story was true.”

Snape took a moment to process that. “You have a point. Continue.”

Harry told him about some of the best times he had spent with Ron and Hermione. He told him about their habits and their hobbies. He even mentioned, as casually as he could muster, that he had never had any friends before Hogwarts.

He hoped his friends could forgive him for sharing this information. It was a question of survival.

After a while, he couldn’t think of any more to say, so he asked, “Anything else you want to know?”

Snape considered. “Do you have any hobbies? Quidditch aside, obviously. You haven’t mentioned any.”

“Erm … does infuriating Dark Lords count?” Harry said with a half-grin.

“That’s not a hobby. It’s the sign of an attention-seeking moron who wouldn’t know self-preservation if it bit him on the nose.”

Don’t talk to me about self-preservation, Harry thought sourly. You’ve no idea how much I know about that.

“I thought you weren’t going to insult me anymore?” he said pointedly.

“Sorry.” The word looked very difficult for Snape to get out. “Force of habit.”

“I play the flute a bit,” Harry said shortly.

“The flute?”

“Yeah. I mean—I don’t read music or anything. But Hagrid whittled me one in first year and I play it sometimes. I can do Happy Birthday and Old King Cole and I’m trying to master Magic Works.”

“You like the Weird Sisters?”

“Yeah. I don’t know them well, but I do like them. Can I ask some questions now?”

“Yes.”

Harry considered a moment. “What kind of music do you like?”

Snape drummed his fingers on the table, apparently thinking hard. “Hmm. I like most types of classical music—I prefer choral and strings. Also jazz. Though I do have a fondness for The Rhythmic Runes.”

Harry didn’t know them, and made a note to familiarise himself. “Any big events in your life in the last six and a half years I should be aware of?”

“Er … I won a Potions award the November before you began Hogwarts. I’ve had five papers published in that time. My grandmother, my last living relative, died three years ago.” Again, Harry felt the urge to offer sympathy, but didn’t think it would be welcome. “Last summer I missed the World Cup due to dragon pox.”

“You like Quidditch?” Harry asked, surprised. He’d never thought Snape’s interest in the House matches went any further than his own House’s pride.

“I do,” Snape replied. “I merely choose not to act like a hooligan about it.”

Harry felt slightly cheered by this fact. At least they would never be stumped for conversation.

“And on a related note, my friends—my closest friends—are the Headmaster and your Head of House.”

“You’re friends with McGonagall?” Harry was even more surprised at this.

“That’s Professor McGonagall, and just because we take our Houses’ Quidditch rivalry seriously does not mean we are not on friendly terms—at least, when nosy students aren’t around.” Snape smirked.

Harry paused. There was one thing he had been wondering about Snape for a while, and he’d blurted it out before he really had the chance to think it through.

“What made you stop being a Death Eater?”

Snape went very still. His nostrils flared. Harry could tell he had hit a nerve, and regretted the question.

“Somehow, I don’t think that question will come up,” he said in a very final tone, and pushed away his empty plate. “I’ll get the dessert.”

The meal was finished in awkward silence. Harry wished he could bite his tongue off. He could tell Snape was fuming over the question, but doing his best to reign it in. Despite the panna cotta being delicious, Harry ate it as fast as he could so he could escape the table.

Snape certainly wasn’t in a good mood now, he thought as Snape picked up the dishes and deposited them in the sink rather forcefully. But he needed to ask regardless, and just hoped he wouldn’t get his head bitten off. Maybe he should apologise first.

“I’m sorry. It was none of my business.”

He received silence in return.

“Um, sir …”

“Father,” Snape corrected, grinding out the word like he wished Harry were between his teeth.

“Sorry. Father. Er, I was thinking earlier, that—that I should probably tell Ron and Hermione myself. In person. If they hear about this second-hand they’ll never believe it, and I can’t explain in writing.” He hesitated. “Also … um … Sirius too.”

For a long moment, Harry thought Snape was going to continue ignoring him, and was startled when Snape finally spoke.

“A good point. I will Firecall the Headmaster and get him to bring your friends over here.” Snape seemed to be washing up by hand, though Harry didn’t know why he didn’t use his wand. The dishes were clashing together quite loudly—maybe Snape was taking his anger at Harry out on the crockery.

Well, Harry thought, better than having it taken out on him.

“However, I believe your godfather is a different matter.” Harry’s heart sank. “I will ask, but I cannot promise anything. He may just have to find out from Professor Dumbledore. In the meantime, I suggest you familiarise yourself with the house and garden. Don’t try and open any locked doors, and don’t venture beyond the property boundaries.”

Harry took that to mean ‘go away’, said “Yes, si—Father,” and left Snape to the washing up.

-

Once the little brat had left, Severus took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

Merlin, it had been less than a day and he was already close to losing his temper with the boy. How on earth was this supposed to work?

He finished the dishes, left them to dry and went to make the Firecall.

“Severus!” Albus looked quite pleased to see him. “How’s it going?”

“How’s it going?”

“No need to shout at me, my boy. There’s bound to be an adjustment period, for both of you.”

“We can’t have an adjustment period,” Severus growled. “The Minister could come knocking on the door at any minute.”

Albus sighed. “I know. I’ve talked to Kingsley—you know, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Auror—he says Fudge is livid, but he also said he’ll try and stall him for as long as he can with distractions.”

“Good. Do the rest of the Order know?”

“No, not yet, why?”

“Pot—I mean, Harry wants to tell his friends in person. He thinks it’s the best way.”

“Yes … that makes sense,” Albus said thoughtfully. “I will send them over.”

“He also wants to tell the mutt in person, but—”

“Sirius?” Albus shook his head. “Not a good idea. I was wondering how to break this to him … I don’t think he will take it very well.”

No kidding.

Severus was rather relieved that Albus didn’t think it a good idea. He did not want to have to let Sirius Black into his house, thank you very much. Nor did he want to be in the vicinity when Black did find out.

“Well, perhaps if Harry were to write to him, I could deliver the letter in person,” Albus suggested.

And have a Calming Draught to hand, Severus thought. Rather you than me, Albus.

“Fine. I’ll tell him. You know this could all have been avoided if I’d known where to find you,” Severus said pointedly.

Albus checked his empty office for eavesdroppers. “Headquarters are at Sirius’ parents’ old house. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.”

“Bit late for that now.”

“I couldn’t tell you when it was decided because you were away, and we had to set it up as soon as possible. I’m sorry.”

-

Snape’s house was the opposite of the dungeons: warm, comfortable and spacious. Harry thought it seemed to be even bigger inside. Maybe it was. He didn’t know what was typical for wizard homes.

To put some distance between him and Snape, Harry ventured out the back door. The garden was large, too, and well-kept. Snape had a huge herb garden and vegetable patch, tastefully styled flower beds and a rocky water feature. On a patio stood a table and chairs, and what might have been a rusty barbeque. At the bottom of the garden were several large trees that looked great for climbing. That was, if Snape could be persuaded to let him.

The garden was walled, so Harry couldn’t check out the neighbours, or cross the boundaries. He didn’t want to, anyway. He wondered if he would be allowed to fly here—would Snape be able to shield him from the neighbours’ view?

After wandering around for a while, Harry returned to the house. He could hear voices in the living-room, so avoided it and checked out the rooms he hadn’t been in yet.

There was a locked door in the hall, and he wasn’t stupid enough to try opening it. He found what might have been a second living-room, smaller than the front room but otherwise very similar. There was no television in this one, but an old-fashioned record player and a wizarding wireless. A glass-fronted cabinet was full of Potions awards. A freestanding bookcase was almost filled with books, one shelf of which was lined with framed photographs. There were a few old ones that might have been of relatives, and lots of Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, occasionally with Snape in the frame as well.

Harry had never seen Snape smile properly before. It was very strange to look at. His three teachers did look surprisingly close. Rather like an older Harry, Ron and Hermione.

He went into the attached dining room, which looked hardly used, and back into the hall to try the one door he hadn’t opened yet. It turned out to lead into a room stuffed full of bookshelves—a library. There was also an annexe off it that held a desk covered in paperwork, and drawers and filing cabinets.

There was nothing to signify the annexe as being out of bounds, but since there was no door to lock, Harry decided to play it safe and avoid at all costs.

The library was interesting. Harry had expected stacks of Potions books—and there were—but there were also lots on Herbology, Healing, the Dark Arts, and Defence, as well as Muggle medicine, gardening, a few titles on classical music, and teaching skills. Harry had to look twice at the last one. There was no doubt that Snape’s teaching skills could do with a lot of improvement, but he couldn’t imagine for a moment Snape actually following advice from 101 Essential Teaching Techniques.

Maybe that book had also been a present.

Harry continued looking through the shelves. As well as all the non-fiction, there was a substantial amount of novels. Harry recognised a number of Muggle classics, but on closer inspection, most of the books seemed to be romances.

“Okay, I did not have Snape pegged for the romantic sort,” Harry muttered to himself.

He pulled another book off the shelf—an author he vaguely recognised, but not the title—to discover that it wasn’t a novel, but a book of poetry. In fact, the final section was made up entirely of poetry, as much of it as there was of the novels.

“Snape likes poetry too. Who knew?”

Harry flicked through one of the collections, strangely disturbed by these discoveries. It made Snape seem almost … human.

“Harry?”

He almost dropped the book, and replaced it quickly on the shelf before hurrying out of the library. He almost ran into Snape in the hall.

“There you are. Your friends will be here any minute.”

Harry brightened. “Great!”

Snape ushered him into the first living-room, where the fireplace was, and after a moment the fire turned green. Harry grinned as Ron and Hermione stepped out, the latter stumbling slightly.

“Harry!” Hermione recovered quickly and attacked him with a bear hug. “Oh! Er … hello, Professor.”

“Miss Granger,” Snape said shortly. “Mr Weasley.” He turned to Harry. “I will be in my potions lab for a couple of hours; I expect not to be disturbed except in an emergency. Kindly try and stay out of trouble in that time.”

“Yes, sir.”

Snape cleared his throat.

“Father,” Harry ground out, ignoring his friends’ surprised and confused expressions.

“Better.” Snape retreated into the hall, unlocked the door that Harry hadn’t been able to open, and disappeared inside.

“What was that about?” Ron asked, bewildered.

Harry took a deep breath. “Um, you guys had better sit down.”

They did so, looking nervous. “Harry, is everything all right?” Hermione asked.

“I’ve been better,” Harry admitted. “Ron … you remember at Christmas when you made that comment that Snape would no sooner let us play games in class than adopt me?”

Ron sniggered. “Yeah. Er—what about it?”

“It’s no longer funny.”

“Why?”

“Because he has.”

“Let you play games in class?” Ron said hopefully.

Harry shook his head. “No. As of today, I am officially a Snape—though he’s agreed I can keep my last name, thank goodness.”

Ron spluttered incoherently for a moment, and Hermione’s mouth was hanging open.

“But—what—why??”

“Apparently it was the only way to stop Fudge from doing the same. And if he’d done that, he’d have total control over me; right down to if I even go to Hogwarts or not. Which he’d have used to shut me up about Voldemort being back.” Harry flopped into a seat. “So now Snape and I are stuck with each other.”

“It’s just temporary, right?” Hermione asked. “Till the Ministry realises the truth?”

“Nope. Permanent. So even if Fudge changes his mind or gets killed or something tomorrow, I’ll still be stuck with Snape.” Harry sighed. “It hasn’t exactly been a picnic so far, I can tell you.”

Ron shook his head. “I can’t believe it. Couldn’t Dumbledore do something? Snape would be on your case every minute of every day!”

“Actually, we’ve made a sort of truce,” Harry said. “Since to an outsider it’s got to look genuine, and not like we’re just resisting Fudge.”

“Although you are.”

“Well, obviously. But we’ve come up with a cover story which … I dunno, it might work. Unless the Ministry found a way to prove it fake.”

There was a long silence.

“What about his position though?” Hermione finally asked. “I can’t see You-Know-Who being very happy with him when he finds this out. And he’s bound to sooner or later, isn’t he?”

Harry stared at her. In truth, it hadn’t crossed his mind yet what this would look like to Voldemort. One of his followers adopting his worst enemy … yeah, that was probably grounds for being killed right there.

“I-I don’t know. We haven’t—talked about that, yet.”

The strangest feeling came over him—fear for Snape’s life. Harry had already lost two parents. As reluctant a father as Snape was, and as much as he hated Harry and vice versa, he had still committed to keeping Harry safe from Fudge. The thought of him dying for it made Harry feel like he was going to throw up.

Around nine o’clock, Snape emerged from his Potions lab and shooed Ron and Hermione off home. While he had been busy, the two of them and Harry had been discussing plans of action for every possible eventuality they could come up with.

Eventuality Number One: Fudge loses, Voldemort loses, Snape lets Harry get on with his life (the preferred eventuality all around).

No action needed on that one.

Eventuality Number Two: Fudge loses, Voldemort loses, but Snape tries to control Harry himself.

Ron suggested poison. Harry was leaning more towards the ‘fake own death’ idea. Hermione didn’t like either plan. They had decided to come back to that one later.

Eventuality Number Three: Fudge succeeds and tries to pull Harry out of Hogwarts.

Rescue mission followed by changing identities and running away abroad. That plan still needed some fine-tuning.

Eventuality Number Four: Voldemort kills Snape whilst Fudge is still trying to get his claws on Harry.

“That’s easy,” Ron had said, surprising Harry. “I’ll tell Mum and Dad to have adoption papers at the ready. As long as they sign before Fudge gets to, you’ll be fine.”

“I think it might be an idea for more people to be prepared, in case,” Hermione had said thoughtfully. “There’s no guarantee that, if Snape dies, your parents will find out before Fudge does.”

“What do you mean, more people?” Harry had asked, slightly stunned.

“Well, I don’t know how much Snape has filled you in mate, but Dumbledore’s got a whole secret society together. It’s called the Order of the Phoenix, they work against You-Know-Who, did it in the last war too. Mum and Dad are members this time. Lupin is too, and Snape, and McGonagall, and Moody, and Sirius. And a whole bunch of other people …”

Harry was still reflecting on their discussion when Snape cleared his throat loudly, and he realised he had been staring at the fireplace a full minute after his friends had left.

“Oh! Yes, s—Father?”

“I talked with the Headmaster about Black,” Snape said, his lip curling slightly at Sirius’ name. “He agrees it would not be wise for him to pay you a visit.” Harry’s heart sank. “However, Professor Dumbledore did suggest that he could deliver a letter for you so that you can explain the situation honestly.”

Harry brightened. “Great! Um … thanks.” In all honesty he wouldn’t have been surprised if Snape had just ignored his requests.

Snape looked pointedly at the clock. “We didn’t manage to finish going over ground rules. I think the other smaller things are going to have to wait until tomorrow, but I want you in bed by ten, lights out by quarter past. So I suggest you get on and write that letter now, because if Black doesn’t get it tonight he is bound to find out some other way—and I won’t allow that as a reason for you to stay up late to finish it.”

Recognising his dismissal, Harry jumped to his feet. “Okay, I will.” He sped up the stairs.

-

It had been a long day, and Sirius was exhausted. Despite the fact that it was his old bed in his detested parents’ house, his bed—now it had been thoroughly cleaned and made up—looked so inviting. All he wanted to do was crawl inside and go to sleep. But he couldn’t, because Remus was staying with him for the first few nights, so there was another bedroom to get into a liveable state before either of them could get any sleep.

They were in the process of de-moulding a mattress when there was a knock on the door, and they looked up to see Albus in the doorway.

“Albus! Please tell me you’ve come to help,” Sirius half-pleaded.

“I would be happy to,” Albus said, but Sirius’ relief was short-lived as he saw the serious look on his face. “But first, I have some … difficult news.”

“What news?” Remus asked, frowning.

Albus merely held an envelope out to Sirius. He recognised Harry’s hand, addressing it to him, and practically snatched it. “Is Harry all right?”

“He’s … fine.” Sirius didn’t miss the hesitation. “I’m sure he’s explained clearly in the letter …”

Sirius pulled the letter out and unfolded it. Remus leaned over his shoulder to read it as well, looking as worried as Sirius felt.

Dear Sirius,

Okay, this is tricky. I’ve got something to tell you, and I need you not to freak out and do something stupid, please. It’s not the end of the world.

So, apparently Fudge tried to adopt me today—

“What!” Sirius exclaimed.

—which I’m sure you’ll agree would have been really bad, but the only person around who could stop him was Snape, and the only way he could stop him—

“WHAT!” Remus shouted. He had always been a faster reader than Sirius.

— was by adopting me himself.

Sirius spluttered incomprehensively.

We’ve been working out a cover story to stop Fudge from being able to retract it, and agreed to keep things civil—well, to be more precise, we have to pretend to like each other—so it’s not like I’m in danger of being starved or locked up or made into potions ingredients or anything.

Starved? Locked up? Being made into potions ingredients? Where did those come from? Surely Snape didn’t do any of those things to students! Sirius wouldn’t actually have put any of them past the greasy git if he thought he could get away with it—but under Dumbledore’s nose? Not a chance, the man wasn’t that stupid. But maybe the students thought he did anyway? Rumours in Hogwarts could get very … elaborate, after all.

That must be it.

It’s not been a piece of cauldron cake so far, but there’s a few silver linings. I don’t have to change my name. Sirius’ hackles raised at the mere thought of Harry being forced to no longer use his father’s—his real father’s—name. Snape’s actually a pretty good cook. And his house is quite nice, nothing like the dungeons. So really, it could be worse.

Anyway, it’s getting late and I don’t want to piss Father off on my first night (yes, that’s what I have to call him now—it feels just as weird him calling me Harry), so I’ll leave it there. I dunno if Dumbledore’s happy to keep ferrying letters back and forth between us … Anyway, I miss you, and I hope I get to see you sometime soon. But I am okay here, so please don’t try anything silly like trying to break me out or something. It’s not going to be easy but it’s better than the alternative.

Love, Harry

“A-Albus,” Sirius croaked, looking up at the Headmaster. “Isn’t there anything—”

“I can do?” Albus lifted his hands, palms up. “I’m afraid I can’t get Harry out of the situation. The only thing I can do is prepare for the worst-case scenarios. A backup plan will have to be hatched in case the adoption does get revoked. And, as morbid as it sounds, I have advised Severus to update his will so that, in the event of his death, Fudge cannot swoop in.”

“Couldn’t that be overruled?” Remus asked, frowning.

“It’s possible. Which is why I have also, as per Miss Granger’s idea, decided to prepare several sets of adoption papers ready to sign, to be held by members of the Order.”

“Good idea.” Sirius ran his hands through his hair. His head was spinning. He was so tired—was it possible he was asleep, and this was just a nightmare?

Hardly. He didn’t have that kind of luck.

-

Harry had climbed, undressed, into his new bed at ten on the dot, just as the bedroom door opened and Snape looked in.

“Oh.” He sounded surprised, and Harry was sure he was struggling not to comment on the fact that Harry had actually managed to follow the rules for once. He was equally sure that Snape was disappointed he didn’t have an excuse to rebuke him. The man clearly didn’t know what to say instead, and after a moment he withdrew his head and closed the door again.

With a sigh, Harry picked up the book from his bedside table. He had gone back to the library earlier and explored the fiction section properly, picking out Treasure Island since he was already familiar with the story from primary school. He turned to the first chapter.

The door opened again. “Don’t forget, lights out in fourteen minutes.”

“I won’t forget,” Harry promised. The door closed again.

He almost did forget, absorbed in the plot. At the Dursleys’ house, Harry had never dared read any of the books, for they all belonged to Dudley (even if he never touched them). But at his last school, he had found places to hide from Dudley’s gang and read his way, literally, through the whole library. He much preferred stories to reading for academic reasons, and missed them a lot—there wasn’t a lot of choice in the Hogwarts library.

It was only when Harry heard a creak on the stairs, did he get yanked out of his adventure and remember his curfew. Glancing at the clock—quarter past!—he quickly put the bookmark in, placed the book on his bedside table and turned out the lamp. No sooner had he done so than Snape reappeared in the doorway.

“Well.” He sounded impressed now. “Goodnight then, P—Harry.”

“Night … Father.” Harry realised he was still wearing his glasses, and quickly put them on his bedside table.

For some reason, Snape hesitated. Harry watched him, wondering why he wasn’t leaving. Snape seemed to be wrestling with himself. He took a tentative step into the room. Harry was about to ask him if he was all right, when he whirled around and left again, closing the door with a snap.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, putting the odd action out of his mind. It had been a weird enough day. He was ready to sleep.

Waking up the next morning was an interesting experience. 

Harry stared at his bed hangings for several minutes before he recalled why they weren’t scarlet and gold. His heart sank as he remembered what misfortune had befallen him the day before.

Oh crap. Snape’s my father!

If only it could have been a horrendous dream—but no; his surroundings said otherwise. Harry pulled his covers up over his head, wishing he could sink back into oblivion. Last night had actually been the first since the Task without nightmares. Too bad he was now living in one permanently.

A sharp knock on his door startled him out of his melancholy. “Are you awake?”

Harry didn’t answer, in no way ready to face Snape and hoping that the man would think he was still asleep and leave him alone. No such luck. He heard the door handle turn, and concentrated on keeping his breathing deep and even.

He heard Snape walk over to his bed, and remained still with his eyes closed as his covers were pulled off his face. There was a long pause.

“I know you’re awake.”

Harry decided maybe now was the time to fake waking up, so twitched and yawned and opened his eyes slowly, then drew his legs up with a yelp as Snape whipped his covers off the bed completely. “What was that for?”

Snape frowned down at him. “I sincerely hope that is not the extent of your acting skills, or you will be spending the rest of your life answering to Mr Fudge.”

Harry shivered, and Snape conceded to let him have his covers back. “It’s eight o’clock, and I think it would be beneficial for us to get a move on working things out, considering the Minister could be coming over at any minute—don’t you?”

Gloomily, Harry thought he had a point. “Okay, fine. I’ll get up.”

“Good.” Snape strode to the door. “Do you eat porridge?”

“Yes.”

Snape cleared his throat.

“Yes, Father.”

“I’ll have some ready when you’ve washed.” He disappeared down the stairs.

Harry groaned, grabbed some fresh clothes and made his way to the bathroom.

It was big, with a large bath and a separate shower. Harry’s shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste now sat on the shelf next to Snape’s (Harry was shocked to find Snape actually had shampoo, and it wasn’t covered in dust either). He had the quickest shower he could, dressed fast and hurried downstairs.

Just in time as it turned out—Snape was dishing up two bowls of porridge.

“Ah, there you are. Do you have sugar or anything on it?”

“Um …” Harry hesitated. “Do you have golden syrup?”

“No.”

“Oh. Honey then?”

Snape nodded “I do. In that cupboard there.”

Over breakfast, they resumed their getting-to-know-each-other discussion, exchanging more small details such as likes and dislikes, as well as memorable moments from their pasts. Harry was just telling the escaped python story (skimming over the bit about Dudley pushing him to the floor), when a lynx Patronus suddenly materialised in the kitchen, startling them both.

Harry dropped his spoon with a clatter. Snape jumped to his feet, looking alarmed. To Harry’s surprise, the Patronus opened its mouth and spoke in a deep, slow voice.

“Fudge is coming. Five minutes tops.”

Message imparted, it faded. Snape cursed colourfully, which would have impressed Harry if he hadn’t been so blown by the message. His heart jumped into his throat. This is it.

“I hope you’re ready for this,” Snape said in a strained voice.

Harry nodded. “I’m ready, Father.” As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.

Snape looked sceptical, but didn’t comment. They finished their porridge in silence, though Harry had rather lost his appetite, and Snape was just putting the empty bowls in the sink when the doorbell rang.

Okay, Harry. Just like when the social workers came.

“I’ll get it,” he said before Snape could react, and ran into the hall. He had a feeling he had rather startled his new father with his eagerness, but Harry knew what he was doing.

Lights, camera, action!

Harry unlocked and pulled the door open, a smile on his face. “Hello!” he said brightly.

Fudge looked rather taken aback. “Mr Potter,” he said, sounding surprised.

“Oh, hello, Minister,” Harry said politely. “Sorry, was my father expecting you? He didn’t mention it.”

There was no doubt that Fudge was in a bad mood. He scowled harder at Harry’s words. His clothes were unusually crumpled and he had dark shadows under his eyes; Harry got the impression he had been up all night. Behind Fudge was another man; tall, bald and dark-skinned, who in contrary to Fudge seemed completely calm.

“Of course he’s expecting me,” Fudge snapped.

“Okay.” Harry drew back to let them in. Fudge stalked into the hall without a thank you. The other man nodded politely at him. “Father!” Harry called. “We’ve got visitors.”

Snape looked out of the kitchen doorway, washing-up gloves on. “Oh, Mr Fudge. This is a surprise.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Snape; you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Snape frowned. “I’m sorry?”

Fudge looked like he was about to blow a fuse, but the other man spoke up—in an oddly familiar voice.

“Perhaps we should all sit down and talk about this civilly?”

Harry blinked. It was the voice from the Patronus.

“An excellent idea,” Snape said calmly, peeling off his gloves. “Why don’t I put the kettle on?”

Fudge growled, but the Patronus-castor said, “That would be welcome, thank you. A strong black tea for the Minister, and a sweet white one for me.”

“Certainly—Auror Shacklebolt, isn’t it?”

Shacklebolt nodded, but Fudge burst out, “Just get on with it!”

“Harry, would you show our visitors into the front room,” Snape said, smiling at him before disappearing into the kitchen.

“This way.” Harry walked into the front room with a spring in his step, and gestured to the chairs. “Please sit down.”

Shacklebolt thanked him, but Fudge sat down reluctantly without saying anything. Harry took a seat on the sofa, a free space beside him for Snape. After a minute or so’s awkward silence, Snape entered with a tray of cups of tea, and silently handed them out. Harry took a sip of his, impressed that Snape had recalled exactly how he liked it.

“Now,” Fudge said in a dangerous voice, “maybe you two could tell me what you’re playing at.”

Harry and Snape looked at each other. “What do you mean, Minister?” Snape asked politely.

“This silly adoption!”

“Oh, is that what this is about?”

“Don’t give me that!” Fudge snapped. “I don’t know how you pulled this off, but I do know why!”

“And why would that be?” Snape said promptly, an eyebrow raised.

“To stop me adopting him myself!”

“But, Mr Fudge,” Harry said slowly in an innocent voice, “why would you want to adopt me? I didn’t think you liked me much.” Not after last year, anyway.

“He has a valid point, Minister,” Shacklebolt said.

“I could ask you the same thing, Snape,” Fudge said, avoiding answering perfectly and now smiling nastily. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve detested the boy since before you even met.”

Harry and Snape looked at each other again, and both burst out laughing at exactly the same time. It couldn’t have been more perfectly timed if they had rehearsed it.

“What’s so funny?” Fudge demanded.

“Don’t you see, Minister,” Snape said, wiping tears of laughter from his face—Nice touch, Harry thought—“that’s what we made everyone believe. I’ve known Harry since he was eight years old—we invented the grudge when he began Hogwarts so no-one could accuse me of favouring him.”

“It became quite a fun game, actually,” Harry improvised.

Snape nodded, catching on immediately. “Yes, we used to mark each other for creative insults.”

Harry giggled. “And seeing everyone else’s faces was always amusing.”

Fudge frowned. “If that were true, and I’m not saying I believe you, why wait till now?”

“For what? To adopt him?” Snape put an arm around Harry’s shoulders, and Harry snuggled into his side. His skin crawled, but he didn’t let it show. Hmm … Snape actually didn’t smell anywhere as bad as his lab.

“We’ve both wanted it for years, but … I thought he would be better protected with the blood wards.” There was a pause. “But then I heard he was going to be removed from them anyway, I took the opportunity. No disrespect intended, Minister, but if anyone’s going to be Harry’s father, then it is going to be me.”

“So you admit you adopted him to stop me!” Fudge jumped to his feet, sending his untouched tea over the carpet. Snape scowled.

“I do not believe I have done anything illegal. Have I?” he directed at Shacklebolt.

“No, he hasn’t, Minister,” the Auror replied. “He gained permission from the previous guardian before your application was approved, and his motives are clearly appropriate for the role. It’s completely legal and proper.”

There was a long silence while Fudge went purple. He was staring hard at the two of them, who hadn’t broken apart yet, as if hoping to see a confession somewhere on their persons. Harry was trying not to hold his breath.

Finally, seeming to come to the conclusion that there was nothing more he could argue for now, Fudge swept out of the house, slamming the front door behind him. Shacklebolt sent them both a small smile and stood up too.

“Thank you for the tea, Professor Snape.” He put his cup back on the tray, and glanced at the door before dropping his voice. “Well done, you two. Keep it up.”

Harry quickly let Snape go, and he saw Shacklebolt out. Once the door had closed and the sounds of two people Apparating had come and gone, they both sighed.

“They’ve gone.” Snape turned to look at Harry with an odd expression on his face. “That was impressive,” he said, admiration in his voice. Harry couldn’t help a warm feeling at the compliment.

“Thanks.”

“Who knows, we might be able to pull this off after all.” Snape paused. “I think it would be best if we kept up the charade all the time, not just when others around. Acting becomes easier when you’re not dipping in and out of the role. It also lessens the risk of being discovered.”

“Okay,” Harry said. Even knowing he was a good actor when it counted, he was still amazed how easy it had been. “Works for me.”

“Then that’s settled. Harry.” There was a moment’s silence. “So, I think we should do something special—something to celebrate.”

Harry blinked. “Celebrate? Celebrate what?” That Fudge hadn’t got his way yet?

“Well, that we’re … finally a family.”

A slow grin split over Harry’s voice. “Definitely!”

“So … is there anything in particular you would like to do?” From the look on Snape’s face, Harry could tell there was a silent WITHIN REASON! added onto that question.

“Um …” Harry’s mind went blank. There were so many things that the Dursleys had done without him that he had longed to join in with, but now when it looked like he had a chance, he couldn’t think of anything.

“Well?” Snape said after a moment’s pause.

“Sorry … just … trying to decide,” Harry said slowly. “Um …”

“Yes?”

“Can we go to London?”

“London?”

“Well, I’ve only ever been for a specific purpose, like getting school stuff. I’ve never been on an actual day out there.”

For a moment Harry thought Snape might say no, but after a moment’s consideration he nodded. “I don’t see why not.”

Harry grinned again, hardly able to believe his luck. This charade definitely had its perks.