Severus stepped out of the fireplace and into a spacious living room that was furnished in a rather dated victorian style though, knowing Albus Dumbledore the way he did, Snape wasn’t in the least bit surprised that the fabric over the settee and armchairs was a deep blue-violet with starbursts embroidered in gold thread. The whole room was probably taken out of the imagination of a muggle child. And Dumbledore himself sometimes took it to the extreme to image himself after a cartoon wizard. Severus was still uncertain if that was a cunning tactic or Dumbledore just preferred a certain amount of flamboyance. Perhaps it was both.

Potter stumbled over the hearth and only Severus’ quick reflexes kept the boy from face-planting into Dumbledore’s rug. The boy looked a sickly shade of grey-green and Severus immediately conjured a bucket. Not a moment too soon, either. The bucket was barely in front of the boy before he was violently ill. Potter collapsed to his knees, gripping the sides of the bucket like a lifeline and retching into it.

“What,” Albus began, rising to his feet in alarm, before changing his words, “whatever is the matter with Mr. Potter, Severus?”

The Potions Master sneered, turning away from the trembling boy to meet the Headmaster’s blue eyes. “Potter is dead.”

The older wizard looked both confused and disconcerted. “Explain.”

The retching slowed to exhausted coughs and occasional dry heaving and Severus glanced down, vanishing the contents of the bucket. “It appears that that imbecile Black has disowned the boy.”

It was strange, and a little unnerving, to see the normally well-informed man looking so surprised. “Disowned?”

Severus nodded sharply. “Irrevocably.”

Albus swept past the younger man, quickly kneeling next to the boy. He smoothed a hand over the heaving back and it was then that Severus noticed the overly large, worn shirt and frayed jeans. He’d never seen he boy out of his school robes, which were always new and clean. They’d screamed the Potter wealth and had served to ignite his bitter anger many times. Now they sparked an unsettling suspicion. Suspicions that could prove he’d been wrong and Severus hated being wrong.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Albus drew his wand and flicked it toward the door. A silvery patronus materialized and vanished through the wall. Albus stowed his wand again, focusing intently on the boy. “This event just happened?”

“Yes,” Severus said, shifting guiltily. “Approximately five or ten minutes ago. I’ve attempted to slow the damage.”

Blue eyes sparked knowingly up at him. “I’m not blaming you, my boy. I’ve called for Poppy,” he explained, running a hand over the boy’s back in a futile effort to soothe him when the teen started retching again. “You’ve done what you could.”

They didn’t have to wait too many minutes more before the front door opened and brisk steps were heard on the worn floorboards before the medi-witch called out, “Albus?”

“In the living room, Poppy,” Albus called back. “I’m afraid the former Mr. Potter is your patient tonight.”

“Former?” Poppy gasped, entering the living room with her wand already in hand.

“I fear it’s a bit of a story, but that can wait,” the Headmaster told her. “Harry is in need of immediate assistance.”

She hardly paid Severus any mind and the potions master stepped out of her way as she rapidly moved to the Headmaster’s side, muttering furiously under her breath as she waved her wand in complicated patterns. Whatever the spells were telling her made her features darken and her eyes snapped fire when she finally lowered her wand and turned to Albus, demanding, “What happened to the child? He was in near perfect health not two hours ago.”

Albus looked old and weary and Severus offered a hand to help him stand. The boy was resting his forehead against the lip of the bucket, no longer throwing up but shivers wracked his body and sweat beaded along his hairline. The Headmaster lowered himself heavily onto the settee nearby. “What is the diagnosis, my dear?”

The matron’s lips pursed in displeasure. “His magical core is crumbling and his body is rejecting him; if we don’t stop it soon, he will not survive. Nothing in the school should’ve had such a devastating effect on a person.”

Albus sighed, running a hand down his beard. “It’s as I feared, then. It appears Harry has been ejected from the Potter line.”

Poppy gasped, her hand flying to her chest and clutching at her heart. “Completely…? But I thought only the head of the family could do such a thing.”

Even Severus, though he’d assumed such was the case, was taken aback by the news. Complete disownment almost never happened in a family nowadays and he’d never heard of such results. Albus tapped the arm of his chair, a sign of great disturbance of mind. “It is normally only able to be done by the head of the family, but since Harry is — was the last of the Potter line and he is underage, the head of the family reverts to the closest living male relative on his father’s side.”

“Black?” Severus asked, already knowing the answer.

Poppy looked at him in surprise. “Sirius Black?”

“The very same,” Albus said when Severus merely sneered. “Not much happens for an adult witch or wizard since their magic has stabilized and completely become their own. There is also some mutation of an individual’s body as they grow and mature. Children still rely heavily on the family magic to keep them balanced and the make up of their body hasn’t changed enough to withstand violent alteration. Usually there is a delay before the disowning side effects, if there are any, occur. That they’re happening so swiftly is curious. What happened?”

The last question was directed toward Severus, but they were surprised when Harry spoke up, his voice muffled since he didn’t lift his head from the bucket, “I’m not Potter enough. Mum didn’t want — didn’t want to marry Dad.” A sob interrupted the explanation. “He was a bully and — and he took advantage of Mum. D-dad didn’t — didn’t want me. Sirius said it’s m-my fault he died. Mine and Mum’s. He said I’m no longer a Potter.”

Severus felt his heart seize and he staggered, grateful for the armchair that appeared behind him. He sank into it, covering his face with his hands. Sixteen years of regrets and pain rushed through him and suddenly he understood her last words to him. The words she’d shouted at him through a locked door just before he saw the wedding announcement in the papers. Words that had crushed him at the time, but now took on a whole new meaning.

“It’s too late, Sev!”

“Am I going to die?”

Neither Poppy or Albus answered immediately and Severus grit his teeth. He’d failed Lily twice already. He’d run when she rejected him, lashing out in anger. He’d been a coward, just as his father always said. Then he failed to save her when it counted. He swore he’d protect the boy. He vowed the boy would live even if it took his dying breath to make it so. His fists clenched. He rose to his feet, eyes narrowed on the boy. “No.”

Harry shook his head. “I feel it,” he whispered. “It’s getting hard to see, hard to hear, hard to breathe… Everything hurts.”

“What needs to be done?” he demanded of Albus.

The elderly wizard looked surprised. “Are you sure, Severus? It would be extremely difficult to hide this from Voldemort.”

Severus suppressed the cold shiver of terror that clawed down his spine, burying it deep below his occlumency shields. “But not impossible.”

Albus steepled his hands, looking at the younger man over the tips of his fingers. “Perhaps you should take a day or so to think it over—”

“He doesn’t have a day or two, Albus,” Poppy suddenly exclaimed, hovering over Harry. Harry was retching again, but this time it was blood. The fluid leaked from the boy’s nose and eyes and stained his mouth. “The decision has to be made now.”

Albus looked flustered, but Severus was already moving to Harry, kneeling next to the boy and supporting him as he heaved. “What needs to be done? This is magic I’m not familiar with, Albus. Tell me quickly!”

“Severus, the plans in motion,” Albus started weakly, but Poppy was having none of it.

“Oh, sod your bloody plans, Albus! There is no time,” she snapped at the Headmaster, her knuckles were white around her wand. She moved around to help support Harry. “You need to be Harry’s father, Severus. The Ancient Rites.”

The potions master nodded. Old Magic. Blood Magic. It was considered dark by Ministry standards, but without it the boy would die. James Potter’s DNA contribution was being forcibly ripped from Harry’s body and the magic he’d received from the Potter side was already withdrawing. Harry couldn’t survive with the DNA from only one parent…and the violent loss of magic would kill him if he did manage to survive the impossible.

Poppy explained what to do as quickly as possible. Severus knew he’d have questions for the medi-witch afterwards. This was not the sort of magic one learned in school or during a typical apprenticeship. The old magicks weren’t taught anymore.

It was fortunate that Blood Magic was simple. Well, simple in an obscure sense of the word. At least this particular ritual didn’t require the conscious consent of the other. Harry was convulsing, his eyes rolling back in his head and blood seeping from his mouth. Blood soaked the ratty clothes the boy wore and stained Severus’ hands. Consent would be impossible.

“He’s seizing,” Poppy said, her voice urgent. “Lay him down — on his side, Severus.”

Severus worked quickly, shoving a low coffee table further away as Poppy leaned down and snatched Harry’s glasses out of the way. Severus leaned over the boy while Poppy frantically waved her wand. The iconic scar on the boy’s forehead burst open and a sickly greenish-black wraith rose from the reopened wound. A faint scream of rage emitted from the wraith and Severus jerked instinctively away from it. Albus leapt to his feet, wand thrust out and twisting. Wordless magic erupted from the wand and surrounded the misty thing, trapping it. Once the wraith was encased within a bubble-like container and Albus directed it into an empty chest nearby and locked it within.

“What was that?” Severus demanded.

“Not now, Severus,” Poppy snapped. “He won’t last much longer before the damage becomes too great.”

Using his wand, Severus cut a deep slash across his left palm, reaching for Harry’s and doing the same. He laced their fingers, bleeding wounds pressed tightly together. Drawing Harry to his chest, he wrapped his arms around the boy, and muttered a long string of guttural Gaelic that Poppy had provided. He could feel the pull of magic from deep within him moving up from his core and down his arm and into the boy. Harry’s convulsions slowed and finally stopped when Severus fell silent.

Severus let his head drop to the top of Harry’s head, feeling drained. Druidic spells were coarser than the latin ones that most of Europe adopted after the advance of the Roman Empire and therefore were more draining since few modern wizards were as connected to nature as they once were. Though Severus was more of the opinion that much of the magic the Ministry labeled “dark,” was done so because of ethnic cleansing and in an effort to “civilize” the magical population. Utter hogwash.

Harry lay still in his arms, the only sign that he still lived was the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest. Poppy moved forward, her wand at ready in case either Severus or Harry needed stabilizing spells. Albus remained silent. She checked them both and sighed quietly, sinking to the floor next to them and almost leaning against Severus.

“It worked,” she told Severus, relief shining brightly in her eyes. “It’ll take a few days for his core to stabilize and rebuild after the trauma of — well, the least said about that, the better. You’ll need to rest as well, Severus. You expended a lot of magic and a fair amount of blood. No magical travel for a day or so. I don’t think either of you would survive it just now. Albus?”

The Headmaster blinked, tearing his eyes from Severus to meet Poppy’s questioning look. He startled. “Oh, yes. Ribky!”

A house-elf popped up at the end of the settee, bulging blue eyes widening even further in surprise at the number of people in the living room and what, by all appearances, looked like a murder scene. With a squeak, the little elf bowed. “What can Ribky do for yous, Master Headmaster, sir?”

“Have two rooms prepared for Severus and Harry, Ribky,” Albus said.

“Right away, sir!” Ribky squeaked, hesitating before she popped away and glancing anxiously at Severus as she pulled on her ears. “Would Master Potions Master and Master Potions Master’s son like a tray, sirs?”

Albus lifted an eyebrow, turning to look inquiringly at his younger colleague. Severus stared at the expectant house-elf until Poppy lightly touched his shoulder. With a sharp nod, Severus managed to form a coherent sentence. “Yes. Just tea… Harry will need something to eat when he wakes.”

“Soup or something similar would be best,” Poppy suddenly spoke up. “Keep it light, please.”

“Yes, sirs, Mistress Matron, ma’am!” Ribky trilled and then left with a crack!

Albus finally stood, shaking out his robes and crossing the worn rug. “Well, let’s get you two into your beds. I’m sure Ribky will have the rest of the elves fussing over you shortly. Can you walk, my boy?”

Severus released Harry into Poppy’s care, brow furrowing as he took an internal assessment of his body. It grated to have to admit it, but he didn’t think he’d be able to rise on his own, let alone climb the steep stairs to the bedrooms on the upper level without landing on his face in a dead faint. “I…may need assistance.”

Poppy chuckled quietly, blissfully ignoring Severus’ furious glare. With a flick of her wand, she levitated Harry out of the living room and they could hear her creaking up the old staircase down the hall. Albus’ eyes sparked with amusement when Severus turned his glower on him. The Headmaster smiled easily, giving way with a genial, “Of course. It would be my pleasure to help you to your bed.”

“Don’t levitate me,” Severus said fiercely. He would not suffer that particular indignity while still conscious.

The Headmaster laughed, hooking surprisingly strong hands under Severus’ arms and helping him to his feet. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t think doing so would make the room spin more than he could handle. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that wraith you captured, Albus. You will tell me what it is.”

The elderly wizard hummed a vague agreement. “We’d best you to your room for the night, my boy.”

He swayed when he finally gained his footing, grateful that Albus merely held his elbow and said nothing. The trek across the living room, down the hall to the stairs, and finally to the upstairs bedroom felt like he’d walked the length of England and Scotland and been subjected to the Cruciatus no fewer than a dozen times by an infuriated megalomaniac dark lord. It was a testament to how he was feeling that he allowed Albus to clean the blood from his teaching robes before transfiguring them into colorful pajamas and tucking him into the equally colorful bed in a sickeningly cheerful guest room.

Albus fussed with the coverlet and then summoned a comfortable armchair from the corner of the room, placed it next to the bed, took a seat, and made himself comfortable while completely ignoring Severus’ withering glare. A tea tray popped up on the bedside table a moment later and Albus prepared a cup, placing it within easy reach of Severus and then made his own, saying, “We must decide what you’re going to tell Voldemort.”

Severus let his head fall back against the headboard, releasing a slow breath of air. It was the closest he’d allow himself to actually groaning. “Must we talk about this now, Albus?”

“No time like the present,” the old man chirped pleasantly. “If not now, when? He’s likely to call you any moment since he’s only getting more and more frustrated that the prophecy is out of his reach.”

Severus draped an arm over his eyes. A headache was forming and he knew any pain relievers would be absolutely useless. The only cure for magical exhaustion was time…and sleep. And the blessed absence of blindingly bright colors and an old man’s meddling. “He is unlikely to summon me until he has a better understanding of his enemies. Namely you and — and Harry. This conversation can wait until my head no longer feels like a thousand goblins are mining inside my skull.”

“Very well.” Albus sounded disappointed. “You’d best drink your tea and eat some of this toast before you sleep. I really do wish you’d allowed us more time to find a solution.”

The Headmaster almost sounded petulant. Severus pushed himself up a little more against the headboard and reached for the teacup, lifting it to his lips and spearing his employer with glittering black eyes. “The boy was dying, Albus. You know my vow.”

The Headmaster tapped his fingers restlessly against his teacup. “I did not believe your vow extended to this sort of situation.”

Severus lifted an eyebrow and set the drained teacup back on the tray with a muffled chink, saying testily, “As it’s my vow, it is up to me to interpret the limitations and requirements as I see fit.”

“But the risks! If news got out—”

“It’s done, Albus,” the potions master interrupted, his admittedly short temper fraying. “There is no use debating hypothetical what-ifs and should-haves. Little though I like it, the decision is made.”

Poppy bustled in, a tray laden with potion bottles floating behind her, and smiled brightly at Severus. “Harry is as healthy as he can be after such an ordeal,” she told him. “He’s already showing remarkable improvement and, with rest and proper nutrition and potions, he should be able to return to Hogwarts with almost no noticeable change. We’ll have to wait and see if a small glamour is necessary.”

Albus rose from his chair, moving to allow Poppy to stand unhindered at the side of the bed. “That’s excellent news; is it not, Severus?”

Severus’ eyes were already closing as he fought the losing battle with sleep. Poppy helped him lie flat, swishing her wand to bring the bedclothes up snuggly around him, and checking that there were no surprises from the ritual. “It’s the most satisfying end to this sort of thing,” she murmured, mindful of her patient.

Albus chuckled quietly, commenting, “Congratulations, my boy; you’re now the proud father of a healthy boy.”

The panic those words invoked didn’t even have enough time to rise before exhaustion pulled him under.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

The smell of bacon and coffee roused him the next morning, though it wasn’t until he opened his eyes and was greeted by the riot of color in the bed curtains that he remembered what happened. With a groan, Severus rolled onto his back and shoved stringy black hair out of his eyes. What had he been thinking? Had he been thinking? The two of them were already in a precarious situation and he went and made it worse. He thought he’d finally grown out of his impulsive stage. Of course he had to prove he was as much of a fool at thirty-six as he’d been at sixteen. He winced. And eighteen. He thought he’d learned his lesson by the time he was twenty-one. Apparently not. Severus tried to grasp the thoughts he’d had the night before, but they eluded him. Lifting his left hand, he gazed mutely at the pale pink scar that bisected his palm.

He was a father.

The idea was laughable. Who was he to be a father to anyone? He could hardly stand himself, what human would wish to be in such close relation to him? The sleeve of his nightshirt fell back revealing the Dark Mark and his lip curled in a sneer. Why had he let himself be branded like cattle? He dropped his hand back to his chest, focusing on the steady thump of his heart instead of the unsettling pulse in the mark. He focused on the beat for several minutes before allowing his thoughts to drift. His own father had certainly wanted nothing to do with him apart from another thing to kick. This was everything horrible. His last spontaneous, reckless decision chained him to a half-mad dark lord and lost him his best friend and the only woman he’d ever loved. Surely he should’ve learned something after nearly sixteen years.

He hardly heard the pop of a house-elf’s arrival, but he definitely heard the creature announce, “Breakfast is ready, Master Potions Master, if you wants it.”

“What I want,” Severus grumbled cantankerously, “is to be guillotined.”

The little creature blinked bulbous eyes. “Sir?”

Severus waved a hand dismissively. “Coffee. That’s all.”

The house-elf popped away and he climbed out of bed, reaching for the dressing gown that was draped across the armchair. The thought of joining a cheerful Albus Dumbledore presiding over his own breakfast table was repulsive. At least in the Great Hall at Hogwarts he was separated from the Headmaster by Minerva. The woman had a healthy respect for peace and quiet in the mornings and she deflected most of Albus’ chipper chatter. Being the sole recipient of the man’s attention first thing made delaying the inevitable sounded like a reasonable course of action to Severus. It would give him enough time to iron out his arguments and perhaps even convince himself he hadn’t lost his mind and signed his own death warrant. Again. The Dark Lord was sure to learn the sudden change of parentage soon. Especially since the idiot boy completely failed to even learn the rudiments of occlumency. Yes. Death was past his doorstep and now sitting down for tea at his kitchen table.

Severus prepared his coffee from the tray that appeared on the bedside table, then took the mug and went to see if he could find the boy’s room. Last night Poppy said the boy was fine and on the mend, but Severus needed to be sure of it himself. It would also give him the chance to see if any remarkable changes had occurred as a result of the ritual. Maybe he could then clear his thoughts and form some kind of plan for survival.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

He finished his coffee and found his wand on the nightstand and canceled the transfiguration on his teaching robes. He spelled them with a refreshing charm for good measure, but knew the first thing he was going to do when he returned to Hogwarts was shower and change into a clean set of robes. The students might question his hygiene, but he absolutely hated that tacky, stale feeling of not showering. A few more tugs to settle his robes more comfortably on his shoulders, he knew anything more would just be stalling, and he picked up his mug of coffee and strode confidently out the bedroom door.

It turned out that Severus didn’t have far to go in order to find the brat. The boy’s room was right across the hall from the room Severus had used for the night. The door was open and, from the potion bottles and the half-drunk cup of tea on the nightstand, it appeared that Poppy or Albus had spent the night by the bed. It was probably Albus, Severus reasoned, since Poppy’s absence would be noted by that toad-faced woman who called herself a witch.

He stopped in the door for a moment, staring at the boy that lay unmoving in the center of the bed. Unsurprisingly, the boy was still asleep. Or, more likely, unconscious. Severus crossed the room quietly, hesitating for a moment before easing into the armchair. He typically would’ve preferred to remain standing — after all, he was not one to sit vigil at anyone’s sickbed — but he was still feeling drained from the ritual. The windows faced east and the early morning sunlight was filtering through the partially parted drapes, spilling across the floor and stretching to the foot of the bed and providing enough natural light to study the boy.

Given the chance to examine the boy without others watching or the brat himself being aware of his scrutiny, Severus allowed himself the opportunity to truly look. The boy was smaller than he realized; thinner, too. Not only that gawky thinness of a growing teen, but also that undernourished, half-starved look he knew so well from his own miserable childhood. The boy’s left hand rested on his stomach, slathered in — Severus leaned closer, breathing in the subtle scents of potions — essence of dittany, murtlap, and aloe along with several other stronger healing salves. He frowned, setting his mug on the bedside table and reaching for the hand. The cut from the ritual shouldn’t require such extensive healing balms and potions, particularly on the back of the hand. Light struck the back of the boy’s hand when he lifted it and he felt himself go cold. It wasn’t a single gash like he’d assumed it was.

I must not tell lies.

The raised letters looked angry and inflamed. He recognized the script as the boy’s handwriting. His mouth turned down in a frown and he ran a thumb over the scars. Dark magic seemed to radiate from the words and the only object that could cause such scarring would be a Black Quill. His frown darkened. And the only one who would have that would be Umbridge. How he hated that woman! If he could curse her, and get away with it, he would. It would almost be worth the consequences anyway. The woman had the gall to question his potions mastery and then twittered when she asked why he hadn’t received the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. As if she were more qualified.

Harry stirred and Severus dropped his hand as if burned, watching intently as closed eyes slowly cracked open. The boy groaned, lifting a hand to shade his eyes against the morning light. Harry blinked, turning away from the window. He startled when he saw Severus at his bedside.

“Professor?”

The boy’s voice cracked and he grimaced, licking dry lips. Severus silently handed him the glass of water that was on the bedside table among the potion bottles. Harry struggled to a sitting position, slouching tiredly as he stared blearily around the bedroom. Now that the teen was awake, Severus was able to see the subtle changes in the boy’s face and frame. The eyes were still green, but the face had thinned and his cheekbones were more defined. Whether that was because of malnutrition or not remained to be seen. Severus was relieved that it appeared the boy had inherited Lily’s nose as well as her eyes since neither of those changed much. Harry’s hair had darkened to a true black and, though it still stuck up in all directions, Severus had dared a light touch while the boy slept and knew the strands were as fine as his own and would no doubt be more easily tamed after a good wash and the use of a comb.

Harry cradled the glass of water in his lap as he curiously studied the room around him, a familiar frown of concentration on his face. “What happened? Where am I? This isn’t the hospital wing.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Severus drawled. He did know how disconcerting it was to wake up and not have any idea where you were. “What do you remember?”

“Sirius — I was dying…” Harry trailed off and rubbed at his eyes, freezing in surprise. He pulled his hands away to stare at them as if he’d never seem them before. “Where are my glasses?”

“Do you need them?” Severus asked curiously.

Green eyes stared at him for the first time without hindrance of dark framed glasses. They really were his mother’s eyes. Sure, Severus had heard nearly every colleague say it, but he’d never really looked. Harry shook his head. “I can see,” he breathed with wonder. “I’ve never seen so well.”

“Of course,” Severus murmured, steepling his fingers and tapping them against his lips. “You must’ve gotten your previously horrendous eyesight from Potter’s side.”

That statement brought confusion to Harry’s face and he dropped his hands to his lap, quickly catching the glass of water before it could spill. “My eyes are different now?”

Severus summoned the hand mirror that was laying on the dresser nearby and held it out for the boy. Harry took it uncertainly, holding it up before his face. Severus would never admit to anyone that he felt any kind of anxiety while Harry examined his new appearance. All in all, it wasn’t that drastic of a change. He took after Lily far more than Severus had given him credit for and that, at least, was one less difficult thing to explain away. Maybe a pair of faux glasses would make the changes less noticeable?

“Why?” the boy finally asked. “I don’t understand.”

Severus plucked the precariously perched water glass from the bed, putting it back on the nightstand. “How much do you remember after leaving Grimmauld Place?”

Harry frowned, eyes never leaving the mirror. “Everything hurt. I — I was throwing up blood.” He finally tore his gaze from his reflection, brow pinching in thought. “You…did something.”

Severus nodded. “When Black disowned you, he did so completely. In essence, he declared that Potter never fathered you and you no longer had a right to the blood, magic, and privileges of that esteemed family. As a result, Potter’s blood as being forcibly removed.”

The boy paled and Severus paused. He waited until Harry swallowed thickly and nodded for him to continue. The potions master cleared his throat, shifting his gaze from looking directly at the boy. Poppy, or even Albus, would’ve been better at explaining what happened and the ramifications of everything. Severus was expecting an explosive outburst and violent denials at any moment. “I took the place of your father in an ancient blood ritual.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Harry’s question was cautious and perhaps a little fearful.

“I performed Blood Magic,” Severus said shortly. “You are now my son in every way, biologically and magically. It is as if Lily and I had—”

“I understand,” Harry interrupted quickly, cheeks flushing. “I meant, what does it mean for me?”

Severus considered the teen on the bed, noting the apprehension that tensed his frame and the way thin fingers clenched around the hand mirror. He wondered what it was the boy was trying to ask. “It means,” Severus said slowly, “that I am now obligated to…care for you.”

Harry looked away. “Obligated?”

“Yes.” Severus was deeply uncomfortable. “As all parents are obligated to care for their children. Of course, you may still stay at your aunt and uncle’s—”

“Do I have to?” Harry burst out, seemed surprised at his audacity, and rapidly backtracked, “I mean, I know about the wards and all and Dumbledore said it’s safer for me there…”

He trailed off with an uncomfortable shrug. Severus tapped the arm of his chair, a wealth of meaning in that jumble of words and unspoken twitches that he knew he’d spend the next several hours examining in close detail and reexamining all past interactions with the boys in light of the new information he’d just received.

“We’ll address your living situation at another time,” Severus told him, making a mental note to do some investigating into one home on Privet Drive. “In the meantime,” he reached across the bed, hesitating a moment before gingerly taking Harry’s left hand and turning it over, tracing the words on the back. Harry’s hand twitched and Severus tightened his hold to keep him from pulling away. “Where did you get this?” he asked darkly.

Harry twisted his hand, attempting to hide the scarring. “It’s nothing.”

Severus let him hide the hand, but he wasn’t about to let the boy brush off the scars. If what he thought was happening at the school, more than just Harry were being subjected to a dark artifact and, if that was the case, why hadn’t he heard about it? “Is a Black Quill being used in detentions?”

The teen blanched. “Your detentions are bad enough!”

The potions master scowled. “I have no need of using dark magic in order to discipline my students. Besides, it is illegal to use magic to discipline you miscreants. Surely Miss Granger has told you such.”

“She mentioned it,” he admitted.

“Indeed.” Severus had no doubts the girl subjected Harry and the Weasley boy to any number of lectures on rules, laws, and their class subjects. It was just a shame the boys’ friendship with her didn’t keep them out of trouble.

Harry tucked his chin, glancing up at his professor through his fringe. There was no point pretending he was unable to determine exactly who would break the school’s disciplinary guidelines. Severus lifted a brow, drawling, “There is only one professor at Hogwarts that would dare to use dark magic on a student; particularly on you.” Harry said nothing. “Umbridge will get what’s coming to her. The Headmaster will not stand for harm to come to any of his students.”

Harry bit his lip. “But Professor Dumbledore isn’t at the school anymore.”

His lip curled and he said with a greater degree of satisfaction than he normally would exhibit, “The Headmaster has a greater degree of control over the workings of Hogwarts than some Ministry toad.”

The boy blinked in surprise, gaping unbecomingly.

“Thank you, Severus,” Albus said, entering the bedroom with two breakfast trays, handing one to Harry and conjuring a small table next to Severus and setting the second tray on top. “Now, what is it that requires my attention at Hogwarts?”

Severus looked pointedly at Harry, but the boy ducked his head and fidgeted with the toast on his tray. When is was clear he was attempting to avoid answering, the Headmaster gently prompted, “Harry?”

The teen hesitated, darting a quick look at Severus and cringing when the potions master leveled him with a narrow look. With a nervous swallow, Harry silently held out his left hand. In some bemusement, Albus took the boy’s hand in his own. A moment passed in silence until Albus caught sight of the scars and, blue eyes flashing furiously, he murmured, “I see. How often does this occur?”

Harry pressed his lips together, brow creased, and flexed his fingers. Severus longed to reach over and shake the answers out of the boy, but he knew the brat was still rather fragile so he settled on tucking his hands into the sleeves of he teaching robes and glaring. Albus pressed the boy’s hand and he finally answered quietly, “Every detention.”

Albus frowned, smoothing a wrinkled thumb over the raised scars. He considered the scars for several long minutes. Finally, Albus released a mournful sigh. “And the other students? How often does Professor Umbridge use the Black Quill during detentions?”

Severus grunted when Albus called that woman “professor,” but the headmaster ignored him and looked expectantly at the boy. Harry took his hand back and resumed crumbling the toast into his porridge, answering, “I think nearly everyone has had detention with her. All of Dumbledore’s Army had a week of detention after Marietta — after Umbridge found out.”

“Everyone?” Severus prodded doubtfully.

“I’m not sure about the Slytherins, sir,” Harry admitted. “For reasons I’m sure you understand, they don’t talk much to me.”

“When you return to the school, Severus, you will make enquiries among your students and speak to Minerva,” Albus said. “Once we know the true extent of the quill’s use, I shall know how to act.”

Severus gave a begrudging nod and Albus summoned an armchair. The chair settled next to Severus’ and Albus took a seat and switched topics. “Now, I’m sure you have more on your mind than detentions, Harry. Has Professor Snape explained what happened?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Blood Magic. The professor replaced my father’s DNA.”

Albus frowned, mulling over the latter part of Harry’s explanation. “DNA?”

“Genes, Headmaster,” Severus said. “The boy understands what the Blood Magic did. The far-reaching consequences haven’t been discussed. And an explanation of wizarding disowning might be warranted.”

And so an explanation followed though Severus allowed his thoughts to drift to Umbridge and from there future meetings with the Dark Lord. Both were unpleasant to think about. His attention returned to the room around him just in time to hear Albus say, “I’m sure you understand that Professor Snape is unable to publicly acknowledge you as his son. His position is precarious at best and if news got out that he has full legal access to you, I’m afraid neither of you would be safe.”

It was clear exhaustion was rapidly increasing. The boy seemed to digest the information slowly, eyes swinging to look curiously at him before returning his attention to Albus. “So I’m a Snape now; right?”

Severus started, surprised that he hadn’t thought farther past keeping the boy alive. Of course he knew the boy was now genetically his, and the meddlesome old man had said as much the night before, but it just then occurred to him what that meant. Merlin, even he had told the boy he as good as fathered him the traditional way. He wanted to curse himself. He was not usually this slow.

Albus’ face wrinkled in a pleased smile and he put a wizened hand over Harry’s. “You are, though it would be best not to tell anyone exactly whom has stepped in as your father. The fewer who know, the safer you two will be. I think it would be most fitting to take your mother’s name for now; at least to the public’s knowledge. I’m sure Severus won’t mind.”

He turned to look over his glasses at the dark man. Severus’ chin lifted and he spoke dryly, “I foresee no problems using the name Evans. It would be the logical step in this type of situation. There is one problem we are overlooking.” Albus motioned for him to continue. “It will soon become public knowledge that —” he stumbled over the boy’s surname, forgetting that it couldn’t be used and belatedly continued, “Harry was disowned. Many, particularly the pure blood families, will know that a complete disownment of a minor would result in almost immediate death. They will wonder who performed the ritual that saved him.”

Albus stroked his beard thoughtfully, blue eyes twinkling. “I believe in this case we will let the public speculate. It is likely they will think I played a role and draw conclusions from there. After all, the Dumbledore family is an old family and neither I nor my brother has produced an heir for it. It would not be unreasonable for me to suddenly choose one. Though I never had such dark hair, even in my youth!”

That determined, Albus turned to closely study Harry. “It is fortunate that it appears you took more after your mother than we all initially thought. I don’t think anyone would imagine that Severus was your father and his reputation, as well as your known antagonistic relationship, will keep speculation from going that route.”

“Do I have to be re-sorted?” Harry asked nervously, breathing a sigh of relief when the Headmaster shook his head, grinning knowingly.

“Not to fear, my boy. The Sorting Hat may have wanted to place you somewhere else, but there’s no reason to re-sort. Your mother was a Gryffindor, after all, and the Hat sorts individuals and not families, no matter what most of the the wizarding world would like to believe.”

The older wizard turned to Severus, reaching into his robes and pulling out a yellowing envelop and handing it to the dour man. “Gringotts sent this for you once Harry’s access to the Potter vaults were revoked. The goblins are a silent bunch and will most likely keep their knowledge of Harry’s new parentage quiet.”

Severus took the envelop, instantly recognizing the handwriting on the front. There was his name in the looping script that he’d last seen in the margins of his fifth year potions notes. The sight made his throat tighten and his heart pound with apprehension.

“I don’t have a vault any more?” Harry asked, sounding stricken. “How am I going to pay for school supplies?”

“Nothing to worry about,” the Headmaster assured him. “It seems Lily prepared for every eventuality and she left a vault specifically for you as her son. A bit of clever wording on her part in her will.”

Severus rose to his feet, tucking the envelop into his robes. He cleared his throat, directing his words to Albus. “I will send word to Minerva and Poppy.”

He swept out of the room without a look back. The envelop felt like lead in his pocket. Lily was reaching out from the grave and it unsettled him more than he wished to admit.