"Alright you two. Sit!"

Harry and Ron flopped into squashy armchairs near the Room's fireplace, broad grins on their faces. Draco glared at them from where he stood pressed up against the door.

"What is this place? Do Gryffindors have access to all secret bits of the castle?"

Ron scoffed. "Not unless you're Fred and George. This is the Room of Requirement - "

"That's a horrible name. Terribly plebeian," Draco sniffed.

"We'll, I didn't name it. As far as we know it been here from the beginning of Hogwarts."

"How'd you find it then? You and Granger need a place to snog on peace?"

Ron pinked, but didn't back down. "Fred and George showed me once. I showed Harry."

Draco was suspicious. "How do we know this place is safe? A room that can become whatever we need is just a bit too convenient, don't you think? Why if its reading your mind?"

"Well, it has to in order to know what we want, right? Mate, this is Hogwarts - "

"And Hogwarts has always been safe? What happened to never trusting anything if you can't see where it keeps it's brain - "

"You're being unreasonable - "

"No, you're - "

"Oy!" Ron and Draco spun, both red faced and breathing hard. Harry stared at them a moment longer before folding his arms across his chest. "I thought we were here to talk? If you guys would rather shout at each other I can go find Neville or something."

Both boys flamed red, eyes dropped to the ground. Draco moved first, picking up his book from where he'd dropped it on the floor and smoothing a hand through his hair. "I apologize. I am unused to others not ceding to the Malfoy paranoia. Trust does not come easily to me when it comes to magical artifacts an matters of sentience. Please forgive me." He didn't meet either of their eyes though.

Ron stared at him a moment, frowning. "When you do that pure blood thing it makes you seem like a ponce, Draco. It was just an argument, not the beginning of a blood feud. C'mon, before Harry makes us hug it out."

Harry grinned, eliciting smaller smiles from his companions. "That was going to be my next suggestion."

"Fiend," Draco muttered genially as he flopped onto a chaise lounge across from them. "Now let's get down to business. Harry, where do babies - "

"Draco, wait." Ron fidgeted. "Maybe we should talk about the other thing first. This," he shot Harry's slightly pale face a quick look, "this one might take a while. It's a lot more complicated than you think."

Draco shot them both long considering looks, and nodded into the silence. Harry tried not to fidget but he couldn't help feeling like he'd avoided jumping off a cliff without his wand or broom.

"Harry?" His head snapped up at the sound of his name, and he found both Ron and Draco staring at him. "You start."

For a minute Harry didn't know what the blonde was talking about, until he met Ron's eyes and felt a surge of remembrance. That was it! Answers!

"Well, I've only got a theory, mind you. And it's at fetched and insane and you'll probably laugh at me..."

"I probably won't," Ron said, smiling. His hands were frantically rubbing at each other though, and Harry knew he was nervous.

"OK. Uhm. Sev told me my mum was bonded to him before James and that she broke it off real suddenly one day. He doesn't know exactly what happened, but their son, Ronin," he peeked up to see Ron staring into the fire, tense and still as stone, "Ronin was about seventeen months old when he disappeared. One day Sev left my mum and Ronin at home while he went to work, and when he came home that night everything about their life together was gone. He'd brought home a chest of stuff for the kid, toys and blankets and stuff, but there was no kid. No Lily. Everything looked like it did before my mum moved in, cold and dark and plain. He went out trying to find her, but no one, no one remembered he and Lily had ever been together, let alone a son.  He went back home and I dunno, she came back and tried to reason with him. He begged her to give him back his son but..."

By that time Harry was fairly chocked up. Draco was a still as a statue on his lounge. Ron sniffed, dragging a hand through his hair and it stuck up where he'd touched it.

"You said you had a theory?"

"Uh, yeah." He cleared his throat. Sev's story was very sad, and he couldn't imagine living for so long in so much pain. "He said my mum worked in the Department if Mysteries, so maybe she did some kind of spell to make everyone forget about her and Sev and the baby? And I don't know..."

"I'm, I'm not the right age though. You two think I'm his son, but I'm too young."

"Are you?"

Two pairs of eyes shot to Draco, who stared hard at Ron. "I don't think either of us really thinks so."

"You're mad."

"The department if mysteries has a time turner. Maybe more than one," Harry ventured. "Maybe my mum ..."

"It's plausible..."

"Draco - "

"No, no Ron, listen. Your family just got their inheritance, right? Sirius told me, turns out Remus can smell," he shot a look at Harry, "IT."

"Sirius told you?" Ron asked, smirking.

"Fine, I eavesdropped." Ron snorted. "But everyone got it except you."

"You don't know that," Ron said, but there was no heat in it.

"Fred and George had to stay in the hospital wing for two days. You didn't even know."

Ron paled, dropping his head to his hands. "Bloody hell."

Harry shifted, confused. "How's that prove anything."

"Because a Weasley would have gone through the inheritance,” Ron muttered, head in his hands. “A Weasley would have felt it, regardless of age."

"So you're not a Weasley, then. We sort of knew that." Harry scooted forward in his seat. "How does that prove you're older?"

"It doesn't. Draco's just good at guessing."

"Putting the dots together."

"True."

"But - "

"Harry, there are things about magic, I mean wizards always claim their kids. Always. There are no magical people who don't know who their parents are."

"Goblins test for that, don't they?"

"Yes, but they don't always have to. A wizard child that goes beyond their first show of magic without being 'claimed' by their parents or even one parent develops a sign."

“A sign?"

Ron stood warily, dragging a hand down his face as he did so. "Like this." Up went the tail of his shirt and Harry was left to peer at the boy's pale chest, even as his stomach did an uncomfortable lurch to his knees. He ignored that, though, choosing to focus on the task at hand. This was Ron, who was safe, and currently had a shiny tattoo on his chest.

Harry had, as a teenage boy, wondered if wizarding tattoos were any different from muggle ones, and though this wasn't exactly a tattoo he figured it was close enough for him to say a definitive yes. The skin across Ron's sternum glimmered in the flickering light of the room's fireplace. A dark, oily substance seemed to sit on top of his skin, stretched out and in the shape of a raven with its wings outstretched perched atop a cauldron.

“It showed up over the summer, after mum and dad told me everything,” Ron explained.

“Everything?” Draco  murmured, standing to get a better look at the  red-head's chest. “can't have explained everything if they didn't know...”

“They explained everything they knew, and a lot of what they guessed. The story mum used to tell was pretty much her way of bracing me, she said.”

Grey eyes met swimming blue. “Did it work?”

Ron glared at nothing in particular, tears spilling from his eyes and trailing down his face, teeth clenched tight as he shook his head.

Harry squirmed, unsure whether he still had best friend privileges, or if brotherly privilege trumped them and he was still in the clear. He knew Ron, and as uncharacteristic as this show of emotion was, he knew outright acknowledging it would set the boy back, or off, and they'd never get to the end of this. So though he was brimming over with nervous energy because Ron was Snape's son and his brother, Harry knew the best course of action was to keep going.

“So, this tattoo is a family seal or something?”

“Not family, no.” Draco turned, letting Ron pull his shirt down. His  grey eyes were sparking with something Harry couldn't put a finger to. “They're unique to every wizard. There's a well documented case in one of the old Malfoy patriarchal journals about a woman who had twelve children that all sprouted birthmarks shortly after showing magic. None of them were for her husband, but each was for one of his brothers. It was quite the scandal.”

“Malfoy?”

Draco sniffed. “One of the lesser vassals.”

Ron snorted, and Draco refocused his attention on the boy. “You've checked the books already. You’re far too calm to assume otherwise.”

“Yeah, yeah I did. And the day I put all the pieces together he found me in the back of the library.” Ron shifted, half turning to look into the fire. “I think he knew. By the look on my face. I think he may have suspected, but when he saw me, and what I was reading, he knew.”

“Then what the bloody hell are you waiting for!” Draco stared at Ron as if he'd sudden;y grown two heads, incredulity written across every line of his aristocratic face. “If it's just a matter of revealing that you know your true parentage when he also knows it, I don't see a problem. Why are you here? You should be in his quarters?”

“It's not that simply, Draco - “

“The hell it isn't! Ron, the man's - “

“Draco! Shut it!” Harry stomped his foot for good measure, pushing down the pulse of magic trying to break through his skin. “It's not that simple!”

Draco looked between them for a breathless moment, eyes wide and genuinely confused. “But, he's your father. He's yours. I don't see - “

“I have a father, Draco.” Ron said softly. “The only one I've ever known.”

“But -”

“Draco, Sev's spent all these years thinking he'd never see his son again. You know how he can get. He's locked everything about that part of his life away into the deepest part of his mind. Imagine suddenly finding out that your son, who you never thought you'd see again, has been safe and cared for all this time, and under your nose for four years. Imagine what he's feeling inside. His little boy, loved by this entire family, but his. Now imagine Ron. The only family he's known, only to find out he's not one of them and that his real father is one of his professors, and he's seen some of what he's like as a dad to someone else, and a part of him wants that, needs that, even, but it feels wrong, because what about the parents he already has?” Harry stood, acutely aware that both boys were staring at him, but he couldn't be bothered to meet their eyes. Some of their conversation, or some of what he felt about their conversation had somehow bled over to Severus' side of their mind connection and the man's emotions, memories concerning his son, Ronin, were filling his head. He blinked, surprised to feel a trail of tears roll down his face. There was pain, like nothing he'd ever felt because it was so conflicted, like a jagged rock twisting and grinding against his heart. He didn't know how either of them faced it.

“I guess I shouldn't be surprised you know me so well.” Ron’s voice was thick, even as he shuffled into Harry's line of sight. “Didn't think I was that easy to read though.”

Harry gave him a weak smile, forcing Sev's pain away as best he could. They'd have to work on separating their minds better, because Harry didn't like the feeling of channeling someone else. “Older and wiser, I guess.” He considered Draco, who looked thoughtful. “Alright there, Draco?”

It was a moment before Draco spoke, and Ron used the time to dry his face and settle himself. Harry could tell he'd made a decision though, simply by the slant of his shoulders. He made a note to hug the boy when this was all over. Brotherly privilege.

“I didn't think about the family you were leaving, Ron, and I apologize. I couldn't fathom waiting in your situation, but I realize I hadn't really considered your situation. When Sirius approached me, the only concern I had was not being his heir. I'd been bred for that life, and I hated every moment of it. But beyond that, my family wasn't ideal...nothing compared to yours. You've got brothers and a sister and parents that obviously care for all of you. I've never known that.” He reclined on his lounge, watching the fire. “It's almost surreal, to think that you've already got one loving family and about to walk into another one.”

Ron grunted. “Somehow, I feel a 'but' coming along.”

“You're right.” Draco's smile had no light in it. “They love you, and you obviously love them, but they’re not yours.”

“What do you mean? Of course they are.”

“No, they aren't and never have been. How many times have you looked at your family and felt like the odd one out? Like you didn't belong?” His silver eyes were piercing. “How many?”

Ron had paled, his lips gone to a thin line, but harry kept himself quiet. He had heard Ron at least three times over the past four years that he didn't feel like a Weasley when compared to everyone else. He knew Ron was remembering those times, and every other time he'd thought it to himself. Draco had a point.

“You don't have to answer. There's nothing wrong with not feeling at home in someone else's house. Nothing at all. You love them, and they love you. You've spent your entire life there, built an entire life with them, but they're not home.”

And once again, Ron was crying. Harry did scoot a little closer to him then, and settled for wrapping an arm around the taller boy's waist, since his shoulders were far out of reach. And when Ron broke down at Draco’s last words, he wasn't even mad.

“You need to go home.”