Ron’s eyes went wide. “I know what that is,” he breathed. Harry’s mouth curved into a small smile at his best friend’s shock as he settled down on the seat beside Ron, cradling the book in his lap. Hermione was sat on the bench opposite and Neville was perch comfortably on her left. Trevor the Toad had fallen fast asleep, but Neville didn’t loosen his grip; in case the sleeping toad tried to escape again.

Ron shuffled closer to Harry, but was very careful not to touch the worn tome perched in his lap.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, leaning forward so eagerly that she looked ready to fall of her seat.

“This,” Harry said, trying to create a sense of theatre, “is the Inheritance book of the Ancient and Noble Line of Prince.” With a flourish, he turned it round to display the cover to her, only to pull it out of reach a second later.

“What?” Hermione asked, her hand suspended mid-air from where she’d been reaching out to take the book.

Harry sighed in relief and relaxed as soon as it became clear she wasn’t going to try to touch it again. He glanced to his right and realised that Ron’s muscles were only just unknotting as well. Obviously, he knew the dangers just as well as Harry did.

“Only those who have the Prince Family blood are able to touch this book without being permanently damaged,” he explained gently.

Hermione went white and snatched her hand back, looking faintly ill. Harry couldn’t help but feel very grateful about how much she trusted him.

“It’s OK,” he said consolingly. “I’ll read some bits out to you later, if you like?”

She nodded and shifted forward again, though this time the movement was more wary. Neville was staring very uneasily at the book in Harry’s hands.

“But, I don’t understand, Harry,” he said, brow furrowed over his blue eyes in puzzlement. “That would mean that you would have to have Prince Blood and the only living person of that bloodline is...” Neville’s words trailed off in a strangled gasp as he stared at Harry in horror.

Harry blinked at Neville in shock before gathering himself and giving the boy a sympathetic glance. If there was one less person that he had to break the news to, then it was for the better, wasn’t it? “Don’t worry, Neville. It’s not as bad as you think. Right, um,” he cleared his throat sharply, suddenly wondering where the hell he was going to start, “a lot of things happened to me over the summer...”

He almost couldn’t go on. Everything that had happened to him suddenly seemed fantastical and implausible. Hermione and Ron’s puzzled yet eager faces made it all the more difficult. How ridiculous will I sound when I say...?

“I discovered that James Potter wasn’t my father.”

Silence.

Harry tried to pretend that he didn’t care that his friends were staring. Then...

“But, mate,” Ron croaked, “I thought... What about S– Padfoot thinking that you were? I thought that this was your new disguise... that this Prince fellow would be a distant relative or, or something.”

Neville just groaned and hid his head in his knees. “Excuse me a moment,” he murmured as he climbed to his feet, “I just need to... think things over.”

“Neville, wait!” Harry shot to his feet, cradling the book protectively to his chest. “Please wait.” But what can I say? “Are you that sure you know who my f– father is? Without me telling you?”

“Yeah.” Neville gave him a wan smile. “Gran made me memorise back five generations of all the Elder families; I know who he is. I’m OK with that, Harry, I promise. I just... need to think.”

The door slid open and then closed; leaving Harry feeling like he’d lost a friend, no matter what Neville had said. With a huff, he slumped down again and tucked his legs up onto the seat, hugging the book tighter.

Whatever made me think I could do this without Shadow? I need him now, most desperately than ever before. Sure, we’d occasionally yell at each other, but we always sorted it out... Ever since he appeared, he was always there for me.

Harry glared at the window, almost willing it to shatter so he wouldn’t have to look at his strange, new face a second longer. He wouldn’t... couldn’t, simply couldn’t, tell his friends the whole truth. Shadow was gone and no amount of wishing would bring him back. Why should I have to talk about him when it would make the pain so much worse?

He flinched when he felt a hand settle on his knee. He looked up in time to see Hermione and Ron exchange a worried glance. Hermione turned her gaze to him and patted his knee one more time before removing her hand.

“Is it really that bad?” she asked in a low voice. “Because, well, you know that we’re with you no matter what.” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Ron nodding his head and looking uncomfortable.

Screwing up every ounce of his Gryffindor courage – which must have come from his mother after all – Harry sat up and looked both of his friends in the eyes. 

“It’s... not as bad as I would have thought it was before the summer. He... I was staying at his house, but I didn’t find out about him being my father straight away. He didn’t know, but he was actually quite decent both before and after he found out too.” The words came out falteringly as Harry tried his damndest not to let slip who he had spent time with just yet.

Hermione nodded, probably trying to be encouraging, but just ending up looking chary. Ron seemed awfully dubious too.

Harry took a deep breath, screwed up his determination, and grudgingly told them how it had all started; how the Dursleys had mistaken the Malfoys for Grunnings clients and invited them into their house, thus breaking the wards; how Harry had hurt his ankle jumping out of the window (Hermione had to stifle a loud gasp at that point); the chase through the streets; and finally, how Harry had fooled his pursuer into tripping over him.

“...but it wasn’t Malfoy,” he told them, feeling quite smug at how enraptured they looked by the tale. Hermione had her hands held up near her mouth and Ron’s eyes were so wide that Harry could see the entirety of his iris.

As soon as it became obvious Harry wasn’t planning on carrying on straight away, irritation started to show on their faces, though it was clear that they were trying to keep quiet. Harry swallowed and looked down at his hands. It was more that he didn’t know how to proceed than he wanted to keep them in suspense.

On one the hand, he had always been very loyal to James when he had thought the man to be his father, and now it only seemed right that that loyalty should be transferred to Snape. However, on the other, one sure way to make his friends suspicious of Snape’s motives was to start telling them how he liked the man now, whereas last term he had been as nasty as possible behind the Potion Professor’s back. It was probably best to reveal the identity of his rescuer soon... but not just yet.

“But, Harry, who was it? Oh, that was so dangerous! You could have been seriously hurt!” Hermione finally fretted, her words drawing Harry out of his brief reverie.

“Yeah, mate, don’t leave us hanging in the dark,” Ron said, punching him on the arm.

“He well... he’s a friend of Dumbledore’s.” That was one sure way to nudge them into trusting the unknown man. “As soon as he saw who he had tripped over, he took me back to his house and healed me up, and then, I kinda ended up spending the rest of the summer there.”

He should have known his misdirection wasn’t enough to throw Hermione off the scent. “But, Harry, who was it?” she asked. Her expression clearly said she knew that Harry was trying to distract her.

His hand twisted the hem of his shirt in sudden anxiety, but the faint memory of Snape gently laying his hand across Harry’s to stop the fidgeting calmed him a little. Enough to make him relax his death grip on the book, at least.

Sighing, he lifted up the tome for her perusal. “I thought it would be best if I showed you. After all, you’d laugh if I told you outright.” He opened the book and carelessly riffled through the old and delicate pages, biting back a smile when he saw Hermione wince.

“Right,” he said, shifting to the middle of the seat so Hermione could come and sit on his other side. “This is my family tree! Not bad, eh?”

“Harry... the writing’s too small. I can’t read this,” Hermione said, frowning as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

Harry flushed. “Oh.” He’d forgotten about that.

“Only someone who’s listed on the family tree can use the Inheritance book of their family. After all, makes sense, since no one else can touch it,” Ron told her, looking very smug about being the knowledgeable one for once. Harry bit back another smile.

“Oh... Harry? If you would?”

“’Course.” He focused his eyes on the bottom of the second page and heard Hermione gasp as the last names suddenly magnified and came into focus. He slammed his hand over the last male name before his, and over his own surname, ignoring his friends’ puzzled glances.

Harry took a deep breath. “Right, so here I am.” He pointed at his name. “And... and here’s my father.” With a great deal of effort, Harry lifted his shaking right hand away from the page and closed his eyes.

“But, Harry, that’s impos–”

“What!”

Despite himself, Harry flinched, and opened his eyes to stare at a completely flabbergasted Ron.

“What? He... him... you... He, you? You... you, who?” Ron waved his arms around to try and illustrate the words that couldn’t quite make it out of his mouth, his brow crinkling in bewilderment as he became less and less coherent.

Harry couldn’t help it; in all the ways he had imagined his friends reacting to the news, this hadn’t been one of them; he shut the book... and started to laugh. He ended up laughing so hard that it hurt to continue, even though he couldn’t seem to stop.

Slowly, he became aware of someone’s hand gently rubbing circles into his back. He slumped over the closed volume in his lap and took a deep breath.

“Want to hear the irony?” His voice came out rough, alien, and suddenly he wanted someone else there instead of Ron and Hermione to calm him down; the same person who had been there for Harry the whole summer, in his own way. Snape wouldn’t need me to talk. He’d just sit here and not say anything; not ask any questions. In fact, he’d probably try to insult me in the way he does when he doesn’t really mean it. And then I’d feel better because I wouldn’t have to try so hard to pretend that nothing’s changed. Oh, for God’s sake! Pull yourself together!

“He’s actually been really decent to me... in a Snape-ish kinda way.”

Hermione and Ron looked dubious, but after the way he’d just lost control, it didn’t seem like they’d be saying anything to strongly contradict him in the near future.

“Harry... Are you sure you’re all right with this? Are you sure Snape didn’t do anything to hurt you and then told you to stay quiet? You know you can tell us.”

Harry sat up slowly and rubbed his face, dislodging Hermione’s hand in the process. “I know,” he sighed. “I know I can tell you two anything. Thing is... something, well, bad happened to me over the summer and Snape’s been there, trying to help me through it. I, I just can’t talk about it; not with Snape, not with anyone. The only reason he knows is because he was there at the time, so please don’t feel left out or anything.”

He gave his friends a pleading look, but all that happened was that Ron put a hand on his shoulder and that Hermione awkwardly gave him a hug, trying to avoid the Prince book on his lap.

Harry shut his eyes. “Thanks. I’ll be fine, I promise.” Though some days, I feel like I’m falling apart. They sat there for a couple of minutes, not saying anything. Harry could tell that their doubts about Snape had only been put off to a time when he was more stable, rather than having been laid to rest.

“Well,” Harry said as cheerfully as he could manage, pushing the pain down out of reach and smothering his magic over the top, “I’ve got something to show you!”

“What?” they asked warily, pulling back and regarding him as if they already knew he was pretending.

Harry felt a true smile breaking through as he thought of their coming reactions. “Snape’s birthday present to me.”

Their incredulous voices were very noisy all of a sudden, but Harry ignored them in favour of climbing up and swopping his book for Salem.

“Are all humanss ssso noisssy?” Salem grumbled as Harry stroked his little green head.

“Sometimes, but not always,” Harry whispered back. “They’re my best friends, so be nice.”

Salem raised his eyes to the heavens. “Aren’t I always niccce?”

Harry could feel laughter bubble up in his throat again, though this time it was the good kind. “Certainly not; you single-handedly tortured the nice pet shop lady for three months!”

Salem flickered his tongue disdainfully. “Bitter, old hag. You do one thing, and you’re ridiculed for it for the ressst of your life!”

Harry snorted, and sat back down on the padded bench in front of Ron and Hermione, who were still watching him cautiously.

“Hermione, Ron,” he held his hands out in front of him and opened them, “meet Salem.”

oooOOOooo

Severus leant forward and delicately cradled the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, trying to remain completely relaxed. His decision on what to do with his son needed to be settled soon, but he was still almost too angry to even think about it. Letting his temper get the better of him was bound to cause more harm than good.

It was now, while the last of the sun’s rays slowly filtered through his sitting room window, that Severus slowly recalled why he never he drank on September the first. The calming effect of the alcohol had already worn off and lethargy was settling in its place. Doubtless by the time the Welcoming Feast was taking place, he would have already developed a splitting headache, ready to be exacerbated by shrieking adolescents.

It wasn’t as if the drink had helped him any. After several wasted hours and many discarded plans, Severus was no closer to deciding on how he could deal with Pot... Harry rationally. All the punishments he’d come up with so far would either have no effect or would be too harsh, and while that might have been fine with Severus in the past, it was unacceptable for dealing with his own family.

Family. Now there’s a word I never thought I’d use without any sense of irony! Severus settled back in his chair and began tracing his upper lip with one finger. If I can’t think of a pre-decided punishment, then I suppose... Severus grimaced at the idea. I’ll have to listen to what the little brat has to say to me. Of course, here the grimace slowly transformed into a smirk, that doesn’t mean I can’t express my displeasure to him beforehand... let him sweat a bit during the Feast. 

After all, it serves him right. As Head of the Family, I should be the one in control of all the assets and heirlooms of our ancestors, not some insolent whelp who didn’t even know he was born of Prince Blood until a month back!

Severus nodded in concurrence to his own thoughts and slowly raised himself from his chair, not even noticing he’d just given in to what he’d been trying to resist all afternoon. It was time to go back to Hogwarts and teach his son a lesson.

Despite his distemper, he felt a thrill of anticipation as he thought about returning to the old castle. The place had been more his home than Spinners End ever had, and even though he had his own cherished home now, that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the appropriate nostalgia for Hogwarts. With a jolt he realised the same must be true for Harry as well; after all, it’s not as if someone could consider a cupboard, or a room with multiple locks on the door, as their home.

He shook his head as disgust at the Dursleys overtook him again. He was determined that, no matter what happened from now until the time when Harry decided he would be better off without Severus, his son would always be welcome in Severus’ home.

However, that didn’t mean he would let Harry walk all over him or lie to him. Lord knew the boy got into enough trouble without deliberately breaking rules. Severus was not going to let him get away with this.

Still wrapped up in his thoughts, Severus barely noticed the Floo journey to Hogwarts. This was probably just as well, considering how he sometimes reacted to it. Floo-ing with alcohol in his system could be considered as practically begging for a mishap, but luck was on his side, and he arrived safely without even realising he’d left Tharabraye.

Looking around his dim, dungeon quarters, a pang for leaving his Manor home behind temporarily brought him out of his ruminations. These rooms would now be his home for the next ten months. Perfectly placed for the Head of Slytherin, they allowed him to deal with any House issues that arose swiftly and easily, both when he was needed in the Common Room and when a stray student came to ask his advice.

He wondered briefly if Harry would be one of them.

It only took a few, quick waves of his wand to settle his belongings, which regularly travelled back and forth between here and his Manor, into their rightful places. It was there, surrounded by his possessions and the comfortable dark of his dungeons that Severus had an epiphany. The corners of his lips stretched into a particularly nasty smirk; he knew exactly what he was going to do with the ex-Potter spawn.

He quickly glanced at the clock; no time to think of something else now. He needed to turn up for the last minute staff meeting, which was always held about an hour before the students’ arrival.

He quickly arranged for the potions’ box waiting on the nearby table to be delivered to Pomfrey before striding out into corridors and making his way to the staffroom.

The room in question was small enough to be considered cozy and lit to a soft yellow by many flickering candle flames: a vast contrast compared to the dark and drafty halls that made up the rest of the castle. Soon enough, Filch would be stumping around, with faithful Mrs Norris at his heels, lighting all the many thousands of candles in preparation for the students’ return.

Severus was always astounded at how vehemently the old Squib refused help in this matter, but he supposed all those who worked at Hogwarts demonstrably loved the castle in their own different ways.

“Severus!” Poppy Pomfrey’s loud exclamation shortly after he entered caused him to look up in surprise. The other members of the faculty glanced over and briefly murmured their greetings before returning to their previous tasks. Severus nodded in acknowledgement, but remembering what he would soon need to tell these people set his teeth on edge.

“You will find your latest potions in the Hospital Wing, Poppy,” he told her silkily before stepping into one of the few shadows in the room. He did not want to be bothered a single moment before it was necessary. Pomfrey looked offended by his abrupt disregard of her, but didn’t say anything further on the matter.

Mere minutes after Severus had taken his seat in the darkest corner, Albus breezed into the room as though he spent his whole summer relaxing on a beach somewhere instead of spending the last month rallying his troops to battle against a psychotic Dark Lord. For the first time since Albus had told him, he felt the full impact of not having to spy on the evil bastard anymore.

The near physical release made him feel light-headed and giddy and he barely took in what Albus was saying about tightened security, which they all already knew about, of course. For the first time in his life he would be able to fight openly for the right side.

“... and Severus has something to tell us all regarding the situation with Mr Potter.”

The words brought him out of his own head with a jerk and he found himself the centre of attention in the silent staff room.

Regaining his composure without even needing to bat an eyelid, he gave the Headmaster a slow nod and began tracing his top lip with the tip of his index finger. Once he was certain they were all riveted, he began.

“This summer, the illustrious,” he nearly smirked as his emphasis of the word made the Potter fans among the staff twitch, “Mr Potter spent the last month of it in my company.”

“What? You... you mean?” Minerva had half risen out of her chair in outrage.

Severus inclined his head in her direction and softly continued as though nothing was amiss, “Indeed, Minerva. The time I asked you watch over my house while I was absent was for a very good reason.” He smirked at her near incoherent outrage to this revelation.

“However,” he paused significantly and waited for the room to become completely silent, “during Potter’s stay, the Headmaster and I discovered that he was under a spell of a most alarming nature. This spell had hidden Potter’s true identity and appearance for precisely fourteen years. The removal of this spell resulted in the discovery of Mr Potter’s true father.”

Severus lapsed into silence and settled deeper into his chair. Just when it looked like his companions were about to demand an answer, he opened his mouth and watched in amusement as they subsided.

“From now on, the erstwhile Mr Potter shall be known as Harry James Snape.”

Severus closed his eyes and listened as the room erupted in pandemonium, resisting the urge to cackle with glee. That had been just too good. He made no move to aid Albus in quieting the outraged professors, in fact as soon as their attention was focused on the Headmaster, he slipped out of the room.

It was almost time for the train to be arriving in Hogsmeade. Severus even let himself fancy that he could hear the muted shriek of a steam whistle in the distance. He glanced at the large front doors once before settling into the impenetrable shadows of the Entrance Hall to await his wayward son.

He let himself relax and slip deeper into the last true quiet he would experience until next summer; but even this was broken by the odd, muffled voice and several quick footsteps heading into the Great Hall. It was almost time, then.

The sounds of the first carriages pulling up outside and the loud chattering of voices made him go from being relaxed to alert in an instant. The vast doors opened and students began streaming through, each one seeming to make more noise than was humanly possible. Severus slipped deeper into the shadows and flicked his eyes over the crowd, searching for Harry.

His son was nowhere to be seen, but he didn’t let himself panic. Yet.

Slowly, the volume of people decreased until the flood of individuals had narrowed down to groups of threes and twos. Severus had mentally ticked off his Slytherins as they passed him; they were all accounted for, which meant that none were giving Harry grief. He wasn’t sure whether this could be counted as a good thing or not.

And then... a tall, red-headed boy walked through the open doors, closely followed by a short girl, her frizzy hair halo-ing her head, and then a tallish youth with long, brown hair who didn’t seem quite comfortable in his own body.

Severus let out a silent breath of tension he hadn’t realised he had been holding and slowly stalked up behind them. The Weasley child noticed him first and froze, blindly reaching a hand out to grab Harry’s upper arm. Harry turned in confusion and startled a little when he saw how close Severus had become.

He started to smile, but a sharp look from Severus made him abort the expression before it had even fully formed. The child stared up in bewilderment as Severus glared at him.

“Mister Snape,” Severus purred, careful to annunciate every syllable. Granger and Weasley flinched, but Harry’s forehead just crinkled even further. Severus almost smirked. Let him think hard about what he might have done; that should make him squirm just enough for my purposes. “I expect to see you in my office precisely ten minutes after the Sorting has taken place. Do not be late.”

With those parting words, Severus easily swept past them and continued into the Great Hall, leaving a very worried Harry in his wake.