Harry shifted awkwardly and chanced a look up. He looked back down at his lap just as quickly again. Sirius was still staring at him. This was the third time Harry met him: the first time had been just after Pettigrew had been captured and the second time had been when Harry spent those weeks at Remus' cottage. There had been no awkwardness last time.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Uh. Harry?”

“Yes?” came the immediate response.

“Are you…happy?”

“Happy?”

“Yeah. You know. You don't think living with Snape is a bit strange or bad–”

“No. Severu’s been kind to me. He took me in when no one else would look twice at me. He cares. I like him.” He's safe and warm. He protects me and I don't want to leave him.

“But it's Snape, Harry!”

“I know that. He's my Head of House – that's how I got to know him. He told me about…when you were in school. So did Remus. I…I am not my father.”

“You've said before.”

Harry's eyes narrowed. “I'm not.”

Sirius tilted his head back and sighed loudly. Harry tensed and prepared to bolt from the room. “There's no mistake about it.”

“What?” Harry said defensively.

“It's those blasted Evans genes, all right. I told James she'd corrupt him, and she did. Guess she carried it on into you, eh?” Sirius winked.

Harry shrugged. “I guess.” Then, much quieter, “Severus says I'm my own person and that I shouldn't listen to tales of my parents in hope of becoming like them.” Harry stopped there although Severus often also said: 'In a futile attempt to make people like you.'