Severus stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the attic, mentally tearing himself to shreds for letting his temper get the better of him. That wretched nasty temper had somehow blindsided him and he had allowed his hurt at the boy’s words to overcome him and now everything had just gone to hell in a handcart. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the pounding headache that was developing behind his eyes and then turned away from the stairs. No sense in trying to talk about anything with Harry now, he was too angry to hear a word Severus had to say.

To run into his grandfather, who had come upstairs to make sure no one had killed each other. “Severus—”

“Grandfather!” Severus flinched upon seeing the elder Prince’s face, which was dark with disapproval. “I . . .you heard what I said to Harry . . .”

“Aye, I heard it, kind of hard not to, as the two of you were yelling like banshees, and I’ve not gone deaf yet, more’s the pity. Where’s the lad run off to?” The elder Prince had caught the tail end of the conversation as he was coming up the stairs and was furious that Harry had insulted Severus that way. Upset or not, no child ought to speak to a parent using such language and they had both taught Harry better. What had happened to the polite respectful child they had sent away to school?

“Up there, in the attic.” Severus jerked a thumb towards the third floor.

“I’ve a good mind to go up there and wash his mouth out with a bar of soap for what he just called you. No child should ever speak to a parent that way!” He looked as if he were about to go up the stairs.

Severus quickly grabbed his shoulder. “Grandfather, no. Let me handle it. You’re right, he shouldn’t have called me a bastard, and I’ll deal with it later. But for now—”

Augustus laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not talking about that alone, Severus. I’m talking about what he said to you before that, yelling that he hated you and that you never cared about him, it was totally disrespectful. And hurtful.” He put his arm about the younger man. He could tell Severus was very shaken and hurt.

“Yes, but I shouldn’t have told him that way . . .I wasn’t planning on it coming out like that . . .but he just struck a nerve and I snapped . . .I don’t know why . . .”

“Ah, Severus. You’ve inherited my temper, I’m afraid. The words we speak in anger are the ones we most often mean the least and regret the most.”

“Truer words were never spoken. I just hope I haven’t ruined everything.”

Augustus hugged him. “No, you haven’t. It’ll take more than one argument to shatter what you two have. Or one secret revealed. You shouldn’t have revealed it that way, and I’m sure he’s confused and hurt, but you can mend this. It’s not irreparable. Eileen and I went at each other like wildcats before she stormed out of the house and eloped with your ass of a father. We said many bitter angry things to each other and she swore she’d never write to me or talk to me again. But she came to Grace’s funeral, and we talked a little and she told me I was going to be a grandfather, and I said she was still my daughter and she said she still loved me, but she wouldn’t give up her husband. Made me angry all over again, but all I said was, “Come home when you’re sick and tired of him and bring the baby with you.” I wish like hell she had. Then we might have resolved everything.”

“So do I,” Severus said feelingly. What he wouldn’t have given to grow up like Harry had, at Foxfire Hall, with a loving family. “I gave him what I never had and still it wasn’t enough.” He pulled away from his grandfather’s embrace. “Now he hates me.”

“Bollocks, Severus! The boy doesn’t hate you. He’s upset right now, but once his temper dies down . . .You gave him more than most parents, Severus, don’t ever think otherwise. He knows it too. Come, lad. Let’s go to my study, you look like you could use a drink, and we’ll give him time to cool down. Time for all of us to cool down. Then you can go back and talk with him and he ought to come round once you explain why you kept it a secret. He’s not the kind to hold a grudge, he’ll forgive you.”

Severus looked doubtful, but he followed Augustus down to his study. The elder Prince poured them each a glass of red wine, but Severus shook his head and set it down. “I can’t drink this. Not now. My stomach won’t tolerate it.”

“Tea then?” Augustus suggested. Then he called softly, “Hotspur, would you bring Master Severus some strong tea?”

Hotspur appeared and said, “Right away, milord!” Then he blinked away. Poor Master Severus and Harry. What a mess!

A strong cup of black tea with sweetener in it appeared in front of Severus. At his grandfather’s sharp glare, Severus began to drink it slowly.

“Lina,” the master of Foxfire Hall called.

“Yes, milord?” she looked very upset, the house elves always hated it when the family quarreled.

“Bring some tea and breakfast up to the attic for Henry, please.”

“Right away, sir!” Then she vanished.

* * * * * *

Harry was huddled in an old rocking chair amid about a dozen trunks and boxes and pieces of furniture, a tattered quilt embroidered with the Prince crest on it wrapped about his slender frame, his head on his knees, shaking with silent sobs. He didn’t want anyone to hear him cry, he could just make out the murmur of his father’s and grandfather’s voices below him and he knew Augustus was probably getting an earful from Severus.

Who wasn’t his real father.

You’re Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James Potter.

The words echoed and re-echoed inside his skull until he wanted to howl.

No, I’m not! I don’t want to be Harry Potter! I just want to be Henry Snape!

He recalled the morning he received the Howler and how he had wished for a fleeting moment that Severus wasn’t his father.

But the reality was nothing like he had imagined.

He had gone from knowing exactly who he was and where he belonged to . . .what?

An unwanted baby his relatives the Dursleys—his aunt and uncle—had abandoned in a manger? Why had they done that?

More tears fell as he tried desperately to figure out a reason anyone could do that to . . .how old had he been . . .a year?

“Young master, I’ve brought you breakfast,” Lina said softly, popping up and setting down a tray with toast and sausage and a cup of tea on a nearby trunk.

Harry jerked up so fast the rocker crashed into the wall. “Huh? Oh, Lina. I’m not hungry.” Then he added, “You don’t have to serve me anymore. I’m not really a member of this family.”

The elf sniffed. “Don’t be foolish, young master. You are as much a member of this family now as you were yesterday.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I’m not his son! You heard him say it!”

“I heard him say you were not his son by blood, but that it didn’t matter. Your father loves you, Harry.”

Harry shook his head. “No. Not anymore. Not after what I called him.”

“Silly boy! Words don’t make love cease. He knows you didn’t really mean it. That was your temper talking. Now drink your tea and eat some toast.” She gave him a hug.

He jerked away from her and she drew back, hurt. “Please, just go away, Lina! Just go!”

She disappeared and he dropped his head onto his knees and cried some more for treating the little elf so meanly. What was the matter with him? He was falling to pieces. He looked about at all the old brickabrack and dusty trunks, legacy of the Prince family, and felt himself cast adrift. This was no longer his family and the great manor house that he so loved was not his home. He was not a Prince or a Snape. He was a Potter. The name felt alien on his tongue. Who was Harry Potter?

He recalled Severus telling him that he looked like his mother, Lily, yet he had never seen a picture of her. No, wait, he had—once long ago, there had been a clipping of her in the album his father—Severus—Papa—had made for him. Suddenly he was filled with a terrible need to see that clipping, to find some way to reconnect himself to something.

He rose from the rocker and threw off the quilt. The strong odor of tea reached his nostrils, and he paused to pick up the cup and drain it, not caring if he singed his tongue. He was too thirsty to care. He grabbed a sausage and ate it on his way down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. He did not want to speak to the man who called himself his father.

Not now.

Why did you tell me? I didn’t want to know! A part of his mind screamed. While another part raged that Severus should have told him long ago. Your whole life has been a lie, that part hissed.

He shook his head. No, that wasn’t right. Severus had only lied about his identity. He hadn’t lied about loving him. Had he? If he didn’t love you, then why bother raising you all those years? Why not leave you in Angel Haven? He recalled Lina’s insistence that his father still loved him, no matter that he wasn’t a blood relation.

Confused, Harry slipped into his room, snatching up his broom, which had started this whole bloody row, and took it with him into Severus’ room. He found the album in its usual place, at the end of the row of books atop Severus’ desk, and quickly opened it.

He did not focus on all the pictures, for he knew they would only distract him from his purpose. Find the newspaper clipping. He flipped through a third of the album, scanning pictures of himself and Severus and Augustus at every stage of his life. Back when he was Henry Snape, the boy who belonged at Foxfire Hall, not this stranger whom the wizarding world regarded as some kind of juvenile savior.

That’s not me!

But it was.

He lifted the clipping up from where it had been carefully folded inbetween pictures of his last birthday party and the last snapshot of him going off to school and opened it.

He read rapidly the entire article then stared for the longest time at the picture of himself and James and Lily Potter. Severus had not lied, he did resemble Lily very much, but he could see traces of James as well, in the jaw and his birth father had glasses as well and hair that stuck up like porcupine quills unless he grew it out. These are my parents. He stared and stared at the picture, trying desperately to feel something . . .anything. But the people in the photo simply smiled and waved and he felt as if he were looking at strangers. He couldn’t remember anything about them.

But one thing did stand out. The article stated that Harry Potter had been given to his only living relatives, Muggles by the name of Petunia and Vernon Dursley, and Petunia had been Lily’s sister. They lived in Surrey.

Surrey? How far away was that from here? Could he fly there?

He needed some answers desperately. Answers that he wasn’t sure he could trust Severus to give him. Answers that maybe he wouldn’t even know, because he hadn’t been there to see the Dursleys leave him in some manger. He wanted to know what possible reason they had to throw away a child, why had they hated him, because they had to have done so in order to do such a terrible thing, right?

Maybe then the terrible squeezing feeling would go away and he could patch things up with the man he had thought of as his father. If that was even possible. He knew he had said some awful things to Severus, things that made his stomach twist and shame gnaw at him. Things no well-brought up kid ought to ever say to his parent.

Then another thought occurred to him. Harry Potter was supposed to destroy that crazy dark wizard whose name everyone except Augustus was afraid to speak. The article had mentioned a prophecy and said it was why Voldemort had come to find and kill him. Voldemort had killed his parents because of him. He felt a cold sensation in the pit of his stomach.

There were rumors whispered around Slytherin House that Lord Voldemort would rise again, and this time he would be triumphant, because Harry Potter was dead and the prophecy could never be fulfilled. He had brushed them off as ridiculous superstition, but now . . .what if it were true? Augustus had mentioned once to him that it was possible for a dark wizard to use necromancy to keep himself alive unnaturally. What if Voldemort had done that? And what if he found out that Harry had been hidden all this time at Foxfire Hall?

He shuddered, imagining the dark wizard coming and killing Severus and Augustus.

Even though he was angry at Severus for lying to him, he would never wish him dead. The very thought made him want to vomit. Nor Augustus either.

He didn’t want to be The Boy Who Lived, with the awful burden of this prophecy upon him. It scared him to pieces. How could he fight a dark wizard? He was just a kid, he could barely do basic spellcraft! He groaned. He wanted to go back to yesterday, when all he had to worry about was Severus finding out about his marks.

Worst of all, his being Harry Potter put Severus and Augustus in danger. I can’t let that happen. I don’t want them to die like my . . .my parents. And I don’t really belong here anymore. I need to talk to the Dursleys and then . . .I don’t know what I’ll do. But I have to leave here.

He felt his breath catch on a sob. He didn’t want to go, but he knew he couldn’t stay.

He started back towards his room, intending to get a small bag and throw in a few clothes and say goodbye to Calin, he couldn’t drag the poor cat with him, when he heard the scrape of chairs down the hall and then Severus saying quietly, “I suppose I had better go and see if he’s calmed down enough for me to talk to.”

Harry stuffed the clipping in his pocket and raced back up the stairs to the attic, locking the door.

A few moments later he heard Severus climbing the stairs and then a tap on the door. “Harry? I’d like to talk to you, if I may?”

The Potions Master’s voice sounded weary and regretful.

Harry trembled. He so wanted to open the door and apologize.

“Harry, open the door.”

“No!” he called. “I . . .don’t want to talk to you!” he made his voice all sharp and angry.

“Son, we need to talk.”

“Don’t care. Go away.” Merlin, but I sound like a brat, like Draco.

Severus sighed. “Very well. But I’ll be back in twenty minutes and we’ll discuss this then, whether you want to or not.”

Harry heard Severus’ footsteps retreating back down the small staircase and heaved a sigh of relief.

Then he threw open the skylight on the slanted part of the roof and mounted his broom. Goodbye. Half-blinded by tears, he shot out of the narrow opening.

Right into the teeth of a blizzard.

* * * * * *

Severus went back downstairs to the drawing room to sit in front of the fire and think about a way he could salvage what his temper had torn asunder. He knew Harry would need a lot of reassurance and he intended to make sure he understood that he still loved him, even after all the problems with grades and Quidditch and the child’s attitude, which Severus supposed was normal for an eleven-year-old. He was also going to write a nice long correspondence to Professor Malfoy and chew her out for allowing her Quidditch obsession to interfere with Harry’s academics. Really, she was a teacher, she ought to know better! Granted, this was her first year or two on staff, but still her first priority should be student academics, not sports. No wonder Harry’s grades had gone downhill, if the encouragement he’d been receiving had been towards winning matches. Even so, his son did know better, how many times had Severus stressed grades first?

Temptation, thy name is Quidditch, Severus thought with a weary sigh. He checked his watch. Only seven minutes had gone by. It felt like seventy minutes. Somehow he had to make him see that blood alone did not make a family, and that he had taken Harry in out of love, not duty. He put his head in his hands and massaged his temples.

“Why aren’t you up there talking to him, Severus?” Augustus asked.

“I tried to get him to come down. But he wouldn’t so I decided to give him a bit more time.”

The older wizard sighed. “Severus, you’re the parent, you shouldn’t let him dictate terms to you.”

“Grandfather, I don’t want to push him away, it’s my fault he’s so conflicted.”

“And it won’t get any better the longer you wait, trust me,” Augustus advised. “You need to talk to him now, Severus. Before the hurt festers and he refuses to hear anything you have to say. Go up there and unlock the door and tell him to sit his bottom down and listen to what you have to say before running off in a temper. That was the mistake I made with Eileen. I waited for her to come to me and by the time I made up my mind to go to her, it was too late. Don’t do what I did. Go to him and say what you need to, because the only way you can fix this is by talking it out.”

“Will you come with me? He might be more willing to listen if you’re there.”

Augustus agreed. “Certainly. And I won’t hesitate to Stick his rear to a chair if need be.”

“All right. Just let me . . .gather my thoughts together.”

That took another five minutes, and then Severus rose and together the two wizards went back up to the staircase and rapped upon the door.

“Henry Snape, open this door immediately,” Augustus said, using his old Auror tone.

There was no sound from inside the attic.

“Harry, we want to talk to you, now open the door,” Severus ordered.

Still no answer.

Severus scowled and pointed his wand at the door. “Alohomora!”

The locked clicked open and he pushed open the door. “Harry, stop this and come over here and talk to . . .me.”

He lit up the room with his wand, and found only dusty trunks and an empty rocking chair and assorted armoires and chairs and tables. There was no sign of Harry anywhere. The tray Lina had brought was untouched save for an empty teacup and the skylight was open and snow was softly falling upon the floor in a silvery white mound.

Severus felt his heart seize and he clutched his chest. “No! Blessed Merlin, no!”

“What’s wrong?” Augustus demanded, nudging him aside. He saw the open skylight and swore. “Bloody fool kid! He’s run away!”

“In the middle of a snowstorm,” Severus babbled, his throat closing up. “I have to find him . . .the temperature’s dropping . . .he’ll die without shelter . . .where would he go? I drove him to this . . .all my fault . . .have to find him . . .” For some reason he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, he was gasping for breath, he struggled to calm himself, but all he could think of was that his beloved child was out in this deadly blizzard alone.

“Severus!”

Something stung his cheek. He blinked.

“Damn it, boy, don’t you dare pass out,” he heard a familiar voice growl. Hands pushed him into a chair. “Severus, breathe, damn it! You’re hyperventilating. Get hold of yourself, Water Master.”

Gradually, Severus came back to himself. His breathing slowed, deepened and then he looked up at Augustus, who was standing in front of him with his hands on his shoulders, looking very concerned. “What happened?”

“You had a panic attack,” came the old man’s voice. “Scared me to death.”

“I did? But I’ve never . . .” he trailed off, blushing furiously.

“You just did.” Augustus said bluntly. “Now stop thinking with your heart and think with your head. Go check and see if Henry’s broom is still here. Because I have a dreadful feeling that the lad flew out of here and if he did . . .”

Severus was on his feet immediately. Then he Apparated into Harry’s room. He saw Patches asleep on his pillow and then he looked over at the broom stand where the Phoenix had been this morning.

It was gone.

“Bloody Goddamn hell, Harry! Are you trying to kill yourself?” his voice cracked and he felt the terror resurface, but this time he did not allow it to grip him. This time his control was enough to keep the terror at bay.

Augustus coughed and he turned. “His broom is gone.”

“So I guessed. That’ll make it harder for you to track him.”

“Flying in this weather . . .he could crash.”

“And probably will, if he hasn’t already,” Augustus stated, his face drawn.

“Can you sense anything, Grandfather?”

Augustus lowered his head, concentrating. It took him a long time to orient his magical senses to Harry’s aura, since the storm interfered with his seeking, and he had to keep pushing it away. But he was an Elemental Master, and he gathered his power and made the wild wind and stinging snow cease. And it was then that he sensed the aura of the child, two miles northeast, still upon the estate, close to the hunting lodge his great-grandfather had built back when hunting was in vogue. Augustus maintained the lodge as well, but mostly for camping purposes, he never hunted for sport.

He opened his eyes. “Severus, I can sense him. Which means you should be able too.”

“Where is he?”

“Two miles northeast of here, near the hunting lodge. I’ve calmed the storm for now, but the best I can give you is an hour, it’s a large front and taxing my strength to keep it out of here.” The Elemental Master was pale, and Severus could see sweat dribbling down his forehead.

“Grandfather! Are you . . .?”

“I’m fine. I know my limits.” Augustus spoke through gritted teeth. “Go fetch him home, Severus. Time was when I could send a storm like this packing in a heartbeat. Now, though . . .”

Severus didn’t bother talking, he could see the strain in the other’s eyes. “I’ll be back.” He summoned his outerwear and then Apparated out into the snow covered grounds.

As soon as his feet touched the snow he could feel the pulsing streamers of life from the trees and the animals and then he felt the pull of a human lifeforce, and he began to snowglide as quickly as he could, moving across the ground like a black streak.

Above he saw a star blazing overhead, silent and still, and he closed his eyes and prayed.

Once again, the star guides me, as it did on that night long ago. Just like before. Bring me to him, please, so that I may save what is dearer than life to me.

The night was eerily still, cold and white, save for the shimmering star in the ebony heavens. Severus never felt the cold or the snow, his power acting as a natural buffer against the elements. I must find him, I won’t allow him to die. I have to tell him I’m sorry and explain to him that he’s still my son. Misunderstandings divided his mother and me, but I won’t let that happen again. Not twice in a lifetime.

He spun out his awareness again, seeking that fragile spark of warmth, the flickering aura of magical power, and upon touching it, increased his speed to something approaching suicidal. His need was so great that it was as if he Apparated across the snowy ground, which he could not do because he didn’t have a clear reference point to Apparate to and a wizard who attempted Apparition without having a clear visualization risked Apparating themselves into a tree or a wall or the ground and killing themselves.

Finally he had reached his son’s side, the boy lay limp and unmoving upon a blanket of fresh snow, the Phoenix lying a few feet from him, miraculously unbroken, though the same could not be said for Harry. And the star which had guided him before now shone down brightly on his son.

For one awful, terror-stricken, breath-stealing moment, Severus feared Harry was dead, until he managed to focus enough to cast a diagnostic and discover that Harry’s wild ride had given him a concussion, a broken nose, a badly wrenched knee, and assorted bruises, plus broken glasses and a split lip. Severus knelt in the snow and turned the boy over, his skin was cold and clammy not only from the chill air, but from shock. Blood stained the snow a brilliant crimson.

Severus carefully melted the snow about Harry, making steam emerge in billows about him, then he carefully removed his cloak and wrapped it about Harry, it was spelled with a Warmth Charm.

The color began to return somewhat to Harry’s waxen cheeks and Severus carefully lifted him in his arms and snowglided to the hunting cottage that was barely five minutes from the spot Harry had landed in. He knew he didn’t have much time left before Augustus unleashed the blizzard again and no form of Apparition or Floo travel was possible with a wizard with a concussion like Harry’s, it might cause imbalances in their blood and brain that would kill them.

Now that he had halted his mad rush to get to the boy, he felt the strain of using his powers at such a quick pace in such a short time. Fatigue swept through him and it was all he could do to concentrate upon getting them to the lodge and Harry warmed up and healed from his accident.

He kicked the door in when he reached the cottage, it was a two-bedroom affair with a small kitchen for skinning game and a lounge area with a fireplace and a sofa with several blankets atop it. Candles in silver candelabras and lanterns were attached to the walls and Severus lit them with a quickly spoken “Incendio!” until the cottage was illuminated. He had dried Harry off with a Drying charm after he had lifted him from the snowbank, and now he Summoned the Phoenix to the cottage, knowing full well his Quidditch-crazy son would look for it the moment he was conscious. He set the broom in a corner and lowered Harry to the sofa, still shrouded in his cloak.

For a long moment he stared down at the child he had rescued yet again from the clutches of the Grim Reaper, and thought how they had come full circle from the manger on Christmas Eve. Once more you are given into my keeping, child, as it was so long ago, so it is again. The star led me to you and once more I shall give you the only gift I possess, the gift of a life and a home and love to replace what was lost. It is the best I can do, for I am only one man, not three.

He lit the fire with a word and conjured a large tub full of warm, not hot water, and left it with some fluffy towels gotten from the lodge’s small bathroom. That he would need later, after he had mended what he could. Then he set to work.

He healed the broken nose first, so Harry could breathe easier, but found that even after the healing spell was complete, his son’s nose had a small bump. Not a truly noticeable one, or a disfiguring one, but a slight imperfection. It had been broken badly at the bridge and those were always difficult to mend. Severus brushed the dark auburn hair away from Harry’s forehead and thought it added character to Harry’s face.

He wasn’t much good at mending torn cartilage, but he could reduce the swelling in the knee and the fluid and then he wrapped it tightly with a waterproof bandage. He would have Harry see a Healer once they returned home.

Then he whispered, “Ennervate!” and Harry stirred, groaned and opened his eyes.

As on that long ago Christmas Eve, Severus was struck once more by the evergreen eyes and the clarity he saw in them. Only this time they were filled with recognition, relief, and not a little pain. “Lie still, Harry. You’ve got a bad concussion, I had to wake you, but don’t try and sit up or move your head too much.”

“Papa . . .hurts . . .” the boy whimpered, for awake he could feel pain throbbing all over. He began to shiver as well.

“I know. I’m going to give you a dose of Pain Reliever in a moment. Just relax.” He sat down next to Harry’s head, and carefully raised it until it was sitting on his lap. Then he called the potion and put a straw in the vial and encouraged Harry to drink it.

Harry obeyed, knowing the draft would taste bitter but after he would feel ten times better.

As the pain gradually dulled, Harry shut his eyes, but Severus quickly shook him awake. “Don’t go to sleep. I need you to talk to me. What’s your name?”

Harry blinked, the pupil of his left eye was enlarged. “Harry . . .Snape . . .I mean Potter . . .”

“Good. How old are you?”

“ . . .’leven.”

“Good. Where do you live?”

A longer pause. “In a big house with . . .Grandpa and you . . .”

“Do you know its name?”

“F-foxfire Hall.”

“Do you remember how you hurt your head?”

“I . . .I crashed into a tree, didn’t see it . . .and fell off my broom . . .M’ sorry, Papa . . .”

Severus could have wept in relief. Harry did not appear to have suffered any memory loss. “Hush, you don’t need to apologize, I’m the one who’s sorry, me and my bloody temper . . .Is that why you ran away?”

Harry shook his head slightly. “Sort of.” He was still shivering.

Severus noted that he might be suffering still from shock and cold and quickly removed the cloak and clothes and placed Harry into the tepid water bath. He kept the boy there for almost ten minutes, gradually increasing the water temperature, until Harry had stopped shivering and said he was no longer cold.

Once he had Harry in soft flannel pajamas and thick socks, he carried the boy into the smaller of the two bedrooms, warmed everything up with another charm and put him in bed. “How do you feel? Still cold?”

“No. Where are we?”

“The hunting lodge three miles north of the house,” Severus answered. “Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Some,” Harry answered, his head was twirling like a top and his stomach felt odd.

“I’ll see what potions are stocked here, meantime rest but don’t go to sleep.” Severus instructed, doing his best to remain calm. He wanted to break down and cry because he had his son back safe, he wanted to shake the boy until his teeth fell out for scaring him to death and then he wanted to hug the wretched brat until he couldn’t breathe.

Harry tried to do as he had been told, but he kept recalling the urgency he had felt to find the Dursleys and to protect Severus and Augustus by leaving. Brilliant plan there, and it all worked out so well too. Guess there’s a reason Grandpa always told me to never fly in bad weather. He looked out the window and saw that snow was falling once more, swiftly, and the flakes were so close together you could barely make out the trees in the distance. He wondered if his Phoenix was buried out there and supposed it must be. Probably broken as well. He glanced over at the nightstand and saw his wand lying there and breathed a sigh of relief.

Breaking his broom was one thing, losing his wand was quite another. He knew Severus would cheerfully skin him and hang him out to dry if he had lost his wand. A wizard’s wand was his life. Or so said Zandra Malfoy. Not that he isn’t going to skin me anyhow, the boy thought, shifting uncomfortably. His head really ached and for some reason his vision was blurry.

He peered over at the newspaper clipping lying next to the wand. He wanted desperately to know why he had been left in a manger like a sack of feed corn, and yet at the same time he didn’t. He was of mixed and confused feelings about his “new” heritage. He had been comfortable being a Snape and a Prince, he was all at sea being a Potter. As a Snape he knew what was expected of him, and even if he didn’t always meet those explanations, he still knew where he stood. This day had gone from bad to worse and right then the only thing Harry knew for sure was that he was safe and his papa would heal him.

But would he tell him the truth about his past? Harry wondered. Could he trust Severus?

He felt suddenly ashamed at doubting the man who had saved his life two times now and had always been there for him, protecting, instructing and . . .yes, loving him. But Severus had kept a great secret from him and right then he felt confused, as confused as Arthur must have felt when he was told that he was Uther Pendragon’s son and meant to rule Britain. The boyhood of King Arthur was a favorite read of his and Harry never tired of reading about it. Like Harry, Arthur too had been hidden away, fostered with Sir Ector, who knew nothing of who the boy really was, and then along came Merlin and he became tutor and mentor to the boy. Arthur never knew his true parentage until he pulled Excalibur from the stone.

Sometimes Harry used to imagine himself as Arthur, but Merlin he always imagined as a stern sorcerer almost like his papa or grandpa, not the traditional bearded elder. I wonder if Arthur felt this confused when he learned about his real parents? Did he want to run and hide under a rock? What would he have been like if Merlin, the great wise wizard, had raised him instead of Sir Ector? What if he’d rather have been Merlin’s son instead of king? I don’t want to be famous, I just want to be ordinary Henry Snape again, the idiot who failed two classes and was going to end up grounded over the holidays. I don’t want to be the Boy Who Lived, and have to kill some psycho dark wizard.

Severus returned with a Stomach Soother and a Headache Remedy to alleviate the symptoms Harry was feeling. Harry took them wordlessly, then he waited for the explosion.

It never came.

Instead Severus pulled up a chair and sat near him, looking at him as if he couldn’t believe he was there, snug in bed, and not dead of hypothermia or whatever. Harry gazed back, his eyes filled with uncertainty. Who am I? And does he . . .still love me even after I was such a disappointment and swore at him like that? How did he find me anyhow?

He decided to start with the easy question first.

“How did you find me? How did you even know that I’d . . .left?”

Severus quirked an eyebrow at him. That gesture nearly made him smile, for it meant that he was asking a question with an obvious answer.

“You know that as an Elemental Master, your grandfather can find a mouse scurrying on the estate. He sensed you through the lifeweb and once I had stepped onto the snow, so did I.”

“A lifeweb?”

“That’s what we Elementalists call the auras of all living things that are intertwined, like a web, both magical and non-magical. But only those of strong talent can use it to find one individual among the many. We could sense your aura and then the general direction you were in. As for knowing how you left, surely you didn’t think a mere locked door would keep me out? And you left a pile of snow and an open skylight, so even a nitwit could tell you had run away.”

“Right.”

“I suppose I should tell your grandfather I have found you,” Severus said suddenly. He called up his Patronus with a flick of his wrist and sent the white doe across the grounds with the message that Harry was alive and they would stay overnight and not to worry.

Then he turned back to the boy in the bed and asked, very softly, “Why did you run away in the middle of a blizzard, Harry? Were you trying to . . .harm yourself?” Severus’ voice grew harsh with emotion and his long-fingered hands clenched to white knuckled fists upon his robe. “Or was it that you cannot stand the sight of me any longer?” He stiffened, as if waiting for a blow.

Harry just looked at him, too astonished to say anything at first. “You . . .you thought I’d try to . . .off myself? Because I went flying in a snowstorm?”

“The thought had crossed my mind, since that’s not normally what one does during a snowstorm.”

“I wasn’t. I’d never . . .” He licked his lips, which felt dry. “Can I have some water?”

Severus summoned a glass, thinking, he’s avoiding my question, he probably doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. “Here.”

Harry took it and started to gulp it, some went down the wrong way, and he began to sputter and cough, which then made his headache worse, until Severus gently leaned him forward and rubbed his back. When he finally managed to get himself under control he felt dizzier than before.

“Sip it slowly,” Severus advised.

Harry cautiously did, and did not choke. Then he said, “I didn’t leave ‘cause of you, well mostly not. I just wanted to find them. . . my aunt and uncle, I mean, so I could ask them why.”

“You risked your life so you could go back to ask those rotten relatives of yours why they abandoned you?” Severus repeated incredulously.

“I had to know . . .and I couldn’t ask you, ‘cause you didn’t ever see them . . .Don’t you see . . .I want to know what I ever did to make them do that? Why would they just . . .leave me like . . .an old shoe or something?” He turned away abruptly, for his eyes were filling up with tears. “Was I so . . .horrible?” That last question came out in a sob, which he quickly choked down and sniffled. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t.

“Never ever think that!” rasped Severus, then he reached out and put an arm about the slender shoulders. “You were a baby, an innocent seventeen-month old baby. You did nothing wrong. How could you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry whispered. “But I must have done something bad, otherwise . . .”

Severus removed his hand from the boy’s shoulder to his chin, gently pulling his face around to look up at him. The emerald eyes were brimming with tears and a pain that was soul deep. Damn those Dursleys! They should drop dead for what they’ve done! “Harry, listen to me. They were rude and wicked people to do such a thing, people without a shred of compassion or human decency in their bodies. I don’t know the exact reason they did it, though I can make a guess. I grew up with your aunt Petunia and she was always jealous of Lily and I because we bore magic and she didn’t. That jealousy grew into a hatred of all things magical and maybe she resented you too when Dumbledore left you on their doorstep. Other than that, I don’t know, but never ever think that you are responsible for what they did. Nothing excuses it, they committed a crime, attempted manslaughter, then covered it up by saying you were kidnapped by a criminal and presumed dead. It was not your fault.”

Now the tears spilled over, making salty tracks down his cheeks, and Severus drew him close.

Harry wept quietly into the familiar shoulder, trying to come to terms with the rejection that had occurred and failing miserably. They left me to die. They left me to die. Sobs tore at him and Severus began to card his hair and hug him. He didn’t even know he had spoken the words aloud.

“I know. Shhh . . .but you didn’t die, you’re a survivor. I knew that the first time I looked into your eyes, you were blue with cold, half frozen, and still screaming your lungs out. . . and that was when I took you in.”

“You didn’t know . . .who I was?” he sniffled.

“No. Not then. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t about to walk away and leave a baby to freeze to death. Cold heartless beasts!” spat Severus savagely. “From then on you were mine. Always mine. You might be a Potter by blood, but you’re a Snape by choice. My choice. And a Prince too.”

Harry lifted his head to look deep into the obsidian eyes. “How?”

“Because your grandfather recognizes you as my heir.”

“But I’m not really your son.”

“Blood is one thing, Harry. You have to love the child of your blood, but you . . .you are the child of my heart and you were chosen by me and that makes you special.”

“Even now, after what I said, and failing school, and . . .?”

“Even then. You needn’t worry that I will stop wanting or loving you, even if you were the worst behaved child ever, I would still call you my son. I wouldn’t be too pleased with you then, but I would never cast you out.”

For some reason, Severus’ admission made him feel worse instead of better, and he blurted stupidly, “That’s why I was leaving. Because I put you and Grandpa in danger. If V-Voldemort comes looking for me, I didn’t want you to get killed, like my parents.”

“And you were leaving to go where? Back to the sadistic beasts? Oh, Harry! Don’t you remember that Foxfire Hall has wards woven into it, wards that make it impossible for anyone to find this place, wards that would protect you against him, you were safer here than you ever would have been in Surrey. There was no need to play the hero.” He gave him a gentle cuff on the back of the head. “Don’t ever risk your life like that again! You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry said automatically. Then he added, “But—”

“But nothing! You do not risk your life, not for me, or Grandpa, not for any reason.”

“But, sir, I . . .I’m supposed to . . .kill Voldemort.”

“Who says?”

“There was a prophecy . . .I heard some of my Housemates talking, they said Lord Voldemort would rise again and he would take over everything because Harry Potter wasn’t there to kill him. I thought it was just a bunch of rot . . .but now I’m Harry Potter.”

“You always were. And that blasted prophecy isn’t to be trusted. A prophecy is only as true as those who believe in it. Otherwise it’s just words on a page or in a globe. I don’t believe in it, the Seer who made it was a charlatan who never had a true vision in her career, but Dumbledore and Voldemort both believed and so I had to hide you away here. Your mother would have approved. She never liked all the pomp and circumstance . . .unlike your father. He ate it up like a starving cat with a bowlful of cream.” He broke off abruptly, not wanting to speak about the Potters just yet, it was a sore topic. “My point is you are not destined or fated to fight a mad sorcerer to the death. Wars are fought by men and megalomaniacs by Aurors, not a boy fresh from his first term of Hogwarts. It’s ludicrous! It’s like throwing a sheep to a Hungarian Horntail and expecting the sheep to walk out eating the dragon.”

“But they call me the savior of the wizarding world in the paper,” Harry indicated it. “And you did find me in a manger, like baby Jesus . . .”he trailed off awkwardly.

“Even He had a choice, Harry. And He didn’t assume the mantle of savior until He was grown and able to make a decision. I don’t care what they call you, let Dumbledore—the only wizard Voldemort has ever feared—get off his high and mighty ass and fight him, and leave you in peace. Your parents died to protect you from the bastard, not to have you throw away your life fulfilling some half-baked prophecy made by a drunk Seer.”

Harry looked doubtful. “Then why do so many people believe it?”

“Because they are afraid and they’ll grasp at anything to keep the fear at bay. They believe it miraculous that you survived the Killing Curse, but I think maybe you were protected by old magic and Voldemort grew sloppy and miscast his curse. When it rebounded, it left you with a scar and killed him.”

Harry felt his forehead. “Where is my scar?”

“Gone. I used a special potion called Scar Remover on you as a baby.” He ruffled the deep auburn hair. “It was a necessary deception. As was the hidden identity. Had anyone known I had you, they might have come and taken you away, so I changed your name to mine. I am sorry I had to lie to you and even sorrier I announced your true parentage in such a way. I was going to wait until Christmas to tell you about it. But “the best laid plans of mice and men, often go awry”.”

“Robbie Burns,” Harry named the famous Scottish poet. He gave Severus a smile. “See, I did study a little.”

“You need to study more.” Severus interjected, then he went on. “I’m sorry if I made you feel unwanted and confused, that was not my intention. I thought you were old enough to handle the truth and to understand why I did what I did. I wanted to give you a normal life, a good life, the life the Dursleys denied you, the life I never had as a child. The Boy Who Lived would have never been allowed to have that, he would have been an overnight celebrity. Hate me for it if you wish, but I stand by my decision.”

“I don’t hate you,” Harry cried. “I just got mad . . .I’m sorry . . .it’s just . . .like getting hit with a Bludger, the way you told me . . .I looked and looked at their picture,” he waved a hand at the clipping. “I look like them but I don’t feel like I belong to them. They’re like strangers and I feel lost . . .”

“Perhaps . . .I can make you feel a little less lost.” Severus offered tentatively. “I can tell you something about both your parents, as I knew and went to school with both of them. I was your mother’s best friend and your father’s nemesis.”

“Am I like them? Besides looks, I mean?”

Severus considered. “You remind me a great deal of Lily in temperament, most times. She could be very generous and kind and she was passionate about defending those who couldn’t defend themselves. She had quite the temper, however, and was quick to defend herself with a wand or her tongue. She loved potions as much as I did, we often worked together during class and both of us were favorites of our potions teacher. She was also remarkable in Charms. We were neighbors and friends before we ever went to Hogwarts, I was the one who first told her she was a witch, and the weird things she could do weren’t freaky, they were magic. We used to meet down by the park . . .”

Harry listened to Severus’s voice go soft, as if he were speaking about someone very dear to him. He listened to Severus tell stories of their shared childhood and then he asked, “What about my dad? You said you knew him too. What was he like? I know he played Quidditch for Gryffindor, says so in the Trophy Room.”

Severus grimaced, for speaking about James Potter was not something he was comfortable with. Yet he had promised the boy he would tell him something about his parents, and he would not lie, he was done with that.

“Yes, your father was an excellent Quidditch player, you get your skill on a broom from him. He was a brave man and a loyal one, though while we were in school we did not get on well at all. James was a prankster and a troublemaker and I was just the opposite and. . .we fought many times over the years. He could be arrogant and biased and he considered Slytherins to be halfway down the dark path because of Voldemort.”

Harry sighed. “A lot of the Gryffs think that. It’s stupid. Professor Malfoy said to just ignore them, that they were ignorant and didn’t know any better. She said we shouldn’t be held responsible for the mistakes of past members.”

“And she would be right. All the Houses have had members both Dark and Light.”

“Then I guess . . .he wouldn’t be too happy I’m a Snake now would he?”

“Harry, I would hope that he would be proud of you no matter what you were Sorted as. He might have been an unmitigated ass to me during school, but I think he would be grateful that you were given the chance to grow up, no matter if I raised you or not. No matter what House you’re in. Any parent wants what’s best for their child.” After a moment, he continued. “Your father was also good at Transfiguration, he came from an old pureblood family, he was wealthy and popular, he was Head Boy along with your mother as Head Girl. However, he trusted the wrong sort of people. He trusted a man named Sirius Black, who was his best friend, and he was betrayed by him . . .”

Harry listened, entranced, as Severus retold the events of that Halloween night, as far as he knew them. When he was done, Harry said, “Thanks for telling me.”

“Does it help any?”

“A little.” Harry bit his lip. “Are you sure I don’t have to be the Child of Light like the prophecy says? Because I’d rather be plain Harry Snape.”

“Harry, you can be whatever you want. The Child of Light does not have to be a warrior, he can be a different savior, one who heals hearts and spirits. Or not, as you choose.”

Harry felt the burden lighten. He smiled and asked, “Do we have to let people know I’m Harry Potter? I mean, I’ll tell Nev and Ron and Hermione and Blaise, but I can trust them. They won’t blab. I just don’t want the rest of the world knowing. Is that a problem?”

“No, But you shall have to present yourself in Gringotts and gain access to the Potter vault of which you are the sole recipient. The goblins need to know the truth, after that, I can file legally for a blood adoption, if you would like.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that I adopt you according to an old magic ritual. It involves two witnesses, and a willing exchange of vows and a drop of blood. But you can think on that later, Child of Light,” Severus teased gently.

“Hey, don’t call me that. If I was able to perform miracles like they say, I’d be able to get off my grounding this holiday.”

“Not a chance,” Severus shot back. Then he added, “You have done something miraculous, Harry.”

“Like what?”

“Like bring joy and hope and love back into the hearts of people who had none or had lost that feeling. People like Smithers and Grandpa and me. Or the children at Angel Haven. There’s a miracle right there.”

Harry started to grin. “You know something, Papa? You’re a wise man. And I’m glad the star led you to me.”

Severus hugged him gently. “As am I. For in saving you, I saved myself.” Then he drew away. “Lie back and sleep.”

“I’m allowed?”

“Yes, for a few hours. I’ll wake you up a few times during that time, just in case. There’s a blizzard out there right now and the best thing to do is to sleep and let it snow.”

Harry yawned. He felt so warm and comfortable, and a part of his mind was a little more settled and slowly accepting the truth of who he had been, who he was and who he could become. His eyes shut and he drifted into a twilight state, while Severus kept watch until two hours later, and then he too succumbed to sleep’s siren call.

And all about the cottage, the snow fell in heaps and drifts, covering the small house with a pristine blanket of virgin snow.