Harry looked over at the clock and groaned. Hurray, it's morning. Mo had been awful that night, fussing and crying, and no amount of care on Harry's part would get her to settle and let him sleep. In the week since he'd 'adopted' Mo, he'd stopped even hoping for a full, uninterrupted night's sleep, but he'd have liked some sleep. His annoyance at Mo vanished, though, when he heard a tiny whimper and looked down at her in the morning's light. She looked okay, but her nose was running. As he watched, her face screwed up and she sneezed hard.

“You know you're not allowed to get sick, right, little monster? 'Cause I don't know what to do with sick babies. I only know what to do with healthy babies.”

Her only response was another sneeze and more mucous out of her nose. Shit. She better not be sick.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

She was sick. Her nose was runny, she sneezed, she didn't want to eat, she fussed even more than usual. Harry told himself it was just a cold, and tried to work on his Potions essay, but he couldn't leave her on her play-mat and listen to her fuss, especially when he could hear her breathing through the stuffy nose. And so she was on his lap, distracting him and occasionally making him smear his ink. Usually, she'd be happy like this, but not this afternoon. The poor little mite was miserable, and she made her displeasure known. And Harry couldn't concentrate. What could he do? Should he take her to a doctor? It's just a cold, he told himself. But she was so little, and so unhappy. He sat and worried and tried to do his work and felt like the worst Daddy that had ever been for letting her get sick.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. She had a fever. Her little head felt warm and her curls were damp. Fever. Fever is bad. He had to get her to a doctor. Today. And it was already late afternoon.

Is there a doctor on Knockturn? Harry tried to remember. There's not on Diagon, that's for sure. Surely there existed such thing as a wizarding hospital in London? He could hardly take her to a muggle one. Shit. Where am I gonna take her? Maybe he could go to Hogwarts, take her to Pomfrey? Will she even be able to treat a big fae? She'd at least be able to get him to somebody who could. Damn, no. It was the summer. She probably wasn't even at Hogwarts, even if in theory he could get there and she could treat Mo. And she'd hand me into Dumbledore. Wait, fuck, what am I thinking? What kind of an asshole was he? He cared if he got caught afterward? Mo was sick!

The fae. Maybe Sheyanan-she will know where I can go.

Getting out his book, Harry wrote hastily,

To her Royal Highness Sheyanan-she of the Unseelie Court, greetings.

Mo's sick. I thought it was just a cold or something but now she's got a fever. I'm still in London, and I can't apparate. Where can I go? Will anybody know what to do with her? Signed, Harry the Switch

And I'm screwed, Harry thought grimly. They've got me. Unless he managed to leave London undetected, and maybe go to the muggle side? Without them catching me at the hospital or whatever first. Sure. And now he had to wait for a response. How long, though? They might all be asleep, or something. Should he go out on Diagon Alley looking for second options? I could. Go out, and bring the book. If I find a second option, great, and in the meantime I'll keep checking the book. The thing weighed about a thousand pounds, and shrinking it wasn't an option, old as it was, but what other option did he have?

And so Harry closed the book and put it in his backpack, tucked Mo carefully into the baby carrier, checked his glamours one last time, and left the room.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Nothing, still? It had only been two hours, but things on Diagon Alley were starting to shut down. They've never responded in less than six hours, dumbass. Don't count on them. Damnit why did I wait so long! I should've started looking when I thought it was just a cold! That was it. He really was the worse parent anybody could ever have.

Damnit, I have got to find somebody. He'd been going store to store, trying to find anybody that he knew he could trust, but the Alley was almost abandoned. Things really were shutting down. But they're not closed yet. I'll find somebody, if it's the last thing I do. Hell, I'll go to Gringotts and ask the goblins. Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. One or two more stores, Harry thought, ducking into the Slug and Jiggers apothecary, and then I'll ask the goblins. Or wait, no! Of course. Madame Harlot. If he had to, he would go and see if Madame Harlot knew anything of what to do. It was even more guaranteed to get him caught then the note to the queen had been, but that didn't matter at this point. But she might not even be able to help me, Harry reminded himself. He really needed someone like Madame Pomfrey, or Mrs. Weasley, or – Snape?

For there was the Greasy Git himself, talking to the man behind the counter about several different items from the store. Well isn't that ironic. I look for somebody I can trust and promptly run into the one person I least want to. But also one of the people most likely to be able to help him, he realized. Potions overlapped with medicine quite a bit. Shit. He's a bloody Death Eater, you moron! But Dumbledore said he was a spy. He trusted him. He could've let me die first year, or third, Harry remembered. Hell, he could've killed me himself at pretty much any time. He knew where I was. Harry bit his lip. Does it have to be Snape, though? And what would Snape care if Mo – if Mo was sick? He wouldn't even recognize Harry. And if he does, he'll immediately take me to Dumbledore. If Dumbledore's right and he doesn't take me straight to Voldemort. Could he trust Snape, just on Dumbledore's say-so?

At that moment, though, Snape finished up whatever it was he was doing and headed for the exit.

“Professor!”

Snape turned. “Yes, Mr-”

“Tobias Bâtard. Please, sir, umm - I need help.”

Snape lifted an eyebrow. “Do I know you?”

“Ummm...no,” Harry lied. Who knows? Maybe he'll help me without knowing my name? Maybe? Sure. Professor Snape, the good Samaritan.

“And yet you called me Professor.”

Harry just shook his head. “Sir, please, it's my – my daughter. She's sick, you see, and-”

“And I have no time for this. Take her to a mediwitch, boy.” At that, Snape turned away and headed once more for the door.

“No! Please, Professor-” Snape didn't turn back. “Professor Snape!”

At that, the Professor turned. “So now you do know me.”

“Y-yes, sir. You teach at Hogwarts. P-please. She's sick. D-do you know where I could find Madame Pomfrey, at least?”

“And you know Madame Pomfrey, too,” Snape observed, seeming to ignore Harry's desperation entirely, “and yet from your appearance you are not a student at Hogwarts.”

Give it up, Harry. He's not going to help you, otherwise. “I – I am a student, Professor.”

“Polyjuice? A glamour?”

“Just a long story,” Harry said, looking Snape full in the face for the first time. To his surprise, Snape's eyes widened and he latched onto Harry's arm.

“Stupid boy,” he hissed. Harry didn't get a chance to respond, though, as Snape was already apparating out.

A very unpleasant second later, they were standing in the middle of a dirty, dilapidated street, and Mo was screaming. Shooting Snape a quick glare, Harry pulled his arm out of the man's grasp to hold Mo closer and talk softly to her. “Poor bub. Today is just not your day, is it? Me neither.”

Snape made a disparaging sound and Harry focused back on him angrily, his voice raising over Moriyana's cries even as he held her tightly to his chest. “Perhaps you wouldn't understand why I might be distressed that a child is unhappy, Snape, but regardless she is the only reason that I am cooperating with you at all right now, so unless you want to tell Dumbledore that you fucking lost me you'd do well to bloody help me out with her. She's sick, okay? Now are you going to help me, or just keep dragging me around?”

Snape sneered at him. “Don't fool yourself, Potter, there is no danger that I will 'lose' you, regardless of your cooperation. Not that I am likely to lose it. It is blatantly obvious to me that you are desperate. You approached me, Potter, and you are not going to run now just because you dislike me. Now if you want help for your 'daughter', whoever she really is, then you will cooperate.”

Harry just stared at Snape, knowing that everything the man said was true. He wasn't going anywhere. All he could respond was, “It's Bâtard, and she is my daughter.”

The look Snape shot him was so derisive it made Harry flush, but the man didn't comment, simply thrusting a slip of paper into Harry's hands. Harry looked down at it, reading, “The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at number twelve Grimmauld Place.”

“What's the-”

“Quiet!” Snape commanded harshly. Startled, Harry watched as an old, dirty house appeared, squeezing into existence between two other houses on the street. When it had settled, Snape grabbed Harry's arm again and hauled him up to the front door and into the house. For a second Harry thought he'd made a disastrous mistake – the entryway of the house positively screamed dark wizardry – but then Snape hauled him into a dining room off one side and commanded,

“Put the child on the table.”

Harry hastened to obey, his worry for Mo overwhelming any other thought. She was still too warm, still sweaty. As he put her down, she let out another of her rough little sneezes, then started crying even louder than before. He hauled a washcloth out of his diaper bag to clean her face of snot and tears, feeling helpless. To his credit, Snape didn't wait around, and immediately started running his wand down Mo's little chest and abdomen, silently incanting. All Harry could do was give her a finger to hold and watch.

Finally, Snape stopped incanting and looked up at Harry with an inscrutable expression, and Harry couldn't bear it any more. He picked up Mo off the table and held her tight to him, trying to soothe her continuing cries.

“I-is she okay? Or, well, is she gonna be okay? Can you help her?”

Snape sneered. “She has a cold, Potter.”

Harry stared at him for a moment as the words penetrated. Just a cold, really just a cold. “She- she's all right? She had a fever-”

“Her temperature when I started was one hundred degrees.”

“And that's alright?” Harry asked, needing to know.

Snape rolled his eyes. “I controlled the fever and boosted her immune system. It's all I can safely do for a child that young, especially given that she is not human. She'll be fine in a couple of days.”

And she was finally quiet, Harry realized as he pressed his forehead to hers. Finally he looked back up at Snape and said, “thank you.”

Snape just sneered at him. “I have every intention of contacting Dumbledore at the earliest opportunity.”

Harry sighed. So much for being polite. No, I really thought you were going to help me escape again. He was going to meet Dumbledore. Soon. And he needed a damned good story for it. Trying to look like he was just playing with his hair, he made sure that the earrings were fully covered. Dumbledore probably wouldn't recognize his markings as sidhe – even most of the People didn't recognize him as anything more than one of the various 'big folk' - but he would almost certainly recognize the earrings.

Let's see...truth, or as much of it as I can afford. I found out from my mother that I was a bastard and...and took the potion to make my face change. Then – then I got all angsty and pissed off so I went to go get some tattoos...and a hair-growth potion Okay...that made some sort of sense. Sort of. Why these tattoos, though? Okay, the bat and the markings are all one tattoo so...so it all represents change and uncertainty, and the bat is...is me, figuring out who I am and flying away. Wow was that humiliating. He'd sound like a complete imbecile.

But let's face it, that's not going to surprise anyone.

The more truth in his story, the better, though. So...the Durseys got pissed off about the tattoos and kicked me out, at which point I was approached by a woman who wanted me to take care of her baby.

Why him, though? He could hardly tell Dumbledore that it was destiny that led her to him, though that might essentially be the truth. Okay, then, she was a friend of mine already. I met her in grade school. And Mo just happened to have wings. Sure.

Okay, so I met her, and...and was curious, about the wings, and we became friends after I escaped, and only later she asked me to take Mo. And I've been staying away because...because I needed time to adjust before facing everybody. He winced. That was a little too close to the truth...and it was sure to get him in trouble. But what other reason could he give? He'd say he “needed time to adjust,” but really – I've had my time to adjust. And I still don't want to face them looking like this. And now he had no choice. Snape would tell Dumbledore, and Dumbledore would certainly tell his friends. And then they'd want to see him. And then all hell would break loose.

If only I could just stay Tobias Bâtard, he reflected morosely. Nobody cares if he has tattoos and a little baby daughter. And he wasn't ashamed of them, Harry realized. The only person that mattered to him was Mo. If anybody had a problem with Mo, they could just go fuck themselves. But again, that was Tobias. Ron and Hermione would never understand it. They would want him to be Harry, the reluctant boy hero, and never understand why he was so different.

He'd gotten used to being Tobias Bâtard, to being the the tattooed delinquent, the bastard child who'd been kicked out of his home, the unwed parent who threw everything he had into caring for an infant he should not have had. It felt real. He really had been kicked out of his home. He really was a Daddy, now. And he'd wanted the tattoo. Tobias Bâtard felt more real than Harry Potter ever had. He wasn't a hero, or somebody's Heir. The best thing about him was that he was somebody's Daddy. And I blow at that, too. But he liked being Tobias. Especially when Mo was quiet and clinging to his chest like she was now. So helpless, and so trusting. And so rubbing snot all over my shirt.

And there it was. Harry Potter was the boy-who-lived, the shining poster boy of the light. He could never be anything other than the perfect human hero. The orphan who 'got over it' and went and did heroic things. Harry Potter couldn't be a bastard, or be kicked out of his home. And Harry Potter didn't have a daughter. Harry Potter could not be Tobias Bâtard, and Tobias Bâtard could not be Harry Potter. Do I have to choose, then?

Abruptly Harry realized that Snape was staring at him, and that he'd just totally lost track of the conversation.

“Sorry, Professor. I'm kind of out of it, right now.”

“Are you ever 'in it', Mr. Potter?”

That doesn't even sound right, anymore. Harry met his eyes again. “It's Bâtard.”

Snape snorted softly. “The game is up, Mr. Potter.”

Harry fought to keep his temper. “I realize that, Professor. However, I prefer the pseudonym.”

Snape sneered. “Identity crisis, Mr. Potter?”

Harry once again fought his temper down. “Something like that, Professor. Why do you care? It's not like you've ever had any use for Harry Potter.” Suddenly Harry realized something. “How did you recognize me, Professor? You're the only one that ever has.”

Snape gazed at him, expression completely blank, and Harry shivered. “I believe that is my business, Mr. Potter.”

“And mine,” Harry contested. “If there's a weakness in the disguise, I need to know.”

Snape stared at him “Wear color contacts,” the Professor answered shortly.

My eyes. He recognized my eyes? “What's so special about my eyes?”

“They are what most obviously remains of your previous appearance.”

“Okay, but nobody else-”

The look Snape gave him shut him up. Ooooookay. Topic not welcome. Got it. As Harry stared, confused, Snape turned away from him and threw floo powder into the fireplace, calling out, “Dumbledore's Office.”

Harry closed his eyes as he heard the headmaster's voice on the other side.

“Severus my boy, what a pleasant surprise. Do you have information for me?”

Harry's stomach clenched as he heard Snape's reply. “Better. I have the boy.”

“Harry? You found him?”

“He found me.”

“He approached you? Forgive me, Severus, but that seems singularly unlikely.”

Snape's voice sounded very dry. “I believe there were extenuating circumstances.”

“Extenuating-?”

“Floo through and see.”

This the headmaster did, and within moments he stood in front of Harry. Harry looked back bravely, but the headmaster didn't meet his eyes.

“Harry?” The headmaster asked softly.

“Tobias,” Harry corrected.

“Don't be difficult, Potter,” Snape snapped.

“My name is Tobias Bâtard,” Harry snapped back. “I've been Tobias for some time now. Mo knows Tobias, not Harry. And it's 'cause you've been looking for Harry Potter this whole time that you've missed me. And Voldemort, for that matter. I've been safe like this. If you want to keep me safe as you claim, then you ought to respect that. Harry Potter has a bloody price on his head. Nobody's looking for Tobias Bâtard.”

“Nobody has recognized you?” the headmaster wanted to know.

“Nobody even notices what I look like, like this,” Harry confirmed. “They just see the tattoos. Well, except Snape, apparently.”

“Professor Snape,” Dumbledore admonished, but he seemed distracted, his gaze having met Snape's. After a second the headmaster looked back at Harry, but still didn't meet his eyes. “And the little one, Tobias? You called her Mo?”

Harry turned Mo around to face the headmaster, but spoke to her, first. “Mo, this is Headmaster Dumbledore. Professor, this is Mo. I adopted her. It's kind of a long story.”

The headmaster smiled slightly, eyes twinkling. “How fortunate that we have such a surplus of time. How about we go downstairs?”

Like I really have a choice, Harry reflected.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“So where do I start?” Harry asked when they were all three seated around a huge table in the basement.

“I have always believed that the best place to start a good story was at the beginning,” answered the headmaster.

Of course. Well, Dumbledore, it all started one morning when I realized that my clothes didn't fit...and then I started developing markings and wings and horns... “Umm...well I got this letter from my mum,” Harry started, seeing both adults in the room turn to him sharply. “She'd sent it ahead fourteen years so that I would know some stuff...” Harry stopped. This was going to be harder than he'd thought. He'd thought the difficulty would be in lying believably, but the truth?

“I'm a bastard,” he said bluntly, looking up for their reactions. Dumbledore looked a little startled, but Snape – Snape whitened. Feeling compelled to continue, Harry spoke, “James Potter is not my biological father. He was gone, and Mum met some guy she knew and got drunk-” he trailed off. Snape was acting really strangely. He'd gotten up and was pacing. Dumbledore looked up at Snape too, before looking back at Harry and urging,

“Go on.”

“So...” and here was where the lying started “so I got kinda mad, and wanted to do something crazy, so I got the tattoos. The Dursleys didn't like them, and kicked me out.” Well that was easier than expected. But then I've been lying to a lot of people, lately. And Dumbledore's not even looking at me.

“So then I left, and started telling people I was Tobias, so that people couldn't find me. I mean, I looked different, anyway, 'cause Mum also sent me a potion to get rid of the glamour that made me look like James.” At this, the potion master turned back towards Harry sharply, a dark expression on his face. What is up with him? “Anyway, eventually I met this woman in a pub, and was curious, 'cause she had wings. So I asked her about it, and she said she wasn't human, and we started talking and got friendly and stuff.”

Suddenly Harry got an idea. This story makes a little more sense if we were dating...sorta. “And so, well, she wasn't that much older than I was, I guess, and we met a couple times in the bar, and we talked, and I met Mo. But then, one day, Ll- Lily gave me Mo and said she couldn't keep her anymore. I tried to say no, but then she just left and I was stuck. She left me a note that said that by their laws the baby was mine, and that was it.”

And hopefully Dumbledore doesn't know much from People law. She's only mine 'cause I bonded with her.

“At that point I moved to Diagon Alley, where we'd both be safer, and have been there for a week. But then Mo got sick, so here I am.”

“It was the child's sickness that led you to approach Professor Snape?” the headmaster inquired.

“Yes, sir. S- Professor Snape said she just got a cold, but she had a fever, and I didn't know who to go to.”

“And so you handed yourself in for the sake of the child?” Dumbledore pressed, looking at Snape thoughtfully. The potions master was still staring at Harry like he'd never seen him before, but he looked up, startled, at Dumbledore's words.

What is he staring at? Harry frowned back at the potions master and held Mo closer as he responded to the headmaster's question. “What, wouldn't you? She's my daughter.” Harry looked down at Mo and took a deep breath, petting her hair to help him calm down. She needs to go to bed soon, he realized absently. But I need to finish up this conversation. He was getting tired of the questions about Mo, and Snape's unrelenting stare was making him nervous. She's my daughter. Mine. Don't even think about questioning that.

“What are you staring at?” he finally demanded.

Snape actually looked taken aback for a second, but then his habitual sneer returned. “I was interested in the train wreck that you have made of your life.”

Harry glared, fighting to keep from showing his teeth. “I like it this way.”

Snape snorted. “You would.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Language, 'Bâtard'. I simply mean that you will seemingly do anything to attract attention. Though I must admit that I had not thought you would go this far.”

Harry felt his lips lifting off of his canines, and hoped the expression would be interpreted as a sneer. “You honestly think I arranged to get kicked out of my home because it was dramatic? I'll admit freely that I made rash decisions after finding out that my mother screwed some asshole rather than waiting for my father to come home, but I assure you that none of the decisions I made after that were for the sake of 'attention.'”

“Your 'father', Bâtard?” Snape mocked, sneering.

“Yes,” Harry said angrily, “my father, as in the man who threw himself in front of the so-called 'Dark Lord' in order to save my life, not the man who got drunk and screwed around with a married woman without even using proper protection.”

To his great surprise, Snape flinched, and didn't reply. Harry took the opportunity to continue. “I accepted Mo because I did not immediately have another choice, but now she is my daughter. And don't you dare suggest otherwise. You wanted me back, fine, but you gotta deal with her, too.” This last was directed at Dumbledore, who for whatever reason still wouldn't meet his eyes. When nobody said anything, Harry asked, “So what are you gonna do with me now?”

“Do with you, Mr. - Bâtard?” Dumbledore repeated questioningly.

“Yeah. You wanted me here – wherever here is – and now you've got me. What are you going to do now?”

“'Here' is number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Which is-?”

“A small, clandestine organization founded during the first war to oppose Voldemort. This is the safest place for you right now, Tobias. The building is unplottable, in addition to being protected by a Fidelius Charm.”

'Cause that worked so well the last time Dumbledore wanted to protect someone, Harry thought bitterly. He wasn't quite sure why he was so pissed off at Dumbledore right now, but somehow everything the man said was getting on his nerves. Something about the way the man wouldn't look at him, maybe. What is wrong with him? It's like I'm a pariah.

“And so I'm just supposed to hang here, then?”

“I'm afraid so, my boy. But you won't be alone. The Weasley family is here, as are Sirius Black and Ms. Granger.”

“And you expect me to just walk up there and be Harry Potter?” Harry asked.

“Is that a problem, my boy?”

Snape spoke up then. “Perhaps Mr. Potter is pointing out the danger he constantly courts in openly being the Great Harry Potter. For once I must agree with him. Perhaps, indeed, in order to keep the Boy-Who-Lived living, he must cease to be Harry Potter. Even, perhaps, to his friends.”

“What?” Harry gasped, “no! That's not what I meant at all!”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful, and Harry was filled with a vague foreboding. “Professor, that's really not what I meant. I just meant – well I've been Tobias for a while, now. I'm just worried they won't be able to relate to me anymore. And they'll have a ton of questions. I do want them to know who I am; of course I do.”

Dumbledore's expression was grave. “Nevertheless, my boy, I believe that Professor Snape has a good point. You have successfully evaded capture as Tobias Bâtard, and have remained safe that way. In addition, you have already established that identity on Diagon Alley. It would be quite easy for you to keep that identity, and you would, indeed, be safer doing so.”

“And like I said I'd be okay with that, but Ron and Hermione-”

“Have shown themselves to be less than discreet in the past, unfortunately.” At this point the headmaster was staring off into space, seemingly talking to himself. “They are loyal friends, to be sure, but perhaps they should grow accustomed to calling you Tobias before they learn your true identity. You could write letters to them, assuring them of your safety, and I, too, could inform them that you have been found and are in safety. I am sure I could arrange to enroll 'Harry Potter' at Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, so that people would not wonder overmuch where you were. And then you would come to Hogwarts as Tobias Bâtard and be sorted as a new transfer student, having already met Ron and Hermione here at Grimmauld Place.”

Harry felt his mouth fall open in horror. “You- you can't be serious.”

Dumbledore looked back in his direction, but still, maddenly, avoided eye-contact. “Unfortunately, I am, my boy. Perhaps you have not kept up with the latest news, but it is not only Voldemort gunning for you now, but also the Ministry. Fudge is trying hard to suppress news of Voldemort's return. He would do almost anything to see your reputation tarnished.”

“And you have made it uncommonly easy for him,” Snape pointed out snarkily.

Harry felt his lips lift fully off his canines, but hardly cared. “Oh, so this is not about my safety, but about my reputation, then? Can't have the precious Golden Boy looking like less than a perfect preacher's kid? I won't hide Mo.” He contained a growl through sheer will. How does Lupin hide it all so well? Surely his instincts are at least as strong as mine.

“Precisely my point, my boy,” Dumbledore interjected smoothly. “You won't hide her, and I would not ask you to. However, if you return to Hogwarts with her in tow, and keep your name, you will no doubt have problems. Being Harry Potter will not be easy, in the coming months.”

“You think it'll be easy, pretending that I don't know my own best friends? I'd rather deal with the press! At least I'm used to that, by now.”

“And were you planning on keeping your old rivalries, as well, Mr. Bâtard?” Snape interjected smoothly. “You think it would be dramatic, perhaps, to duel in the hallways with the child held in one arm and your wand in the other?”

Harry froze, the image horrifying him, before another thought intruded. Malfoy. Shit, I'd kill him. If I thought he'd threatened Mo...especially on purpose...

Snape apparently noted Harry's reaction, because he simply nodded before saying to Dumbledore, “if you'll excuse me, Headmaster, I have more important things to do.” Yeah, good, Harry thought, furious. Go ruin somebody else's life.

The headmaster seemed very pleased about something. His eyes twinkled as he answered, “Very well, thank you, Severus.” Snape nodded again and left.

Harry relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes, just trying to adjust. Shit. Of all the times for Snape to be right... He shook his head. Fine. I've already given up on being human and James' son. I was already telling people that my name was Tobias. How much worse can this be? Horrible. Just...miserable. With his luck, he'd be sorted into Slytherin this time, and be living in the dorm with Malfoy and his cronies. It's for Mo. Everything's for Mo. He'd been right before. Harry Potter didn't have a daughter. Tobias Bâtard did, and would do anything for her. Anything means anything, he reminded himself, trying to face reality head on as he'd been forced to so many times in the last weeks.

“Harry-” Dumbledore started gently-

“It's Tobias,” he answered, resigned.